Almost Married Read online

  Table of Contents

  Almost Married

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Almost Married

  The Clover Park STUDS Series, Book 2

  © 2015 Kylie Gilmore

  Brains vs brawn in an epic smackdown…

  Stephanie Moore’s boyfriend, the sweetly sexy math teacher, Dave Olsen, has husband material written all over him. One teensy problem—she’s still technically married. When she demands a divorce from the rock star husband she hasn’t seen in five years, he shows up on her doorstep wanting a second chance.

  Dave is so in love with Steph, he’s already researching diamond rings. If only he didn’t have to compete with the famous Griffin Huntley. Griffin is going all out to win Steph back, and Dave plans to fight for his woman. A mathlete vs. a rock star? Statistically speaking—oh, the hell with it. Game on!

  Author’s Note

  Welcome to Clover Park where everyone gets lucky! To find out more about Barry, Dave, Will, Ian and all the other sexy, sweet heroes sweeping women off their feet in Clover Park, check out the rest of the books in the Clover Park STUDs series and the connected Clover Park series (each is a standalone story set in the same world):

  Almost in Love (Book 1)

  Almost Married (Book 2)

  Almost Over It (Book 3)

  Almost Romance (Book 4)

  Almost Hitched (Book 5)

  And don’t miss the Clover Park series:

  The Opposite of Wild (Book 1)

  Daisy Does It All (Book 2)

  Bad Taste in Men (Book 3)

  Kissing Santa (Book 4)

  Restless Harmony (Book 5)

  Not My Romeo (Book 6)

  Rev Me Up (Book 7)

  An Ambitious Engagement (Book 8)

  Clutch Player (Book 9)

  A Tempting Friendship (Book 10)

  Sign up for my newsletter to be emailed when the next book releases.

  Visit http://www.kyliegilmore.com for more fun stuff.

  Find me on Facebook and Twitter.

  Chapter One

  Stephanie Moore's boyfriend of six weeks was a perfect gentleman. It was time to fix that.

  “You could spend the night tonight,” Steph whispered in Dave Olsen’s ear as they slow danced at her friend Amber Lewis’s (now Lewis-Furnukle) wedding reception. They were in a gorgeous mansion owned by the town of Clover Park, Connecticut, that was frequently rented out for special events.

  Dave startled at her words, veering right suddenly and stomping on her foot.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry!”

  Steph cringed and stepped out of the danger zone. The man was a solid six foot two, and her poor toes couldn’t take much more “dancing” with him.

  “Could you get me more champagne?” she asked. “No, make it vodka.”

  “No problem,” he said, pushing up his black-rimmed glasses. “Be right back.” He stopped suddenly and kissed her cheek. “Sorry about all the toe crunching.”

  She waved that away. “No worries.”

  He left to get her drink. Steph took a seat with a sigh, smoothed out her lavender bridesmaid dress, and watched Amber and Bare slow dancing. No toe crunching there. They moved beautifully together. Bare whispered something in Amber’s ear, and she giggled. Steph wondered what it would take to get Dave to step it up a notch in the sex department, as in, maybe they could have some. At thirty-two, Steph was way past playing hard-to-get, and Dave, at thirty, really should’ve taken the hint by now. Subtlety seemed to be lost on him. She’d resorted to cleavage-revealing tops and multiple (casual) peek-a-boo bend-overs both for the frontal and rear views, with no effect. And when she’d grabbed his ass a few times during some marathon makeout sessions, he’d merely chuckled. Not exactly the effect she’d been going for.

  Dave returned to her side with a glass of champagne and a vodka with lime. Thank God. She downed the vodka.

  “Is that for you?” she asked, pointing to the champagne.

  “I wasn’t sure which one you wanted, so I got both.” He took the seat next to her. “I’m not having anything since I’m driving.”

  Steph downed the champagne too. Unfortunately, while it did help her forget about her poor crushed toes stuffed into silver Louboutin stilettos, it also had the effect of making her horny. She looked at Dave, who returned her gaze steadily. He had beautiful deep blue eyes behind those black-rimmed glasses. He was a middle school math teacher—a sweet, geeky, perfect gentleman. Dave was definitely not her usual type. But when he kissed her, he put heart and soul into it, and it was scorching hot. She’d found that out after their first date. The problem was—his hands never roamed. She would really like them to roam. It had been too long she’d gone untouched. So long she was almost pure again. A virgin in reverse. She giggled to herself.

  “Would you like to dance again?” he asked. “I’m better at the slow songs.”

  “That’s not saying much,” she blurted. Inhibitions down, honesty up.

  He frowned, and she kissed that frowny face. “Let’s do the no-pants boogie,” she said.

  At his confused expression, she made a small poke-the-finger-in-the-hole-multiple-times gesture at him. Still confused. The hell with subtlety. “Let’s do it.”

  His eyes widened behind his glasses. “You mean like…” His face flushed, and he glanced around at the people dancing nearby. “Like, right now?”

  She smiled at him dreamily, running her fingers through the silky dark brown hair at the nape of his neck. “Yes.”

  He tugged on his tie. “But wouldn't you be more comfortable in a bed?”

  Dave was so sweet, thinking of her comfort. She nipped his earlobe, and he jolted.

  “After the reception, okay?” she whispered in his ear before she licked his earlobe and blew lightly across it. He held himself very still, and she wasn’t sure if she’d pushed him away or reeled him in. “A bed sounds great,” she added.

  “That would be acceptable to me as well,” he said in a strained voice.

  Just then the reception got rowdy as a disco ball spun and the DJ blasted “Saturday Night Fever” by the Bee Gees. She laughed, watching Bare’s antics with his John Travolta imitation. The man was a natural performer. He grabbed Amber and spun her onto the dance floor with him. Everyone flocked to join them.

  “Come on,” she said, slipping off her heels.

  Dave followed her onto the dance floor, giving her lots of space as she danced with one finger pointing up and down in the air. He smiled, just watching her. She boogied all around him, using him much like a stripper pole. This works much better, she thought, less toe crunching. One disco song followed another and Dave made an excellent pole—sturdy, steady, warm. She was all over him, spinning around him, leaning into him, hanging off him, wrapping her leg around his and swaying. But then “YMCA” by The Village People played, and she had to stop working the pole to do the hand motions.

  She’d just gotten to the “A” when he took her hands in his, bringing them down from over her head to the front of her. “Steph, meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  She smiled and kept dancing. “Thanks, Dave!” she hollered over the music. She did the Y again and the M, missed the C, and jumped in again with the A.

  “I really mean that.” A lock of hair fell over his forehead.

  She smiled and pushed his hair back into its side part
just as the song hit the chorus. The crowd joined in, singing at the top of their lungs, drowning out Dave’s next words.

  “What? I can't hear you!” Steph shouted above the crowd.

  “I said I love you!” he shouted.

  “Oh!” She stopped dancing in her surprise. Before she could reply, he kissed her. His hands cradled her face as his mouth claimed hers in that slow, thorough way of his. The rowdy music and dancing faded away as heat flooded her. His tongue mated with hers, and she fisted her hands in his hair, wishing fervently his hands would move to other very interested parts of her body.

  He released her, and she gazed at him—at his side part, his sweet turned-on face, right down to his navy suit with the New Balance sneakers. Through the haze of champagne and vodka and lust, it hit her with the same shock as her evil cat, Loki, leaping on her head in the middle of the night. Dave was a keeper. She loved him.

  She opened her mouth to tell him so. He put his finger to her lips. “You don't have to say anything. I don't expect you to say it just because I did. I just wanted you to know.”

  She bit his finger.

  “Ow!”

  “I love you too, you big dork.” That earned her another kiss.

  Dave pulled back, and they gazed into each other's eyes. She beamed at him.

  He grinned. “Fantastic.”

  “Yes!” Then she danced some more, using him as her personal stripper pole again. She was five foot ten and loved that she could actually look up at him without the heels. It made her feel less Amazon-like. He watched her with half-hooded eyes. She couldn’t wait for after the reception. She was sure Dave would be just as slow and thorough in bed as he was when he kissed her. That could be very, very good. Many disco songs and a lot of champagne later, she left the reception hand-in-hand with Dave.

  She floated on a happy cloud as Dave pulled her along to his car, practically running. Boy, someone was in a hurry. She giggled to herself. Something was nagging at her brain. Like a hornet circling her head, waiting to sting. Something she needed to tell Dave.

  She frowned. Griffin. She needed to tell him about Griffin.

  Dave opened the car door for her, but before she could get in, he pressed her against the side of the car and gave her a scorching kiss that made her want to rip his suit off and muss up his neat hair. Just when she was wrapping her leg around his, he broke the kiss.

  She put her leg down. “I like your enthusiasm,” she told him, planting a smacking kiss on his clean-shaven cheek. He turned, meeting her lips for another scorching kiss, and she forgot all about Griffin.

  He stepped back, and she wobbled a bit.

  His eyebrows scrunched down adorably. “How much have you had to drink?”

  She'd lost count. This lovely tuxedoed waiter had been hovering around the dance floor. He always seemed to be there when her glass was empty. “Mostly champagne. I'm fine. Let's go back to my place. It’s time you saw the inside.” She giggled over her little joke. Dave would see the inside of her apartment and her. Yay!

  He nodded slowly, looking a little too serious for her giddy state. He loved her! She loved him! Tonight was the night!

  They drove the few blocks to an old Victorian in Clover Park that had been converted into apartments. She grabbed his hand and led him to her upstairs apartment. Once inside, she launched herself into his arms. “Take me, Dave, I'm yours.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Dave groaned as he wrapped his arms around Steph and wished he didn't have a conscience. He'd been hard from the moment he’d seen Steph in this curve-fitting dress with the stiletto heels. His eyes had done multiple tours of her ample cleavage, her narrow waist, and the curve of her hips leading down to those long legs in stilettos. Honestly, he’d been hard from the very first moment they met at that teachers’ conference. Steph taught fifth grade and had attended his workshop on preparing fifth graders for middle school with the new math standards. Steph was gorgeous—long, silky brown hair, hazel eyes, full pouty lips, and that body. Any guy would want her. But the biggest turn-on for him was her brain. Steph had graduated summa cum laude from Columbia, which meant an SAT score above 2100. Their children would be beautiful and smart.

  But he’d taken things slow because, after a few encounters in his past that left him feeling unsatisfied, he’d decided he would only sleep with a woman if they loved each other. Not like when he’d slept with Sherri after two dates, only to discover her divorce was actually a separation that her husband was unaware they were having. And definitely not like when he’d been the rebound guy for Lisa, which he’d discovered after a hot all-night marathon of sex. She’d informed him in a note on his nightstand that he’d been the perfect antidote to her ex’s sleaziness, and her faith in men had been restored. Nice guy strikes again, he thought wryly. He’d restored her faith so well that she’d left him and ventured back into the dating pool.

  In any case, waiting for a meaningful encounter hadn’t been too difficult. He tended to collect more women friends than girlfriends because he was the guy women confided in but didn't feel that way about. Tonight, to his delight, he’d discovered that what he’d hoped for between him and Steph was, in fact, true.

  She was smiling up at him, waiting he supposed for him to “take” her, but her eyes weren’t focused, and her speech earlier had been slightly slurred. He stroked her hair and let himself imagine for a moment her hair spread out on a pillow as he drove into her. He clamped down on that thought. Ice bath, infinite snowballs heading his way, parent-teacher conferences. That worked. He loved his job, even loved the rowdy middle school students, but dealing with the parents, especially those that didn't understand why Bobby couldn't get an A without turning in any homework, were the worst part of his job.

  Gently, he set Steph a foot away from him. He looked around her apartment for the first time. He’d declined Steph’s previous invitations to come up for a cup of coffee, which always followed a goodnight kiss while she squeezed his ass, because he wanted to be sure it was more than a one-time hookup. Finally, they were on the same page. If only Steph wasn’t sloshed when he’d discovered she loved him too. Steph’s apartment looked like those Pottery Barn catalogs his sister was forever poring over—wood coffee table with a silver bowl full of fake oranges, a red velvet blanket thrown over one side of a beige sofa.

  He reached down to stroke a gray tabby cat that was rubbing against his leg. Steph's dress hit the floor. He jerked upright.

  She was killing him. She looked like a lingerie model—light purple strapless bra with matching lace panties, still wearing the heels that screamed I am very fuckable. Her words rang through his head, Take me, take me, take me.

  He grabbed the blanket from the sofa and covered her with it, wishing with every fiber of his being that he’d taken the opportunity to get her into bed before. He mentally slapped himself. What had he been thinking? Who cared about meaningful sex when a guy like him had a chance with a stunning (and smart) woman like her? For a smart guy, that had been a really stupid move.

  “Da-aa-ave, I’m too hot for a blanket,” she said as he guided her toward a half-open door that he figured was her bedroom.

  “I know.”

  Ice and snow, ice and snow.

  He gently pushed her onto the bed. The blanket parted in front, and he focused on her feet. Those slender feet in heels.

  “I love you, David Olsen,” Steph said in a soft breathy voice that made him break out in a sweat.

  Maybe he could sober her up with coffee. He berated himself for bringing her that vodka when she’d asked. He glanced up at her face. Her eyes were already closing.

  “I love you too,” he said in a husky voice.

  He pulled off the heels and stroked the top of her feet, feeling guilty about the red marks from the toe-stepping he’d done on the dance floor. She stretched out those long legs and sighed. He bit back a groan.

  “I have to tell you about…” She curled up on her side, giving him an eyeful of curvy ass in lace panties.
Just kill him now.

  He yanked the comforter over her. “About what? Steph?”

  She was sound asleep.

  It sucked to be a gentleman.

  Chapter Two

  Steph stepped into her friend Jasmine Davis’s apartment the next day, still battling a headache from a raging hangover, and announced, “I need a divorce.”

  Jaz’s mouth dropped open in a perfect O of surprise. She pulled Steph in and settled with her on the black leather sofa. “Back it up. Say what? I didn't know you were married!”

  Steph grimaced over Jaz’s volume. “Technically, I am.”

  Her friend crinkled her nose. “Does your boyfriend know?”

  “You see the problem.”

  Jaz’s brown eyes looked huge. “Uh, yeah?”

  Jaz was a super-expressive, super-animated person. Maybe not the best choice to confide in on a hangover day, but Amber had already left for a quick honeymoon weekend getaway to Cape May. So that left Jaz. Jaz and Amber were the only two in the world she could trust with this delicate situation.

  “So what’s your husband think of your boyfriend and vice versa?” Jaz asked. “I like your berry lipstick, by the way.”

  Steph shook her head and instantly regretted the movement. “Thanks. I tried to tell Dave last night, but things got a little hazy after the vodka and the champagne.” And the kissing, she added silently.

  Jaz tucked a leg under her. “I told you to slow down on the champagne.”

  Steph blinked. She'd been so wrapped up in Dave, she hadn't spent much time with Jaz at the reception. Bare and Amber had invited the entire cast and crew from the Eastman summer community theater where they’d first gotten together. Steph usually played in the chorus, and Jaz was the choreographer. The two women had become closer over this past summer as Jaz transitioned from the grueling routine of constant auditioning and dancing for on- and off-Broadway shows to opening her own dance studio for kids in Clover Park, where she grew up.

  “I have no memory of that,” Steph said, rubbing her forehead. “Did you have a good time last night? Meet anyone?”