Well Met (Well Met, #1)

by Jen DeLuca

I didn’t choose the wench life. The wench life chose me.

And someday, I wanted someone who would love me. Not for what I could do for them, but for who I was to them.

Oh, no. The Ren Faire Killjoy was hot. Even his stupid hat couldn’t dim the wattage of his smile, and my heart still pounded in reaction to the sight of him.

I’d held hands with my share of guys over the years; this certainly wasn’t a new experience. But this was the first time I’d felt this: a sense of peace. Of protectiveness. The sense that this was the guy, and he was going to take care of me.

“Like the stars, your love should be a constant source of light, and like the earth, a firm foundation from which to grow.”

His kiss was firm but gentle; he didn’t try to sneak in some tongue or force a passionate response. It was a brush of lips, followed by a settling of his mouth on mine. A perfect staged kiss. So there was absolutely no reason for my heart to be thudding in my chest like that. There was no call for my senses to be filled with him, with the scent of leather and warm skin, the gentle rasp of his beard against my cheek and his fingertips skimming my jaw.

This was all fake. I knew that. He wasn’t a pirate. There was no ship to take me back to. He was a high school English teacher in a costume, and I was the snarky thorn in his side. He was probably doing all of this to make me uncomfortable so I would tell him to knock it off. Then he could later reprimand me for breaking character. Instead fire pooled low in my belly and my mind filled with the image of us in the moonlight on the deck of a pirate ship. The creaking of the wood, the breeze off the water. His hand touching my face, the warmth of his skin against mine.

“Well, love. I’d be fighting for you.” His mouth was so, so close to mine, and his voice was low, almost gravelly, like he was telling me a reluctant secret. “That would be a fight worth winning.”

“I didn’t come here to fight with you!” I had to laugh at that, but it sounded more like a scoff. “Of course you did. What else would you want to do with me?” His eyes flared, and oh, no. I really hadn’t meant to say that. Before I could blink he had stepped closer, impossibly closer, crowding me against the bar. I barely had time to draw a startled breath as he took my face between his hands and his mouth came down on mine. Holy shit, Simon Graham was kissing me.

This was nothing like the staged kiss we’d shared during the handfasting ceremony. This kiss was determined—hot and purposeful. Simon had run out of words for his argument and had decided to use his mouth in a different way. He kissed me like he had something to prove.

How had the sound of his voice gone from annoying to arousing so fast? Maybe I was still oxygen deprived.

The dead are held in such high esteem that we only remember the good things, and we not only forgive their faults but we forget them.

“You can come again, love. I know you can.” It wasn’t a question. Not a request.

He never did turn on the light that night, but I didn’t mind. Everything I needed was easy to find in the dark.

Seeing him today had lit up things in me that I hadn’t even realized were dark, and all my doubt had fallen away once he walked through the door.

I could never get over how many colors were in his eyes. From a distance, they looked like a plain brown, almost dull, but up close they were a riot of color. He was my very own pointillist painting.

“Wooed,” he repeated, punctuating the word with a kiss on my other cheek. “Courted. Swept off your feet. Had someone show you how you make him feel.” “I . . . I can’t say that I have.” That was an understatement. “Then brace yourself.” He straightened up and backed away from me a step or two. “I’m going to woo your ass off.”

He was a completely different person in the costume and persona of a pirate. But the great thing for me was I now found both men equally compelling.

“What, because I’ve known Simon longer?” She scoffed. “Please. Wenches before . . . well, something that refers to guys that rhymes with ‘wenches.’” She grinned at me, and I managed a watery laugh.