Half-Hitched. Isabel Sharpe
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It was unbelievably good…
Now what? Addie was lying half-underneath Derek—instead of Kevin—and Derek was kissing her, sweet, perfect kisses that made her feel as if she was melting into the mattress. She wasn’t exactly objecting.
Addie gasped. Derek had started tasting the curve where her shoulder left off and her neck began, sending shivers…everywhere.
She should either continue the seduction, or she could—and should—be honest: tell Derek she was sorry, but she’d made a terrible mistake. And then he’d stop sending her into orbit.
“Derek.”
“Yes, Addie.” He sounded amused. What was so funny?
“Um. The thing is.”
“Ye-e-s?” He kissed her bare shoulder, a slow, gentle kiss that made her pause, because she wanted to enjoy it.
“I made a mistake.”
“Really.” He lowered his head to her breast; his mouth took her nipple. Wet heat. Pressure. A shock of pleasure through her.
“I thought you were Kevin.”
About the Author
ISABEL SHARPE was not born pen in hand like so many of her fellow writers. After she quit work to stay home with her firstborn son and nearly went out of her mind, she started writing. After more than thirty novels for Harlequin—along with another son—Isabel is more than happy with her choice these days. She loves hearing from readers. Write to her at www.isabelsharpe.com.
Half-Hitched
Isabel Sharpe
MILLS & BOON
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To all the world’s creatures of habit.
1
THE SOUND OF the ocean swelled through Addie Sewell’s bedroom. She stirred in the soft cotton sheets and listened, picturing waves tumbling, sea foam forming lacy patterns that rushed in, then retreated across soft white sand. Somewhere far off a seagull called.
Addie groaned and threw off the covers on her twin bed. “Alarm off.”
The ocean stopped. Or rather, the ocean sound stopped, made by her talking alarm clock, which she’d affectionately nicknamed Tick. The real ocean would have to wait until the following week, when she flew north to attend her friend Paul Bosson’s wedding on his family’s island in Maine.
She should be looking forward to this vacation a lot more. Been a while since she’d been anywhere except her parents’ new house in Florida, and it would be great to see high school friends again. But honestly, she could use the time better staying home and going through boxes of old family photos and papers her great-aunt Grace had left behind, and to get serious about looking for a condo.
By living with her elderly aunt for two years before Grace’s death, Addie had inherited this rent-controlled apartment a block from Central Park on Manhattan’s E. 97th Street. With her actuary’s salary, she’d saved enough for a down payment on the right condo. She just couldn’t seem to find time or enthusiasm for the search.
To be honest, she was not a big fan of life changes, and the apartment was not only in a great location, but held lovely memories of Great-Aunt Grace.
Yawning, she stretched and blinked blearily at the freshly painted ceiling, a nice change from the crackling that had progressed for years. Desperate pleas to the landlord had finally been answered.
“Time.”
“Seven o’clock,” Tick replied.
Seven o’clock. Her eyes fluttered closed, shot open…closed again. Usually she had no trouble jumping out of bed in the morning, especially in the summer when it was so bright out. Lately it had become harder. Maybe she should get her iron checked. Or her vitamin D level. Or work out more.
The chime of an incoming text forced her eyes open again. Pretty early for anyone to be in touch. Mom and Dad were cruising the Mediterranean and her brother, Gabe, was off hiking somewhere in Nepal…
Anxious curiosity got her out of bed; she retrieved her phone from its charger and checked the message.
Oh, my. She was awake now. Wide-awake.
The message, seven words long, was not from her worldtraveling family members, but from her childhood best friend Sarah Bosson, twin sister of Paul, next week’s groom.
Kevin Ames will be at the wedding.
Kevin Ames.
Addie gave a short laugh, shaking her head. Look at her, all excited over something so silly. Kevin was two years older than Addie, Paul and Sarah, but he’d been on the cross-country team with Paul since middle school at John Witherspoon in Princeton, New Jersey. Addie and Sarah had seen him constantly at the Bossons’ house. Last she heard, Kevin had some work conflict in Philly, where he lived, and couldn’t make next week’s Maine trip.
Ignoring her responsible side nagging that she should be in the shower by now, Addie texted back.
Since when?
Wow. She headed for the bathroom, still clutching the phone. Kevin Ames was The One That Got Away. Everybody had one. That person you never went out with that you really wanted to, or maybe you almost did, but something went wrong—the timing wasn’t right, or, in Addie’s case, when finally presented with the opportunity to start something with Kevin the summer before her senior year at Princeton High School, she’d totally messed it up.
Another text from Sarah:
He got someone else to go to his conference. Paul just found out.
Addie pressed her lips together to keep from grinning like a fool. She hadn’t seen the guy in eleven years. He was undoubtedly married. In fact, she’d looked him up online several years back and yes, he was.
And guess what…he’s single now!
Addie lost the battle with the smile. Okay, not married anymore. But that didn’t mean anything. He could have put on four-hundred pounds, lost his hair and…
He’s into marathons.
Oh. Four-hundred pounds was unlikely, then.
Well.
Addie shook herself. “Time.”
“Seven-twenty.”
Argh. She was behind on her morning schedule, which she’d developed specifically to avoid having to rush. From an early age her parents had modeled the importance of routines. Addie had scorned them in her rebellious—mildly rebellious—adolescence and her brother had no use for them at all, but she’d come to realize that routines could save you a lot