alongside Braden’s architect. This last year, however, he’d been doing the work himself and
having now achieved all the qualifications and experience he required, he’d applied to ARB
(Architects Registration Board UK).
“I’m really happy for you.”
“I know. That’s why I’d much rather be here with you than with Megan.”
“Meagan,” I corrected.
“Whatever,” Adam muttered.
Our drinks came and I asked him about the project he and Braden were working on now.
Adam then asked about my classes. I had chosen to study History of Art and Fine Art with
grand hopes of becoming a gallery curator one day, but now that I was in the course, at the
university, I was falling in love with the idea of a career in academia. Clark, who was a
professor of classical history at the university, was extremely proud and excited that I wanted to follow in his footsteps. When I told Braden I was thinking of doing a phD in Art History
he’d given me Adam’s “are you daft?” look, but then kissed me on the forehead and told me
to do whatever made me happy.
The night seemed to speed away from us and before I knew it I was on my third mojito
and snuggled much deeper into Adam’s side, laughing as he regaled me with his and
Braden’s antics at work and elsewhere.
To the outside world the two of them were extremely mature young men in their mid-twenties.
I knew better.
I wiped tears of laughter from my eyes and reached for another sip of my drink. “You two
are idiots.”
“Ssh, that’s a secret.”
I grinned back at him and the smile he gave me suddenly froze.
“What?” I breathed, my heart stopping.
He swallowed and shook his head. “I just sometimes wonder where the time has gone.”
“I know. We’re all grown up now,” I teased.
His eyes searched my face, his expression enigmatic. “Yes, we are,” he murmured and
something about the way he said it made the air between us grow suddenly charged. I swore I
stopped breathing altogether. His eyes were dark and focused and I felt the heat of his look
slide sensually down the center of my body. Nervously, I licked my lips and his gaze dropped
to my mouth.
My gaze dropped to his.
I don’t know which one of us moved. Me to him, or him to me? Both of us moved?
Whichever one of us it was, our faces were so close our lips were almost brushing. I could
feel his breath on mine and he obviously could feel mine on his. The smell of Macallan and
Adam played chaos with my hormones. My chest began to rise and fall with excited nerves
and hopeful anticipation.
I moved my head that little bit closer and our lips brushed. Infinitesimally. Still, that
slightest touch sent a bolt of lust straight through me.
Adam made a sound in the back of his throat and I swore he was about to close the
distance between us…
…but I’d never know for sure. His phone rang in his jacket pocket throwing a bucket of
ice cold water over the moment. I jerked back and watched his face cloud over as he realized
what had almost happened. Jaw clenched, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone
but it had already stopped ringing. He lifted his eyes to me and told me darkly, “Braden.”
I guessed he meant that Braden had been the one who’d called him, but I also guessed it
had a double meaning. I knew I was right when he quickly paid for our drinks and put me in a
taxi, abruptly ending our night together.
I was Ellie, Braden’s little sister. To Adam I would always be Braden’s little sister, and
that meant I was off limits.
When I laid in bed that night I cursed Adam Sutherland to hell and back. If he hadn’t
already ruined things for me before, he definitely had after tonight.
A lip brush.
One tiny lip brush and I felt that spark I’d been waiting on since I was fifteen and I kissed
Pete Robertson on bowling night. Whatever guy came next had a lot to live up to.
Chapter 5
“I was freaking out,” Adam admitted. He threw me a wicked smile. “I’ve never been so hard
in my life from a lip brush. I wanted to fuck you every time I saw you after that.”
I shoved him playfully, blushing. Adam was often deliberately crude because he knew it
made me equal parts embarrassed and turned on. I’d always hated when people used the “f-word” to describe sex, thinking it emotionless and casual. But after Adam and I became a
couple I’d discovered that when you were in love with someone and you knew they loved
you back there were different levels to sex. At one end of the spectrum there was the tender,
sweet, slow sex that I would call “making love” and at the other end of it there was the rough, wild, can’t-get-enough-of-you sex that was definitely the “f-word”. Adam was more than
proficient in both kinds.
I thought about what he’d said and frowned. “You did a good job of hiding it.”
He harrumphed. “I don’t know about that.” He looked back at the diary and frowned.
“What ever happened to that Christian guy, by the way?”
“I let him down gently when he called to reschedule our date.”
“I would say “poor guy” but I had to endure five years of wanting you and not having
you.”
“That was entirely your own fault.” I searched for the diary I wanted and once finding it,
found the entry easily since it was a night I would not likely ever forget, “Nine months before Joss showed up… it’s a perfect example of it being entirely your own fault.”
Sunday, October 23rd
That’s it. I give up. I’m humiliated. Confused and humiliated. And hurt. God… hurt
doesn’t even cover it…
I was supposed to be spending my Saturday evening with Jenna and a few girls from uni
sipping cocktails and talking about anything else but our degrees. Instead, I was in a taxi
heading to Adam’s duplex apartment in Fountain Bridge. I could have walked there, but I felt
a sense of urgency to get there and make sure he was okay.
And I really needed to thank him for having my back, like he always had my back.
The last week had not been a particularly good one. That was putting it mildly.
I’d been betrayed. Again. But this time it was worse than ever. For the last five months I’d
been dating Rich Stirling. For the last five months I’d thought I was dating a nice guy who
worked in Glasgow for a recruitment agency. I’d only just discovered that in actuality he was
a corporate spy for a competitor of Braden’s in Edinburgh. This property developer was so
desperate to outbid Braden on a piece of coveted land down by Commercial Quay that they’d
enlisted Rich to get close to me, to get close to Braden, to unearth Braden’s bid and offer
more money for the land.
I wasn’t in love with Rich but I’d let the sleazeball into my life, into my bed, and I’d given
him a piece of me. I don’t think I’d ever felt so completely stupid in my entire life. All of my friends and family kept telling me I was too nice, that I didn’t have good intuition when it
came to people, that I let a-holes into my life, and I was finally starting to believe they were right.
I could close down, refuse to let people close, be smarter, more selective… but that wasn’t
me, and that was somehow letting Rich win. So I refused to change and there was a tiny sense
of victory in that, at least.
It still stung like a mother that I couldn’t do anything, couldn’t take some kind of
retribution. So when Braden turned up at my flat — this gorgeous property on Dublin Street
that he’d renovated and then allowed me to stay in rent-free — to tell me he and Adam had
bumped into Rich out on the town the night before, I’d held my breath, knowing exactly what
was coming. Sure enough, Braden had had to haul Adam off of Rich and take him home to