One Little Kiss

ONE

LITTLE

KISS

BY

ROBIN COVINGTON

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Robin Covington d/b/a Burning Up the Sheets, LLC. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Burning Up the Sheets, LLC

23139 Laurel Way

Hollywood, MD 20636

Visit my website at www.robincovingtonromance.com.

Edited by Nicole Bailey at Proof Before You Publish, Inc.

Cover design by
Sweet & Spicy Designs
.

Formatting by
Anessa Books

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition May 2015

DEDICATION

For Debbie Hill Hodge and Tina Hobbs Payne.

Love you guys!

CHAPTER ONE

Leighton

The guy leaning on me really needs an Altoid.

I shift to the side as my impromptu airport floor roommate snuggles closer and lets loose a snore that makes my nearby fellow captives look in our direction in alarm. I’m not looking forward to riding out the snowstorm in Terminal D with a man who needs an industrial strength nasal strip but I fought hard for the prime spot along the wall close to an electrical outlet and I’m not moving.

When the airline had begun cancelling flights due to the unexpected blizzard three days before St. Patrick’s Day, the first wave of activity in international departures was to secure a hotel room for the night. Being neither a platinum or some other precious gem level member at one of the big hotel chains had meant I was out of luck in securing any kind of room for the night so I’d wedged my way in between overstuffed carry-ons and whiny kids to grab my piece of prime real estate along the wall.

Two hours later, my phone is fully charged but the answer is clear—there is no room for me in the inn. Or the Marriott. Or the Hilton.

A great way to start my first adventure.

Two and a half months from my college graduation and I’m taking the chances in my life that I should have been taking all along. Finally. I’m beginning to feel like the person I am supposed to be but not everyone is on board with my accelerated program of development. The parentals, my twin brother—they mean well but they worry about me. Too much.

I am the fragile one. The one who needs to be careful. The one they almost lost. You’d think beating childhood leukemia would have made me brave, fierce. Nope. I’d bought into their characterization and worn it like a cloak to protect me from the big bad world until I’d almost suffocated under the weight. And then a few months ago, Brian-the-cheaterface had kicked my ass to the curb two weeks before Christmas for a girl named Silver who had green hair, ear gauges and a tongue stud and blamed it all on my being only slightly less boring than a bag of flour. Actually, his exact words were “if you’d only live with the passion you put into your fucking music I wouldn't have had to look elsewhere” but it all amounted to the same thing.

And as big a cheating asshole Brian was, he wasn’t wrong.

So, I wallowed in my misery for a week and then grabbed the nearest bottle of champagne and proceeded to spend New Year’s Eve “living with passion” in the bed of a guy I’d wanted for what seemed like forever. I also beat feet out of there before the morning after ruined the memories of the night. A cowardly move, I know.

He must have been on the same page because he avoided me in the weeks following our night of sweaty fun between the sheets. The times when we had to be together were infrequent but held a level of awkward somewhere between catching your parents making out on the couch and leaving the restroom with your skirt stuck in your panties. Good times.

But I am determined to live with passion, so when my music program selected me to go to the Celtic Music Festival in Dublin a month ago, I dusted off my passport, spared a moment to regret the terrible ID photo, and booked my ticket.

And now my flight is cancelled until the snowstorm passes, I’m stuck in the airport with a million other spring breakers, and my folks have lost their minds. It isn’t like taking a spring break trip to Ireland is the height of danger but you’d think I was pledging to marry a death-row inmate or something, the way they are acting.

They finally stopped calling after I let their calls go to voicemail but they weren't shy about pulling out the big guns and so the next series of calls were from their not-so-secret weapon—my twin brother Landon.

I hit the screen and sigh, making sure a little bit of bitch is added to the overall tone of annoyance. “Landon. I’m going to Dublin. The flights will be back on tomorrow. Stop calling.”

“Number Two.” I bite back the urge to tell him for the eleventy billionth time to stop calling me that childhood nickname. I was three minutes behind him in arriving on this planet and he never lets me forget it. “Mom is shitting a brick because she thinks you’re going to be murdered in your sleep by someone who wants your carry-on.”

I glance at the small backpack at my feet. Yeah, I have the usual electronics in it —iPad, iPod—but the real treasure is in the hard case tucked close to my side. My violin, Wonder Woman, is inside and worth at least a year of tuition according to the insurance papers. She is my best friend, an extension of my body. My heart. We’ve been together since I was sixteen years old.

“If someone wants her they’ll have to pry her out of my cold, dead hands.”

He laughs. “And that is exactly what mom’s having a cow about.”

“Landon,” I sigh.

“Number Two.”

Did I mention how much I hate that nickname?

“I wish everyone would stop treating me like I am helpless or something. I’m not going to break or have a breakdown because I have to sleep at the airport.”

“We worry about you,” he says and then mumbles something to himself I can't make out.

“What? What did you say?”

“Look. I sent the cavalry,” he rushes in and I let out a groan that catches the attention of several of my fellow strandees. I smile, trying to reassure them that I’m not the wacko they need to worry about as he keeps talking. “It was either this or mom was going to call airport security.”

“She didn’t.” If she did I was going to die on the spot. Melt into a pile of embarrassed goo and be nothing but a dark stain on the disgusting industrial carpet.

“She
didn't
because I offered a compromise.”

“What kind of compromise?” But I knew. I knew because I saw it walking towards me with a slow grin and six feet three inches of lanky, sexy, muscled body. I can't help the way my mouth drops open on a whispered, “oh my God” as I end the call. Hell, I’m glad I can still form a sentence at this point in time since the last person I want to see and the one person I’m desperate to have saunters towards me.

Jonas Sutton.

The guy I spent the night with on New Year’s Eve and then ditched before the sun came up. My brother’s roommate and best friend.

He stops right in front of me, forcing me to look up to see his face. He stares down at me, not missing a damn thing and barely hiding the smirk teasing at his lips.

“Who’s your boyfriend?”

I glance at the dude still leaning against my shoulder and lightly shove him away. He sways in the opposite direction for a nanosecond but then falls back against me, a loud snuffly snore joining the waft of bad breath he aims in my direction. I shudder and try to breathe through my mouth.

Jonas shoves his hands in his pockets but I’m not fooled by the casual manner, the zinger is coming. He’ll never let a moment like this pass him by.

“You gonna ditch him in the morning too?”

And there it is. I couldn't have done it better myself.

“You’ve been waiting since New Year’s to say something like that, haven’t you?” I ask.

“It seems appropriate considering the last time I saw you.” He leaves the “since you’ve been avoiding me” unsaid and hanging in the air between us. I could point out that he has avoided me too but it’s hard to point fingers when I am the one who started it with my “diddle and dash”.

Jonas continues on with the business at hand. His apparent rescue mission. “I’m on the other side of the terminal and my flight to Rome was canceled too. My dad’s assistant was able to grab me a hotel room about two blocks over from the airport and you’re coming to stay with me.”

Of course he has a room. The Suttons are rich from their furniture manufacturing business and they’re probably super-platinum-kryptonite members at every hotel chain on the planet. There is no way Mr. Sutton is going to let Jonas sleep on the floor of the terminal.

But I can’t go with him. It isn’t that I don’t want to go. The prospect of spending the night with Jonas is electrifying. My pulse kicks up to one hundred yard dash speed and I struggle to keep myself in check. I just
can’t
go.

Jonas does it for me. Not just physically but he gets me right in the gut and the area dangerously close to my heart. I don’t have room for him right now, everything already feels too big as I stretch to allow myself to grow. If I let him in, I don’t know if I can breathe.

“Wow. Okay. That’s really nice of you but I’m good right here.” I pat the ground beside me and nudge the dude on my shoulder one more time. “I’ve got a good spot here on the wall.”

Oh sweet baby Jesus. Can I just stop talking?

“I thought you’d say that.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and thumbs the screen, fingers tapping along on what I can only assume is a text. He stops typing and waits, looking at me with a completely unreadable expression on his face. I open my mouth to ask him if he is going to stand there all night when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, key in my password and see that I have a text from Landon.

Great.

I swipe it open.

Go with him or mom will call the National Guard. You know I’m not kidding.

Fuck. Fuckity fuck. He is dead serious. I don’t think for one minute that the National Guard will do anything if my mom calls them—I am sure they have a class in boot camp on how to blow off hysterical, overprotective parents—but she’ll spend the night calling anybody. Everybody. She’ll be insane and I’ll be a horrible daughter for letting her worry when a solution is right in front of me.

I groan and dip my head in defeat, banging the phone against my forehead in the drumbeat of the defeated.

“I take it from your moment of melodrama that you’ve decided to go with me,” Jonas breaks into my thoughts, his tone sarcastic and very sexy. Damn him. I look up, a glare plastered on my face with the fervent hope that he can’t see the way my hands shake. “Let’s go. We’re going to have to walk and I want to get there before dark.”

He reaches out a hand, leaning over to help me off the floor. I shove the snoring dude, trying to prop him up on the wall but not having much hope that he won't fall over in a heap the minute I’m gone. I snag my backpack and Wonder Woman and accept his assistance. My ass has gone to sleep from sitting on the barely padded floor and I’m grateful for his support because my legs are also tingly and weak. I stumble forward when I stand and fall into Jonas.

I’m tall at five feet nine inches so we touch everywhere. Thigh to thigh, chest to chest and the way he is leaning into my space our mouths are within inches of each other. My sensory memory recalls the smell of leather and cedar from his cologne, the whiff of the oil paints he uses, the sweetly clean smell of his fabric softener, and the underlying scent of Jonas that makes my mouth water.

He tastes as good as he looks and twice as good as he smells. I know this because I spent hours sampling every inch of him that night. The smooth silk of the skin on his shoulders, the rougher texture of the hair on his chest and legs, the surprisingly soft bristle of his goatee and the even softer feel of his lips.

I lick my lips, probably smearing my lipstick. But it is primal. I couldn't stop it if my life depended on it.

His gaze lingers on the place where my tongue has just been and I know in that instant that I’m not the only one struck with an inconvenient bout of lust right here in Terminal D. This is going to be a long night.

“I always did love how red looked on you,” Jonas says, his voice catching a little bit on the last word. He pauses for the briefest second, as if he is memorizing the exact shade of red lipstick, before shaking his head and backing way. He rubs his jaw as a strange grin teases his lips. “C’mon Red. We need to get moving.”

I follow after him, stupidly noting how good his ass looks in his well worn jeans. The good girl sitting on my right shoulder notes my objection to the idea of spending a night in a hotel with this man on her clipboard but I already know how this is going to turn out.