When Two Hearts Collide (Game of Hearts Novels Book 3) Read online

  A GAME OF HEARTS NOVEL

  SONYA LOVEDAY &

  CANDACE KNOEBEL

  This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people-living or dead, real locales is entirely coincidental and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  When Two Hearts Collide Copyright © 2017 by:

  Sonya Loveday and Candace Knoebel

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author/publisher contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one of its many distributors.

  Interior book design by Candace Knoebel.

  Edited by Cynthia Shepp.

  Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs.

  First Edition

  Published by:

  Sonya Loveday and Candace Knoebel

  TABLE OF 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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  DEDICATION

  There once was a girl who read books.

  She picked her stories depending on looks.

  So we covered his face,

  and put a book in its place!

  The girl couldn't help wonder...

  Who was under that cover?

  A Barman? A Nerd?

  That is absurd!

  But really it’s not.

  His accents quite hot!

  Now sit back and enjoy.

  This isn't a ploy!

  Because we've crafted for you,

  a dreamy man to cuddle up to.

  SHE SCREAMED MY NAME WHEN I rolled her over and took her from behind.

  The rug of the living room floor itched like the devil. Worse, it always left bright red strawberries on my knees. At that moment, I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was getting off and getting her the fuck out, which wasn’t hard to do with her round ass bouncing against me. She threw a sultry look over her shoulder, lip clamped between her teeth, and I let myself go.

  Seconds later, we lay on the carpet side by side, chests heaving.

  “Oy, that was amazing,” she said, her voice lilted with passion.

  “I aim to please,” I answered, pinching the used condom between my fingers and pulling it free. It was my signature move. My unspoken signal for them to leave. We were done.

  She must have felt the change come over me, because she threw her leg over mine, snuggling closer and trapping me. Every muscle in my body froze. Here it comes, I thought. The we-were-so-good-together and the there’s-plenty-more-where-that-came-from lines.

  With a grumble, I moved her leg off me and pushed up from the floor, condom dangling between us as I said in my best neutral tone, “Listen, Emily—”

  Her smile disappeared. “Elizabeth,” she corrected, sitting ramrod straight. Her gorgeous breasts bounced in invitation as she huffed and added, “Really, Charlie?”

  I forced my eyes off her. Damn, her breasts were beautiful. Probably the best pair I’d seen in at least a week. A frown marred my lips as my rules flooded my mind. What happened could only be a onetime thing.

  It was my number-one rule—one and done.

  After reaching for my boxers, I disposed of the used condom and washed my hands before pulling them on. Best to have a barrier, no matter how thin, in place when in the presence of a woman about to go off her gourd.

  The scent of sex filled my tiny flat, musk and sweat. It was almost thick enough to touch. It coated my skin as if attaching itself. I couldn’t wait to get a shower. There was no chance of that until she left. Shouldn’t be long though, because I could hear her shuffling around behind me. Hopefully, she’d pieced together that she wasn’t going to be the woman who changed me. What was it with women anyway—always thinking they could change a man and his ways? Always putting themselves in the line of fire to be that miraculous one.

  I crossed the small living space to where the whiskey bottle sat on the table like the Holy Grail, which, in moments like this one, it was. Pouring a finger of it into the glass, I ignored her mumbled curses, no doubt aimed at me. As long as she left me in peace, I didn’t give a shit what she said.

  I’d never had what could be called a healthy relationship with a woman. Never had the patience or the time.

  Love ‘em and leave ‘em. Worked better for me that way. No ties. No one to answer to. No one to ask me where I’d been or who was texting me. I didn’t want to be on a leash, and I definitely didn’t want to be stuck trying to please someone who, sooner or later, would come to despise me in one way or another.

  Yet, even I knew it was a dangerous path I walked.

  “I can’t even believe I fell for it. Amanda told me what trouble ye are. She said ye didn’t like anything more than a good fuck, but when we talked, I thought ye might be different,” she said, her movements jerky as she tried to slide her shoe on. There was a subtle pleading in her tone, the tone they always got when fishing for ways to worm their way past my cold shoulder. It was the calm before the storm. A storm I’d weathered one too many times.

  I took a quick sip, braced myself, and said, “Ye know, every one of ye think that. It’s a downright shame ‘cause never once did I say I was looking for anything more than what we both just got.”

  She looked like a volcano about to erupt. “You fucking sod!”

  I ducked before the shoe she lobbed at me could connect with my head, and then circled around the table to grab it for her.

  “I can’t even believe this! I can’t believe I fell for it,” she shouted when I none too gently shoved the retrieved shoe into her hands and escorted her to the door.

  She struggled against me as I said, “Time to go, Emma.”

  “Elizabeth!” she corrected as her hand came clear across my face, sending a bright flash of pain across my head.

  I didn’t have to force her to the door after that. She slammed it behind her, leaving me rubbing my jaw in her wake.

  “Got a good arm on her, that one. Cryin’ shame she’s a girl. An arm with that much power would do pretty good in a street fight,” I said, stopping as I passed the mirror on my wall. As I stood in front of it, I gave myself a real hard look. And why the hell would ye be thinkin’ that for? Ye left that scene years ago, remember? I chastised myself. I had to remember that. Had to remember that there was a fine line between happiness and unhappiness. Sanity and insanity. Most people walked the in between, never once stopping to question it. Never dared to step outside the line because they were too comfortable where they were with their lives to try for something more.


  And then there were some like me who stopped themselves up short in the middle of their existence, wondering where the hell they were going and to what extent did they have to go to slip out of that mainstream way of thinking?

  Sure, most people were happy. They had no reason not to be. Especially when everything was going the way they planned. But I couldn’t help but wonder if they ever once stopped to think about their happiness? Were they really content with the ebb and flow of their lives? Did they, like me, ever wonder when that specific moment of having a dream for something more burnt out?

  And what was my more?

  What would break me out of the monotony I found myself in? Some days, it felt like there was no difference between home life and pub life. Like a tether between the two, I walked. Only the faces changed sometimes. The selection of people I could align myself with, whether it was friends, or just some pretty face to help me scratch an itch. The latter, being of my own choosing, never once sparked a need for more.

  It was a lonely life I led, but it was the only way I’d ever known. The scary part was that I knew I wasn’t getting any younger. The mirror was proof of that. Before I knew it, I’d turn out just like my uncle Dan. Bitter and resentful toward all his youthful misadventures. All the wasted time that floated in the in between of his life and he’d never once stopped to question his choices. His decisions. Yet, on the flip side of that, he loved me. Loved me enough to give me the one thing that mattered most to him. The pub. And I’d give it right back if it meant he lived. But he didn’t, and no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t go back in time and make it right. Make him proud. Show him that his belief in me mattered and I’d spent every day since he left me proving I was a better person. A changed man.

  Would he be disappointed in my one and only flaw?

  Sex was an escape for me. It allowed me to purge myself of the need to step back into the dark world I’d left behind and vowed never to go back to.

  The shattering reality of it, though? I couldn’t help but question it all. Couldn’t help but wonder what could be different if I stepped out of what was comfortable and shook off the dregs of the cloying feeling of melancholy that clung to me night and day.

  How could I find out what was wrong with me, when I had no idea where to start?

  I reached for the bottle to pour myself another glass. It was empty. Bloody wonderful. After a quick shower, I scooped up my keys, locked my flat, and then headed out to the pub.

  “YE’D THINK THE WAY THEY carry on, he had a dick a’gold,” Old John, our on-again-off-again barfly, said, tilting his head in my direction.

  He was seated next to me. Something in the mirror caught his attention enough that he turned to peer over his shoulder at the window, and then gave a low whistle of appreciation.

  I refused to turn around. Refused to acknowledge whoever it was standing outside the pub like a homeless puppy begging for scraps.

  I smirked, eyes flicking to Ed, watching him for some sort of reaction that told me if I needed to “go to the loo” or not. My code phrase for get the fuck outta there before all hell broke loose, always in the form of an angry female, dead set on making me pay for whatever wrong I’d done to her.

  Old John hooted at his own musings as I said, “Got brass balls too, yeah? Clink when I walk. Calls the lasses to me like the Pied Piper.”

  John, who’d taken a drink, sputtered… spewing it across the bar as he belted out a laugh that came from the vicinity of his toes.

  Ed made a noise through his teeth. A hiss of warning, but not soon enough for me to escape.

  Damn it all, it was the girl from earlier. Apparently, she hadn’t taken the hint when I’d escorted her to the door. Golden dick, my ass. What I had was the ability to choose women who thought they could cure me of my wild ways. Typical bad-boy syndrome. Somehow, they all thought that I’d proclaim my undying love to them after we had sex.

  While everyone else seemed to be looking for a lasting relationship, I turned each prospect away. Maybe that was the key to having one… not to look for it. It would find you. Especially if you told the universe how dead set you were against it.

  She stormed up to me and slapped her hand on my arm. Leaning close, she hissed in my ear. “We need to talk.”

  I schooled my face, leaving it blank when I turned to look at her, and asked, “About?”

  I knew damn well what it was about. She’d followed me from my flat to the pub. As if I hadn’t told her I wasn’t interested in anything more than sex. Plain and simple.

  I could recall every single moment with her. And yet, nothing shouted at me to repeat it—to want more from it or her. It was over and done.

  “Bastard,” she said, fingernails biting into my arm, just like she’d done to my left ass cheek only hours earlier. It twinged in response.

  She bumped into Old John, who’d turned fully in his seat in order to watch it all unfold. Jabbing him with her elbow, she said, “Fuck off, wanker.”

  I guessed that was her way of saying something like, “Do you mind?” or maybe, “A little privacy, ye leering old goat.”

  He laughed. “Yer supposed to say…” he said, waggling his finger at her as he continued to use his best high-pitched female voice, “What we had was… was amazing. I can’t live another day if ye push me away.” He paused only to lean in a little closer, and, with a wink, said, “Or, my favorite, ‘I’ll let ye stick it in me bu—”

  “Here ye go, John. On the house,” Ed interrupted, putting a fresh pint in front of the gabby old coot.

  I couldn’t help but sigh in relief when he jerked his head, giving me the signal. “Stock came in at half one, and I haven’t been able to get to it.”

  I slid off my barstool, ignoring her protest. Escaping before she could grab hold of me and make a bigger scene was my mission. I most definitely wasn’t running away. Had she come to my flat with the same bullshit, she’d have witnessed how much of a dick I could be. But I wasn’t at home. Avoiding and ignoring her was for the best.

  Ed slipped right behind me once I made it past the bar and blocked her path, saying, “Employees only.”

  I heard a slight scuffle and wondered if Ed had to physically put her back on the other side of the bar. But then I shook my head, not giving a shit one way or the other if he did.

  I never should have brought that one home. Shouldn’t have slept with her. I pinched the bridge of my nose and cursed myself for what seemed like the millionth time as I tried to pinpoint what the hell made her follow me and expect something more. I’d even laid it out in black and white. Told her when she singled me out while I was picking up lunch from the takeaway counter. It had been her offer, not mine, when she’d rubbed herself up against me like a cat in heat and said, “I want to have sex with you.”

  How the hell could a bloke say no? My reply had been, “It will only be the once. I don’t want your phone number. I’m not giving you mine. One time and done. Agreed?”

  She’d readily agreed. So why then? My thoughts swirled as I sorted through the bullshit that happened after we’d both got off.

  A HALF AN HOUR LATER, after Ed made sure Amanda… no, Elizabeth, left, I settled back into my seat at the bar. Heaving a giant sigh, I lifted my cup high enough so the amber liquid was eye level and emptied my mind. The slow roll of bubbles mocked me in their merriment as they raced to the top with a bust of what I thought as joy. Happy to escape their surroundings, I thought. Lucky buggers.

  “Yer staring at that pint like a crystal ball, mate.” Ed’s eyes peered through the glass at me. His eye, larger than normal, looked rather comical as it met my own and then blinked. “If ye see the future in there, let me know, eh?”

  “I think I might be going mad,” I answered, moving the glass from my eye to my mouth. After two large swallows, I felt a slight tingle of guilt over the bubbles that hadn’t quite made it to freedom. And that, I thought, is the most insane thought yet!

  “Ye’ve always been a bit barmy, mate.
No difference now then, is there?” Ed smirked as he took away my empty glass to pour me a fresh one. “And what the hell ye doin’ here anyway? It’s yer day off.”

  I ignored his question. What difference did it make if it was my day off or not? The pub seemed to be my only escape. Well, it usually was until one of the lasses I shagged took it upon herself to show up and show her ass. Asses I could remember. Faces and names, not so much. I gave him a smug look. He gave me one right back. He knew me all too well. One look between us said, “Thanks, mate,” and, “What are friends for?”

  Instead, I changed the topic, stretching out my mind to something other than bloody women. I’d had my fill for the day.

  “Yesterday on the telly they said, ‘spring-like weather.’ Spring. Can ye believe that? It’s not been spring here since the day I was born. If it isn’t snow up to yer bum, then it’s rain up to yer armpits, yeah?” Wet and cold. Always one or both at any given time.

  Old John snorted. With a bob of his head, he finished up his pint. When it was done, he tossed some money on the counter and then slapped a meaty hand against my shoulder as he said, “The day it’s not snowin’ or blowin’ will be the day the world turns over and shakes all the lasses off, yeah?”

  I rolled my eyes at his stab at my shortcomings and said, “I’ll send the clingy ones yer way, mate.”

  He shook his head, placed his hand over his heart, and said, “I’d die a happy man and no doubt. Don’t think an old sot like me wouldn’t try it on, though. Might have to get me one o’ those golden dicks, eh?”

  He made to leave after that. Staggering slightly, he pulled on his coat and then tugged his signature felt hat low with a flick of his finger on the brim in farewell as Violet sidestepped him on the way in.

  “So yer out of sorts because of the weather?” The threat of Ed’s grin was held back only because of the scowl I wore.

  “What’s all this then?” Violet asked, unwrapping the scarf she wore around her head. Beads of water pearled on the shoulders of her jacket, her face briskly red from the ‘spring’ air.