never dated older women.
Wait . . . I’m not going to date her. I don’t date.
I think about her the entire weekend. I should have fucked her, because now it’s the only thing on my mind. I have all her info and I am Latch McKay. I always get what I want—always. And right now, what I want is Haven Wells.
Chapter Five
H aven
After leaving the orchestrated book cover shoot, I sit in my car debating if I should just go home or go back to my store. I’m annoyed, so I call Denise and tell her I’m calling it a day and going home. I drive to the condo feeling confused and frustrated. It is still incredibly hard to believe that someone I had just met, regardless of the sexual circumstances, had concocted an elaborate scheme just to see me again. I don’t know if I should be impressed or afraid.
I am appalled that Mr. McKay is only twenty-five years old. How did I not know he was younger? Maybe because he had his face buried in my crotch the entire time I was with him at the party, and it was dark . . . and I was impaired. Oh, so many excuses I have. I had never even contemplated a younger man. I hadn’t planned on any man, let alone some arrogant twenty-five year-old. There’s no denying that he had brought some feelings to the surface I never knew existed, but that could have happened with any man. Maybe it was time, and seven years has been long enough to go without any physical contact.
Latch is gorgeous. I know I’m being shallow, but his eyes could bring me to my knees. He has some kind of power over me, but it feels different from the power Jared had held.
About fifteen minutes later, I pull up into the drive. It feels good to be home, and as luck would have it, Weezie’s car is gone. I dislike not confiding in her, but she would have a drama field day with the events of “that” night and what had just happened. And to top it off, she would be furious with me for not telling her right away. Weezie hates secrets. We tell each other everything. I have known her for almost twenty years. We met in college as roommates. Those were our party years. We were inseparable for the most part, except when Weezie had her nights with the boys, which involved six days out of the week. I have to admire her—the girl had stamina. Even now, she can hold her own every night.
She held me up and listened to me cry when Jared and I broke up—even though she had clearly loathed him, she never tried to sway me away from him. I was with her through her parents’ deaths. We had shared years of drama, mostly mine, life and memories. I can’t even justify it to myself why I hadn’t told her any of this. Well, Latch is out of my life now. I can pretend that night never happened, which gives me full permission to keep silent instead of spilling my guts.
I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and kick off my heels. In my bare feet, I leisurely stroll to my bedroom. On second thought . . . I put down my water on my nightstand and head for my home office. I grab my laptop and head back to my bedroom. Closing the door, I sit on my bed and turn the laptop on. I take small sips of water while the laptop hums to life. I have decided—rather, I feel compelled—to google Latch McKay. I don’t have any idea what to expect, but maybe there will be some drool worthy pictures. Seriously, that man has now turned me into a voyeur.
I type in his name and press enter. Damn! Page after page comes up. I choose to check him out on Wikipedia. Lachlan Latch McKay was born in Scotland, so he isn’t British. Who can tell those accents apart anyway? After his father died, he and his mother moved to America when he was ten. I check out his birth date. Much to my chagrin, he really is twenty-five years old. I had hoped that wasn’t true. He’s six feet four inches, an inch taller than I thought, has hazel green eyes and his marital status is single. He is an award winning video game designer who has created a gaming empire and
Wait . . . I’m not going to date her. I don’t date.
I think about her the entire weekend. I should have fucked her, because now it’s the only thing on my mind. I have all her info and I am Latch McKay. I always get what I want—always. And right now, what I want is Haven Wells.
Chapter Five
H aven
After leaving the orchestrated book cover shoot, I sit in my car debating if I should just go home or go back to my store. I’m annoyed, so I call Denise and tell her I’m calling it a day and going home. I drive to the condo feeling confused and frustrated. It is still incredibly hard to believe that someone I had just met, regardless of the sexual circumstances, had concocted an elaborate scheme just to see me again. I don’t know if I should be impressed or afraid.
I am appalled that Mr. McKay is only twenty-five years old. How did I not know he was younger? Maybe because he had his face buried in my crotch the entire time I was with him at the party, and it was dark . . . and I was impaired. Oh, so many excuses I have. I had never even contemplated a younger man. I hadn’t planned on any man, let alone some arrogant twenty-five year-old. There’s no denying that he had brought some feelings to the surface I never knew existed, but that could have happened with any man. Maybe it was time, and seven years has been long enough to go without any physical contact.
Latch is gorgeous. I know I’m being shallow, but his eyes could bring me to my knees. He has some kind of power over me, but it feels different from the power Jared had held.
About fifteen minutes later, I pull up into the drive. It feels good to be home, and as luck would have it, Weezie’s car is gone. I dislike not confiding in her, but she would have a drama field day with the events of “that” night and what had just happened. And to top it off, she would be furious with me for not telling her right away. Weezie hates secrets. We tell each other everything. I have known her for almost twenty years. We met in college as roommates. Those were our party years. We were inseparable for the most part, except when Weezie had her nights with the boys, which involved six days out of the week. I have to admire her—the girl had stamina. Even now, she can hold her own every night.
She held me up and listened to me cry when Jared and I broke up—even though she had clearly loathed him, she never tried to sway me away from him. I was with her through her parents’ deaths. We had shared years of drama, mostly mine, life and memories. I can’t even justify it to myself why I hadn’t told her any of this. Well, Latch is out of my life now. I can pretend that night never happened, which gives me full permission to keep silent instead of spilling my guts.
I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and kick off my heels. In my bare feet, I leisurely stroll to my bedroom. On second thought . . . I put down my water on my nightstand and head for my home office. I grab my laptop and head back to my bedroom. Closing the door, I sit on my bed and turn the laptop on. I take small sips of water while the laptop hums to life. I have decided—rather, I feel compelled—to google Latch McKay. I don’t have any idea what to expect, but maybe there will be some drool worthy pictures. Seriously, that man has now turned me into a voyeur.
I type in his name and press enter. Damn! Page after page comes up. I choose to check him out on Wikipedia. Lachlan Latch McKay was born in Scotland, so he isn’t British. Who can tell those accents apart anyway? After his father died, he and his mother moved to America when he was ten. I check out his birth date. Much to my chagrin, he really is twenty-five years old. I had hoped that wasn’t true. He’s six feet four inches, an inch taller than I thought, has hazel green eyes and his marital status is single. He is an award winning video game designer who has created a gaming empire and
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