It Was Only a Kiss

Jess sat up, hearing a key in her front door lock, and turned around to see the door opening. ‘For crying in a bucket, Patrick! Hold it up!’

She heard another couple of muffled swear words from...Nick? Looking towards the front door, she saw three pairs of feet: trainers, loafers and—oh, God—scuffed work boots. And three pairs of legs behind a massive brown-paper-wrapped frame.

Jess stood up, her hand to her heart as the frame wobbled and Luke cursed. ‘Damn! Be careful. Okay, lower it against the couch. Slowly... This was not the greatest idea I’ve ever had.’

Jess had no words so she just stared at them, watching as Nick glared at Luke across the top of the painting. ‘I said that, Sherlock.’

Patrick straightened and theatrically placed his hand on his back. ‘Gee, I thought I mentioned it too. But, no, you had to make the grand gesture.’

Luke grinned at them. ‘You sound like a bunch of groaning grannies. For two sports freaks, you two could moan for Africa.’

Nick glared at him. ‘Bite me.’

Luke was here—finally here. His back was to her and she sucked him in. His hair was almost ludicrously long, curling over his collar and falling into his eyes. The long sleeves of his T-shirt were pushed up over his elbows and he wore his oldest, most faded and frayed jeans. Three-day-old stubble completed his surfer-boy look.

Jess’s mouth watered.

Then her heart hardened as she remembered that he thought she was an overbearing control freak, an interfering witch. And how dared her brothers use the key she’d given them for emergencies to saunter into her house without so much as a hello or any type of greeting?

She was sick of arrogant, egotistical, selfish men!

‘You have thirty seconds to leave my house before I start going bananas,’ Jess told them, her voice hard and cold. She waved at the brown parcel—obviously a painting. ‘And take that with you. I have nothing to say to you, Savage.’

‘Well, I’ve got a couple of things to say to you,’ Luke replied in a mild voice as his eyes flicked over hers, softened and bounced back to her brothers. ‘Okay, you two can leave now.’

Nick and Patrick exchanged a long, considering look and Patrick shook his head. ‘Forget it... I want to know why you chartered a plane to deliver that painting and why we had to babysit it like our firstborn in a truck over here. Are you going anywhere, Nick?’

Nick folded his arms. ‘Heck, no! Clem would kill me if I didn’t get every romantic moment. Get on with it, Luke, you’re wasting time.’

‘Like I’m really going to have this conversation in front of you two,’ Luke scoffed.

‘Nobody is having a conversation with anybody!’ Jess stormed to the door and gestured for them to get out. ‘You’re all leaving—now!’

Luke looked at her brothers. ‘C’mon, guys, give me a break. I need to talk to Jess and you’re not helping. Just go! Please?’

Nick placed his hands together in an attitude of prayer and bowed low. Patrick followed suit. ‘May the force be with you,’ Nick intoned.

The brothers bowed again before backing out through the front door and slamming it behind them.

Luke said something uncomplimentary about them under his breath before he raised his head to look at Jess. ‘Hi.’

Jess shoved her shaking hands into the front pockets of her jeans. ‘What are you doing here, Luke? I thought you said everything of importance a week ago.’

‘Not quite.’ Luke looked around her small house. ‘Nice place.’

Jess shrugged and sent a curious look towards the painting—it could only be a painting—then gestured to the kitchen. She had no idea why Luke was delivering a painting to her house after a week of silence and her pride refused to allow her to ask. ‘Do you want something to drink?’ she asked in a polite, cool voice.

Luke nodded and followed her into the sunny kitchen. Jess handed him a bottle of beer and they took up their customary positions of leaning against opposite counters. They spent a couple of minutes just looking at each other.

Luke eventually broke their hungry silence. ‘You look good.’

Jess lifted her eyebrows. He was either using flattery or her looks hadn’t gone to pot yet. ‘You look tired.’

Luke picked at the label on his beer bottle. ‘Listening to those two bitch for hours will do that to a man.’ Rolling a tiny ball of paper between his fingers, he flicked it towards the dustbin.

‘I’m surprised to see you and my brothers on such good terms,’ Jess said, annoyed. Where was her siblings’ outrage on her behalf? The desire to beat him up—metaphorically, of course. She didn’t want him actually hurt—because he’d broken her heart? Traitors, every last one of them.