Trusting his Heart Read online

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Bad Boys and Good Men Series

  A Moment in Time

  Not a moment too soon

  Truth and consequences

  His truth

  Sun through clouds

  Close enough to touch

  Taking things slow

  Fall in love

  Secure in love

  Everything

  Reason to live

  Trust the head or heart

  Wait, there’s more

  Choose your own Dirty Sexy Fantasy series

  Trusting His Heart

  BAD BOYS & GOOD MEN SHORT NOVEL SERIES

  KENNA SHAW REED

  Copyright © 2017 by Kenna Shaw-Reed

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover: Megan J Parker-Squiers

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously.

  This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language which may be considered offensive by some readers. This book is strictly intended for those over the age of 18. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual.

  Follow me on Facebook and subscribe to my newsletter to get offers including free promotional extracts on my next books.

  And remember to leave a review on Amazon/Kindle. I want to make you satisfied, and to do that I need to know what turned you on. K

  Thank you to my amazing beta readers – Tabitha, Trish and Sharon. Tabitha - I now know the term ‘bucks weekend’ is only understood in Australia. To Trish and Sharon – thank you for making sure I keep the writing real and insisting on lunches where you know when to encourage me and when to kick my …

  Thank you to my sisters and children for believing in me and supporting my Plan B.

  For Mr Shaw Reed. The love of my life who taught me to believe in happily ever after.

  Preface

  Women can see the good in men even when the man they love can’t recognize it in themselves. They reach out, learn to love the man and hope one day he can be the man she trusts is hidden inside.

  It isn’t about hoping the man will change for love. Rather, she waits for the man who allows love to let him be the man he always was.

  Bad Boys and Good Men Series

  I know you can’t resist my bad boys and have fallen in love with the good men in the Choose Your Own Dirty Sexy Fantasy series. Now meet them again, one man per short novel with one last chance at love. All levels of steam.

  A Moment in Time

  Whoever said time heals all wounds was a jerk, Professor Geoffrey Swains thought as he struggled with his suitcase. Many years ago, he found his life’s love. She had been cruelly taken from him with scars still so fresh, he never sought the courage or the willingness to open his heart again.

  With his luggage now packed, he took a last look around his office. The invitation taunting him on the desk. He should have burnt the envelope the moment it tore him apart. Instead, his secretary found the embossed card at the bottom of his in-tray.

  “Professor, you should be proud they want to celebrate your career.”

  “Then book me some video chats. I don’t want to go.”

  “Why not?”

  Why, indeed. Normally he appreciated the way she organized his life, but she didn’t know the significance behind this invitation and he lacked the composure to explain. Instead, he offered a feeble excuse, “It’s too much time away from class – I’ll spend most of my time on a plane between Australia and Boston.”

  Ever helpful, she approached the Vice Chancellor who jumped at the chance to promote both the Professor and the university.

  Resigned to his fate, he accepted the invitation to return to the States, to receive a ten-year commemoration of his break through work in economics. The reputation building work that some said should have resulted in a Nobel Prize.

  The university decided to host a celebratory reception and farewell drinks before he escaped to the airport.

  Geoffrey picked up and kissed the small photo from its discrete place on his desk. The woman, thin and pale, rugged up in a thick parka and beanie smiling in his arms. His thick dark hair windswept, his dark eyes not looking at the camera but closed as he kissed the top of her head. A treasured moment from one of their last magical days. Replacing the photo, he glanced at the desk calendar turning out the light. 26 November. On 14 December, it would be ten years - ten lonely years since he lost the love of his life and turned into a man his wife would never recognize or want for him to be.

  He locked away the memories and the feelings still too fresh and forced himself to become the brash, confident, Professor Swains for another hour or two for the university elite. Two weeks of functions overseas marking the ten-year anniversary of his academic successes before he blanked out a week of his schedule. Seven days alone to grieve and mark his own anniversary.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention, please?” Of course, Vice Chancellor Rigby would have to make a speech. Geoffrey had never known a finer man or a better friend. The two couples had once been close friends, before Geoffrey closed himself to the pity and sympathy by hiding from the world of couples. At least Rigby would be sensitive to the other anniversary.

  “I have known the esteemed Geoffrey Swains for decades and regret to say, I am but one of his many friends and peers who didn’t realize the greatness he kept hidden during our wild student days and early academic careers. Back then, Geoffrey found passion in rugby, rowing and only turned up to lectures because the only alternative was finding a real job.”

  Geoffrey chuckled to himself as he saw the looks on the audience as they tried to imagine the world famous Professor Swains as a mere mortal student or aspiring academic such as themselves. Behind every successful Vice Chancellor hid a frustrated stage performer. With a captive audience, Rigby hit his stride, mocking Geoffrey as only old friends and respected peers could do. Formal functions normally bored Geoffrey, especially when he was the center of attention, but he found Rigby’s banter harmless and even fun to return if given the chance.

  “Geoffrey, the work we are celebrating changed the course of our research. You probably still find great humor in knowing some of us here today – myself included –were forced to trash partially completed thesis and start again because your work proved us wrong before we had a chance to show how brilliant we were.” Rigby waited for the laughter to subside.

  “It is totally appropriate you return to the scene of your crime against us,” Rigby paused, “Of course, I mean, to the scene of your accomplishments, to receive whatever gongs, awards and tributes they want to bestow on you.”

  Geoffrey thought the speech ended. Not as painful as he feared. Glasses were filled and raised all around. One toast and he’d make his excuses and leave – after all airport security would take hours to clear.

  “Geoffrey, I have known you as a friend and colleague more than half our lives. As a colleague, and now as your Vice Chancellor, on behalf of the university I commend you for your achievements past and present. I thank you for your continued work here at the university and on behalf of the many students you have supported, mentored and cajoled towards their own brilliance, I thank you again.

  “As your friend, well,” Rigby wouldn’t, would he? Geoffrey’s throat tightened. Muscles froze. Breath held. Surely, Rigby wouldn’t go there. Not now, not without warning - he wouldn’t expose Geoffrey’s private pain to the crowd.
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br />   “I know success has not come without personal loss, I mean cost. Ten years and yet it still seems like yesterday when you arrived back from the States.” The two friends shared a long glance, oblivious to the audience starting to fidget, waiting for the opportunity to finish the toast. Geoffrey knew what Rigby wanted to say. Instead, face flushed, Rigby faced the front and choked, “To Geoffrey Swains, to ten years.”

  Turning back to Geoffrey, he raised his glass again and in low tones enough for Geoffrey’s ears only, “To Rachel.”

  The next hours leaving the reception and getting to the airport were a blur. “To Rachel,” burned in his ears and reverberating in the chasm of his heart. As if every day wasn’t for Rachel, with him thinking of her, missing her. As if every night he didn’t wish Rachel still lay in his arms, his bed, his life.

  Reclining back in seat, waiting for the final aircraft safety checks to be completed, Geoffrey allowed himself to remember back ten years. One hundred and twenty months since he held her as the doctors told them all options had been exhausted.

  Ten years since he tried to distract himself from his fear of losing her by scratching thoughts on random pieces of paper while she lay in a hospital bed.

  Ten years since she opened her eyes after days of unconsciousness and they enjoyed one last day together. He hoped the day was the beginning of her recovery. He prayed she would prove the experts they had consulted from all over the world, were wrong.

  The nurses fussed over them, the doting husband and his sick wife, gently warning him not to leave anything unsaid. They brought in her favorite music and he read aloud her favorite works from Jane Austin.

  Every moment of the day filled with reliving their life together, from the first day she saw him at high school, to the day she was diagnosed, and they fell asleep wet with each other’s tears.

  She told him to always remember her but to find love again. He begged her not to leave him. Insisted he didn’t want and couldn’t live without her.

  “Geoff, you need to accept this.”

  “No. There is another clinic in Germany, I’m waiting on them to return my call.”

  “Geoff, we have tried everything. It was always going to be a longshot, and you have already given up so much for me. It’s time to let go, to let me go.”

  “Sweetheart, save your breath and strength. We will keep fighting.”

  “Mrs Swains, can I have a moment with your husband?” The doctor, always interrupting. Okay, Geoffrey admitted at the time, the doctor was the world-renowned oncologist and agreed to treat Rachel twelve months previously when the Australian surgeons gave her less than six months.

  They left Australia against medical advice and put themselves in the hands of Professor David. In the twelve months, they witnessed the miracle recovery and remission of other patients, some far worse than Rachel.

  He gave them hope when they had none. No amount of money or gift was enough to reward Professor David for this bonus, stolen year together.

  “Geoff, how are you doing?” The concern as genuine as their friendship. Twelve months of invitations to share Sunday roast with Professor David’s family and Geoffrey bringing back left overs to share with Rachel. For months, she loved the left over roast potato and pumpkin dipped in the rich, brown gravy.

  When she stopped eating the leftovers, he stopped going over for dinner. What would be the point?

  “Geoff? You need to talk to someone.”

  “I’m waiting to hear from Germany.”

  “They called me.” Professor David motioned Geoffrey to sit down in the corridor outside Rachel’s room. Geoffrey resisted, knowing good news would have been given in front of Rachel, yet he needed to hear the truth if only to start looking for other options, other cures. From his seat, he managed to still see her through the glass door, so small in the big hospital bed. Covered in blankets to keep her fragile frame warm.

  “And?” Geoffrey already knew before he heard the words.

  “You know the odds were already against her when she was diagnosed. We have done the chemo wash more times than recommended, buying her the months you wanted.” Geoffrey shook his head, denying the words even though he knew them to be true.

  “There is nothing more we can do.” Professor David paused to allow the news to sink in. “Germany would have stopped the washes after the second time.”

  “What now?” Again, Geoffrey already knew the answer but needed to hear the words from someone else. He didn’t have the strength to give his wife her death sentence.

  “Geoffrey, she’s stopped eating, the pain is getting harder to manage. If it wasn’t for her love for you, she would have let go months ago. We have kept fighting for her, because she knows you aren’t ready to let her go.”

  Tears welled in Geoffrey’s eyes. Damn it, he wouldn’t allow the himself to cry. He had to be the strong one, strong enough to save her.

  “What can I do? I will do anything to save her, doc,” he begged “Please, doc, just tell me what to do.”

  Geoffrey hoped the passion of his plea would change the news. Instead, his friend, Rachel’s doctor, struggled with his own composure.

  “Geoff, you need to love her enough to let her go. Tell her she can let go. She has fought and suffered enough, it’s time but she needs your permission.”

  For her final hours, he stroked the thin strands left of her hair. Kissed every part of her thin white hand and arms. He sang her favorite tunes and held her hand as she took her last breath.

  Ten years. How did life continue for ten years without her?

  The scratching’s on paper written in the dead of night as he sat by her side became his greatest thesis, published weeks before her death.

  Feted by universities across the world, Geoffrey accepted every invitation, preferring the applause of strangers to the pity in the eyes of his friends, her friends and family.

  The man who returned to Australia a year later was unrecognizable.

  The soft and gentle nature had been lost in the vicious fight against the disease. His previous patience with students became a challenge to them to excel or quit. He now inspired brilliance and unwittingly became the drawcard for the best and brightest students from across the globe. If they survived Professor Swains, their degrees truly meant something.

  As for love, he didn’t expect or want to find it again.

  Rachel could be replaced in his bed but never his heart.

  A series of monogamous yet inappropriate relationships with students was enough to stop his friends and their wives from trying to “help him find happiness again”.

  What did they know about happiness? They were the ones who thought him mad to put his career on hold as they travelled looking for a cure.

  Rachel. He had survived ten years without Rachel.

  Geoffrey downed a shot of bourbon as the plane rose into the sky, heading back to the States and the anniversary of his work published.

  Ten years seemed like yesterday.

  Not a moment too soon

  If the cab didn’t arrive in the next five minutes, he would find it impossible to get to the airport, clear customs and escape back home.

  Two weeks of dinners celebrating the last ten years of his work. Toasts by former students, now accomplished academics and business people in their own right.

  In truth, he never considered his impact on others. Yet in speech after speech, he heard a consistent theme. In his grief and anger, he inspired his students to rise to the challenges he set. The more impossible the task, the more they thought he believed in them.

  He considered himself an uncaring jerk. They remembered him as a wonderful teacher and mentor.

  For the last week, he joined Professor David at the lake house. Surprisingly, they remained in touch over the years, always around 14 December, the anniversary of Rachel’s death. There would be the occasional phone call, usually a message on Geoffrey’s answering machine.

  Seven days of fishing and drinking.

  “Sh
e would kick your butt if she saw you now.” Trapped in a small boat on the lake, drunk and now the normally quiet oncologist was full of unsolicited advice.

  “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “If she saw you, one stupid blonde on your arm after another, she would kick your butt.”

  “They aren’t all blonde.”

  “But they are stupid.”

  “If they are in my class, they are not stupid. Have another drink and shut up.” Geoffrey threw another bottle of beer at his friend.

  The two friends sat and drank, each holding their own silent counsel.

  Every year, Geoffrey chose one student. Usually a blonde, but there was a smattering of brunettes as well. Typically, a girl away from home who needed help finding her feet in university life.

  “I’m not a bastard. They know what they are getting into – and I make sure they are completely satisfied.”

  “You dump them after a year – how can they be satisfied?”

  “I never make them promises. My money buys gifts instead of stupid words of love.”

  “And then what?”

  “I point out they deserve someone closer to their own age – remind them they deserve someone who can love and appreciate them.”

  “Don’t tell me they fall for that old line?”

  “It gets better,” Geoffrey chuckled, “I tell them I’m too old to change, but if ever I thought it possible, they would be the one.”

  Prof wouldn’t believe if he admitted to having ongoing friendships and even collaborated on research papers with some former lovers.

  Without love complicating the relationships, he found it easy to become friends.

  They sat again, waiting for the non-existent fish to bite.

  “As a friend, you are never going to find another Rachel in your class.” Professor David broke the silence with unsolicited common sense.