lemon-scented you

He’d been about to tell them no. Two signings in fucking New York (three if you counted the lunch time drive by signing at The Mysterious Bookshop) and he’d been ready to turn around and tell his agent no the second Lucky had hesitated. If there was any proof that his nuts were still clutched in her fist, it was that he’d been ready to set aside the next step up in his career, so he didn’t leave her feeling like shit while he lived it up in New York.

The little voice in the back of his head had scoffed that it was just a weekend – the same asshole side of his personality that had pushed his mental buttons until he’d ended up in a cage, getting his ass handed to him while back home Lucky took the beating she hadn’t volunteered for. New Orleans had just been a weekend too. A couple of days with his squad, a taste of what he’d been missing over the last couple of years. The line stretched thin, driving Lucky to come and find him – and almost get his ass kicked, as though he needed to be taught a lesson for just heading out of town without telling her. This time he’d been smart and had gone to her to tell her he’d be out of town for a couple of days. The second he’d said New York she’d gone quiet and he’d seen the opportunity crumbling through his fingers.

His come with me, we’ll make a weekend out of it hadn’t been a plea, not in the falling to his knees and begging kind at least. It had been a way for this to work out for both of them. The second he’d seen her ‘no’ start to turn to a ‘maybe’ he’d laid it on thick. A suite at a five start hotel, business class seats on the flight up to JFK, as much champagne as she could sink while they were in the air. Mitch had tried to squelch the little grin when she’d caved, but he was too fucking relieved to be able to push it back entirely.

A hundred little observations he’d made of Lucky before had ended up in the pages of his book, by the time they’d landed, he’d filed a dozen more away in his head. Sipping on the champagne, he’d watched her throughout the short flight. The car had been waiting for them as they’d emerged from the terminal, Mitchell Davis scrawled elegantly on a sign. He’d passed the baggage over to the driver and had slipped into the back seat. His agent was gonna get a damn fruit basket for this, because she couldn’t have set this up more perfectly to work out for him if she’d tried.

Usually the nerves started to twitch the second he touched down – more than he’d ever fucking felt when he’d been serving, it was easy to be cocky when you knew you could heal practically anything – but dropping to his knees at the end of the bed and hooking his hands beneath Lucky’s knees to draw her to him had steadied them. Maybe this was gonna be the way he got through every signing now … if she’d actually go to them with him. The snarky question she’d tossed back at him when he’d invited her to the signing had carved a frown deep into Mitch’s brow. It wasn’t the whole point of this, but he’d hoped she’d wanna come along to that too instead of just curling up here in one of the complimentary bathrobes running up his room service bill. Disappointed and trying to hide it, he’d dressed and headed out.

It had gone better than he’d thought, the weight her refusal had put on him melting away as he’d greeted the crowd and talked through the latest instalment in the Colton Beck series – the best yet if the sales carried on the way they’d started. The book had gone straight to the top of the New York Times best seller list and had stuck around for a second week, an accomplishment his editor had crowed about as he’d sat beside her on the little stage. He could’ve headed back after the last of the fans had got their fill of selfies (and Azim, who’d been at practically every east coast signing he’d ever done had gotten the stack of books he’d held til last signed – he was always happy to wait since it meant more time to talk to him), sour and sulking, but instead he was puffed up like a peacock, proud to put on one Hell of a display as Lucky had welcomed him back.

The midday signing on the Saturday had only taken an hour, the queue far shorter when the queue had only had a handful of people in it. He had wondered if Lucky was gonna be crabbing about RSI later, his signature scrawled enough times in the stack of his books that she had to be able to forge it perfectly by now. Two hours later the real thing was kicking off – without Lucky again, although for the first few minutes his gaze had kicked continually towards the door, wondering if she’d cave in the end and turn up just to bust his balls about his shitty plots. The book store manager drew his attention back to her with a question about how the book had picked up from the cliff-hanger ending of the last. As he had last night, Mitch plunged straight into the chuckled explanation of why he’d used a cheap trope like that.

With the dark clouds that’d been threatening all day finally putting out a miserable drizzle, the store had felt warm and cozy. His audience were rapt, eyes on him, genuine laughs rolling through the space at all the right moments. A couple of late comers drifted in, some maybe from other parts of the store, lured by the event – new readers were always appreciated. Edging towards the end of their talk, the manager asked about the next book. Mitch grinned, aiming for enigmatic as he picked up his copy of the book that he’d left on the small table between them, the page he’d planned on reading from already marked. "The first draft of the next book went off to my editor this week, if she loves it as much as I hope she will, you’ll see me back here this time next year.” He hoped.

A sip of water from the glass on the table to wet his throat, then Mitch lifted the book. The mic in front of him picked up every word, carrying it to the far reaches of the crowd – they’d filled the seats and spilled into the space beyond, a sell out by the looks of things. ”Eyes that carried the golden glint of the dawn light in their caramel depths lifted to his as she tilted her head back. Last night, when he’d boosted her onto the kitchen counter, they’d been eye to eye. Now the stubborn jaw he’d nuzzled his way beneath hitched up high enough that it had to have been putting a crick in her neck. The sharp edged smile pulled at the softness of her rosebud lips, a smugness in the line of them he’d kissed away back now.

Anybody else might have been taken in by them, but Colton knew that he delicacy was just a pretty cover for the thorniness of a woman still wrapped in the tangled stems of a past she wouldn’t let him see. In the darkness of his apartment it hadn’t mattered, but come morning the pretences they’d both shrugged on to disguise the inevitable had been shed.

’I did warn you’ May crooned. Her hand dipped down to the pocket in the dress she’d slipped back into before he’d woken, then came back up with the Ruger clutched in her fingers. She hummed lightly, happily, and pressed its muzzle into his crotch with enough pressure that he let out an involuntary whimper. ’You shouldn’t trust a pretty face.’ He’d fallen for it though and now he was at her mercy. Colton dropped his head, close enough to nuzzle back into her throat, letting out a faint groaning laugh. He was fucked and they both knew it.

The scene continued to play out, but somewhere in the middle of Colton begging May to walk away from the son of a bitch she’d ended up tethered to after an adolescence of bad decisions and worst luck, to be with him, he’d looked up at the crowd and behind the lines of adoring faces, he’d spotted her. Mitch swallowed hard, laughing faintly at the unintended pause. Heat spilled across his cheeks and he wrapped it up fast. ”Just give us a couple of minutes to set up, and I’ll sign whatever you’ve brought with you. If you’ve got a lot of books, I’d appreciate it if you could wait til the end…”

It took close to an hour to get through the queue, like the night before it had been an endless stream of photos, cameras usually held by put upon looking boyfriend’s – although they’d been carrying copies of the books for themselves too. Compliments came in thick and fast, praise putting a genuine smile on his face, although as each one had left his gaze had slid past the line, to fix on her. Lucky had stayed put when he’d expected her to head back to the hotel to prepare the roasting she’d give the book. Eventually she was the only one left and he was the one looking up at her from his seat behind the signing table. Mitch drew one of the few books remaining on the stack down in front of him and flipped it open to the title page. ”You want it personalised?” he asked lightly, before he signed it over to her anyway. ”I didn’t think you’d come. Couldn’t find something better to do again?” Like painting her nails or finding the most expensive bottle in the mini-fridge to drink while she’d lazed in the bath with its massage jets.

Tagged: LUCKY CHRISTMAS * Word Count: 1700 (yikes)