Between Us: A Vacation Romance (The Monroe Series Book 3) Read online

  Between Us

  A Vacation Romance

  Emma Tharp

  Copyright © 2020 by Emma Tharp

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Emma Tharp

  One

  Giselle

  My hand shakes as I flip through the files on my desk. It could be the three cups of coffee I had this morning, but the more likely reason is a year’s worth of built-up excitement.

  I nearly jump out of my seat when I hear a knock at the door.

  "What are you still doing here? I thought you were leaving for Lake George today to go meet up with your mystery man." Karen, a friend and coworker, peeks her head around my office door.

  "I am. I had to make one last call on the Silverman case before I leave." This has turned into one ugly divorce. No wonder I’m single. Seeing cases like this day in and day out have made me disenchanted with relationships.

  Karen makes her way into my office, closing the door behind her. "You're such a workaholic. You know I could've done that for you."

  "I know. I can't help myself." She's completely right, but besides being married to my job, I also don't like to delegate. I worked my ass off to prove myself and make partner, and I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize that. Not that I think Karen couldn't have made the simple phone call today. It’s just that I’m organized and methodical. Everyone knows that about me at the firm. Sure, people tend to add to my workload because they know I’m hardworking and dependable, but I don’t mind putting in long hours, especially when I’m working toward a goal.

  Karen comes around and stands opposite me, placing her hands flat on my desk and leaning in. "Please, don't worry about a thing. You know the firm is shutting down next week anyway. You can turn your brain off now."

  That's the reason I chose this week to leave. My shoulders seem to relax, even if it’s barely noticeable. "You're right."

  "Have a great time," Karen says, raising her eyebrows.

  This causes me to blush. "I will." And the butterflies start swarming in my stomach. The image of Dean’s handsome face and gorgeous body is all I can see. It’s as if I can feel his strong hands all over me already. Just thinking about him makes me feel like a giddy schoolgirl, which is ironic because I never was a giddy schoolgirl. “I have to get home and finish packing.”

  On the short ride home from my office, stress starts creeping up the back of my neck. Again. I’m going to give myself a tension headache if I don’t take some ibuprofen soon. I don’t know why I can’t relax and just let everything go. It’s probably because I had to cram in so much work before I flew out for my brother's wedding a few days ago, and now I’m leaving again.

  My flight just got in from Monroe Cay last night. My brother, Garrett, and his fiancée, Camille, had a gorgeous wedding ceremony there. He had the best food and entertainment flown in for the occasion. There were fifty of us there, only close friends and family. It was an intimate affair that I’m pleased I was able to be a part of.

  I loved seeing my brother so happy with his new bride, but it didn’t stir up any desire in me to get married. Not even with my younger brother, Donovan, on my case, asking me when I’m going to settle down. I simply can’t imagine the kind of effort it would take to make a relationship work. It’s exhausting just thinking about it. Not to mention, my career comes first. Always.

  There is a small part of me that’s nervous about seeing Dean again. He has never given me a reason to feel this way. On the contrary, he sends me cards with sweet notes inside for my birthday and random texts from time to time asking how I’m doing or to tell me he misses me. We don’t get into nitty-gritty details about our lives, but I still feel that he cares about me through those small gestures. That’s why I shouldn’t be stressing about seeing him again. Still, a part of me worries that when he sees me for the first time in so long, he won’t feel the same spark that he used to. That somehow through the space and time of a year, the flame died. I breathe in and out over and over again like the meditation DVD taught me. No, I don’t meditate, but I tried it that one time and I remember the importance of deep breathing.

  At least I feel a little better about myself. Slightly. I started going back to the gym—usually twice a week—and I went to the salon to get a long overdue cut and color. When you work sixty-plus hours a week, you put yourself on the back burner.

  Once I get home, I pack all the new lingerie I bought for my trip—strappy bras and barely there negligees. The nerves suddenly melt away, replaced with anticipation. One thing we’ve always had is chemistry in the bedroom. Why would that change now? In fact, I can’t wait to see the look in Dean’s teal eyes when he sees me in my sexy new undergarments. White-hot heat spreads through me thinking about Dean's skilled hands peeling the lace off me. My body yearns for the hard lines of his.

  And it’s not just the physical. I crave our talks and his caring ways. It's been a long year without him—or any man. I’m too busy to entertain the idea of having a real committed relationship. That’s why Dean and I work.

  It was my year to be in charge of arrangements, which means we’ll be staying somewhere nice. Last year, we met up in the destination of Dean's choosing.

  The first night we were there, I found a cockroach when I snuck to the kitchen to grab wine after going to bed. Huge mistake. Two mistakes actually; first was getting out of bed, and second was letting Dean make the plans. This year is going to be absolute perfection.

  My phone rings and I get a stupid grin on my face when I look at the screen and see that it's Dean calling. As soon as I answer, he mentions the trip.

  "You're sure about Lake George?” There's doubt in his voice.

  "Positive. I already rented the place. I thought you'd be happy because it's closer for you than last time I picked," I say. We can both drive there this year.

  We met on a cruise ship one winter. It was instant attraction and chemistry that was off the charts. When I first laid eyes on his tall, toned body, smooth tanned skin, and mesmerizing teal eyes, I was a goner. And when he started talking to me, I knew the attraction was more than physical. He was sweet, thoughtful, and the conversation just flowed. It wasn’t long before I invited him to my room. After nearly a week of no-strings-attached, fiery hot sex, we decided to make this a regular thing. And since I became partner at the law firm, I have more disposable income, but less time. So, I can only give him a week every summer. We settled on the Fourth of July week when the firm shuts down anyway.

  The first year, because I'm in New York City and he's in Vermont, I thought, “let's try Beverly Hills.” I pictured iconic sightseeing tours and the glorious dry heat. I imagined beaches and wine. We would shop Rodeo Drive because it’s been on my
bucket list since I saw Pretty Woman the first time. He was unimpressed and the place nearly broke him financially. I had no idea money was an issue before that. We met in the Caribbean; how could I have guessed?

  The next year he chose a motel in Orlando. In July. My hair got huge, and I felt as if I was melting. His solution: stay in bed with the AC on full blast. When he finally let me book us a room at an upscale resort—sans cockroaches—even Dean admitted that the rest of the trip was fabulous.

  “Okay, I’m looking forward to it. Drive safe. I can’t wait to see you, baby,” Dean says.

  My heart skips a beat. I never thought I’d be the type of woman who enjoys pet names like that, but when Dean says it, I find the term endearing. “I will. See you soon.”

  The truth is, as different as we are in every respect, there is one place we are forever compatible: the bedroom. While we are tangled in the sheets in the throes of passion, I can forget he's a ski instructor who makes very little money in the off-season. The thing is, for my purposes, we get no-strings sex, no commitments, no regrets…he's perfect. And from our conversations periodically during the year, I can tell he thinks I am, too.

  Two

  Dean

  I like starting my days at zero dark thirty. A cup of coffee with the paper before I’m off for a run or a spin on my mountain bike—unless it’s winter, then I snowshoe or cross-country ski. It’s how I’m hard-wired. Growing up on a farm in Vermont, we were up doing chores early every day before school. As an adult, I no longer farm, but I still enjoy my time in the morning before the sun comes up.

  Today, I mountain biked for an hour before I finished an odd job at my neighbor's house thirty minutes ago. They needed their deck stained and I needed the cash for my trip. This year I’m not paying for the accommodations, but gas, meals, and extras add up.

  After a quick shower to remove the mountain cedar deck stain from my body, I pack my suitcase and my car. My heart rate accelerates faster now than it did during all the exercise and work this morning because I'm ready to finally go see my girl.

  The fact that we’ve managed to make this work every year feels like a sign to me. I mean, why else would a woman like Giselle still be single? She has to be holding out for her week of summer romance with me. Since we have an understanding, it doesn't matter what she does when we’re apart, and I know she feels the same way about me. Sure, I date from time to time, but there hasn’t been a woman I’ve met who wakes me up like Giselle. She’s beautiful, classy, thoughtful, and our connection is like no other. The woman’s touch turns me inside out. And through the years, our arrangement hasn't bothered me. I could tell on day one what kind of guy she’s used to; the kind with money who can take her to nice places and buy her expensive jewelry and clothes. I’m the type of man who doesn’t have as much disposable income. I prefer experiences and adventures over material things, so it never mattered.

  I'm used to it, comfortable with it. Money is a sacrifice I'm willing to make to follow my passion—skiing. As soon as the snow flies, I start snow patrol and private lessons for the wealthy tourists. I love my job. Since I was first introduced and started hitting the slopes almost as soon as I could walk, I was hooked. I love the rush of the wind past my face, the swishing sound down the slopes, the feel of snow under my skis. There isn't much I don't like about the sport. Hell, I even love the cold. The brisker the better. It reminds me that I’m alive. I feel the exact same way during my one week every summer with Giselle. She makes me feel alive in a completely different way.

  Putting the truck in drive, I have a deep appreciation that I don't have to fly to our destination this year. I haven't looked at the place on the map yet. If I did, I'm sure I'd freak out. The pure joy she exuded every time she texted me about this vacation told me I was going to really need to pinch pennies the rest of the summer. She talked about boats, winery visits, concerts at SPAC, and horse races. There’s even a casino nearby, which is awesome because every minute with her is a gamble.

  Check-in today is at three. The drive is five hours. And I know she'll be there right on time. I will be, too. After all, our time is short. And I have a burning question that I hope this week will get answered. I'm getting older. What I wanted and needed isn’t the same as it was three years ago. Or even six months ago.

  This past winter, a buddy and I flew to Murren, Switzerland. I saved for five years for the trip. It’s a picture-perfect mountain that’s been on my bucket list to ski. It was the fourth day of our trip and there had been a huge storm the night before. A skier’s dream. Several feet of fresh, virgin powder. I was skiing the Lauberhorn, the longest downhill ski run in the world. We were making our own tracks—and I was high on adrenaline—when I lost my footing and started tumbling down the hill. Thankfully, I wasn't hurt badly, but I was reminded of my mortality. In that moment when I thought I was going to crash into a tree, my thoughts immediately flew to Giselle. I didn't want to die without seeing her again. I didn’t tell Giselle about the accident because I didn’t want to spook her. Now, I'm not sure a week is going to be enough. I want strings. I want commitment.

  I don’t know what she’s going to say or how she’ll react when I admit to her what my feelings are, but I need to tell her. As the years tick by, I realize I want a partner. Someone to share life with every day, to come home to at night and wake up next to in the morning.

  We need to have the conversation, and I hope she feels the same, because I can’t envision my future without her.

  Three

  Giselle

  "Hello," Dean purrs in his deep, sexy voice.

  My heart flutters to life. There's only an hour left before I make it to Lake George and I can barely wait. "Hi, how is your drive going?"

  "It's going well. I've been going faster than I should because I can't stand it anymore. I can't wait to have you in my arms."

  A pulse begins to hum between my thighs. "Now don't go getting yourself in an accident. I need you in one piece when I see you."

  "Don't you worry."

  "Let's meet up in Saratoga for lunch before we go to the cottage." I laugh inside every time I call it that. It's actually a lake house. It's right on the water with its own dock, boat, and guest cottage.

  He lets out an exaggerated sigh. "I guess we can meet up to eat beforehand, but I really can't wait to see you naked."

  "The feeling is mutual, but if we eat a late lunch, we can grab groceries and supplies while we’re out. Then, we can make our way to the place we’ll be enjoying together for the next seven glorious days."

  "Drive safe and I'll see you in an hour." There's a growl in his voice that's so full of promise.

  I turn up the music and set my cruise control a little faster than normal. All thoughts of work and stress slowly ease out of my brain and body.

  The phone rings.

  I click on the Bluetooth. “You miss me already?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do miss you. It would’ve been nice if you could’ve stayed longer on Monroe Cay with us, but I understand why,” Donovan, my younger brother, says.

  Whoops. I thought it was Dean again on the line. “You aren’t giving me a guilt trip, are you?” When I was packing up, he did make me feel bad for leaving. I told him I’d had this trip planned for nearly a year. And I only found out about Garrett’s wedding six months ago. My family knows about my yearly trip and how important it is for me. “Because I made it to the wedding.”

  The calming sound of crashing waves plays in the background. He’s probably out working on his tan. “No, I’m not calling to make you feel guilty. I just wanted to remind you to try and relax and have a good time. I worry about you. You’ve been working way too hard lately and you need to take some time to chill out.”

  Taking a deep breath in, I blow it out. Donovan is only trying to help, I know that. He has a huge heart. You’d think he was the older sibling. “When I get to our destination, I’m fine. I barely have time to think about work or the office.”

  �
��That’s good. Maybe one day we can meet Dean.”

  “Donovan. How many times do I have to tell you that that isn’t how our relationship works? One week a year. That’s it.” Sometimes I feel like I’m beating a dead horse with my brothers. They’re both in a hurry for me to settle down. It doesn’t make much sense to me after watching Garrett go through a heart-wrenching divorce with his ex-wife that cheated on him. And seeing so many well-intentioned couples that come through the firm, who thought they could make a marriage work, end up divorced anyway. It’s an ugly process that I am in no rush to go through myself. I wish they’d just be happy that I’m happy.

  “Okay. Okay. You don’t have to get defensive.”

  “I’m sorry, Donovan.” At times I don’t always understand my own feelings, much less the feelings of others. I try to be caring and supportive of the people I love. My problem is realizing the emotional needs of people closest to me. But, as soon as I do, I put forth effort to meet those needs. It took me many years to figure out the way Donovan needed to be loved, and it’s not with me losing my patience. Especially when he’s showing genuine concern for me. “I didn’t mean to be short with you.”

  “It’s okay. I wasn’t trying to give you the third degree either. I just want you to be happy and actually enjoy yourself with Dean. It was only a friendly reminder. You deserve this break. And you need it.” His voice is full of concern.