Page 15 of Love In Translation

She was focusing on the gazebo instead of dealing with the problem in front of her. Avoiding the subject was becoming a habit. She’d kissed—no,kissedwas too tame a word for what they’d done...inhaledordevouredworked better. She’d devouredFletcher Wright, and she needed to face her actions and consider the consequences.

OhGod. She’dkissedhim.

Not even an hour after first meeting him, she’d plastered her body against his and tried to sink into him. Sure, he’d returned her kiss, but his reaction was, undoubtably, more instinctive. Anyone would respond when a tongue slid into their mouth and a hand drifted over their hard, spectacular ass.

But he did grip the back of her head to keep her mouth in place, tipped it this way and that, looking for the angle he preferred. He’d pushed his thigh between her legs and his other hand had landed low on her butt, encouraging her to ride his cock. He’d fondled her boob.

Arrgh!

Kissing him whipped her away from this house and her mostly solitary, kinda lonely world. In his arms, with her mouth under his, she’d connected to a previously unknown source of cosmic energy. She hummed with vitality.

While she liked feeling strong and energetic, it shouldn’t be a result of kissing someman. Standing next to a pretty white wrought-iron chair, she flapped her arms up and down like a demented duck and shuffled from foot to foot. Her source of energy should come from within herself, not from outside sources!

Porca vacca!Holy cows, pigs, and other barnyard animals!

Rheo linked her hands behind her head and stared at her bare feet, the ring on her middle toe glinting in the sunshine. Right, what should she do? How to handle this? So far today, she’d indulged in some seriously hot eye-on-eye action through her open window, told him he couldn’t stay, told him he could, face-planted on his bedroom floor, and then kissed him as if the future of humanity rested on his broad, muscular shoulders.

Could she be more of an ass if she tried? She doubted it.

Rheo buried her head in her hands, feeling the heat of her face. Dropping into the nearest chair, she placed her elbows on her knees and pushed her fingers into her hair. Future Rheo would refer to this period of her life as “the months of excessive humiliation and stupidity.”

Through high school and college—she’d endured erratic homeschooling before she went to live with Paddy—she kept her head down and played by the rules. She avoided attention, negative or otherwise. She considered every choice she made and tried to figure out how it would impact her safe, reliable, and secure life.

In the last few months, her reliable boyfriend left her, she created the hot-mic viral video, had her translations corrected—twice—cried in front of her colleagues, and was replaced by another translator when she froze during high-level trade negotiations. She’d crossed the country to hide away in her grandmother’s house and was living in it without permission. She was lying to her family, and she’d sucked her grandmother’s short-term tenant into her web of secrecy.

And just because she needed to make a bad situation worse, she’d kissed him.

Brilliant work, Whitlock. Truly inspirational.

Rheo wrinkled her nose. She was behaving like her parents—irresponsibly and impetuously—and was ashamed of herself. She’d fallen into a hole and needed to shovel her way out. Or, simply, she needed to get her shit together. No more excuses, no more dumb decisions. No more kissing strangers. She had minimal time until Carrie arrived. She needed to take a hard look at her life and make some rational, unemotional decisions. Her moment—moments—of madness were over. It was time to act like the reasonable, thoughtful adult she knew she could be.

A lo hecho, pecho.What’s done is done.

She needed to face her mistakes, missteps, and failures. She’d start by telling Fletcher Wright their kiss was a mistake and would not be repeated. She needed to reconfigure her life, whip up another life plan, get her act together. She would not be distracted by a fantastic kisser with big arms, a hard body, and a quirky smile...

But Fletcher Wright had some kissing skills...

Rheo touched her chin and winced. She should clean and disinfect the graze on her chin and forehead, but she wanted to sit here for a little longer. Deep breathing always helped calm her racing mind.

She closed her eyes, tipped her head to the sun, and sucked in another deep breath of the sweet-smelling air. Her heart rate dropped, and her skin stopped prickling. Lust faded away. Unfortunately, her scarlet face would take time to return to normal.

She heard footsteps, and her eyes snapped open. Rheo admired Fletcher’s loose, easy gait as he ambled toward her, one hand wrapped around her flip-flops. Why did he have her shoes? He stopped next to one of the four wooden pillars and their corresponding pots.

Fletcher handed her the beaded flip-flops. “These were lying in a flower bed by the kitchen door, the one with the iceberg roses.”

Her eyebrows rose. “How do you know their name?”

There were red roses and yellow, white, and orange...she didn’t know any of their names. Rheo took the shoes from his hand with a quick “Thanks.”

He shrugged. “My mom was into gardening, roses specifically.”

“Where did you grow up?” she asked, sliding her shoes onto her now grubby feet. “You’re not American born.”

“Scotland, on a smallholding outside Aberdeen.”

His statement explained his accent. Rheo lowered her foot to the paving stones and leaned back in the chair, lifting its two front feet off the ground. Right, he was here, and it was time to bite the bullet.

She waved her hand in the direction of the house. “Kissing...” She hesitated, swallowed, and cleared her throat. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

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