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Back First Comes Love Save as PDF
Chapters (92)
  1. First
  2. Love Connection
  3. Zero
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. One Month Later
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Six Months Later
  21. Sixteen
  22. Seventeen
  23. Eighteen
  24. Nineteen
  25. Twenty
  26. Twenty-one
  27. Twenty-two
  28. Twenty-three
  29. Twenty-four
  30. Six Months Later
  31. Twenty-five
  32. Twenty-six
  33. Twenty-seven
  34. Twenty-eight
  35. Twenty-nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-one
  38. Thirty-two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. I Have Never
  41. One
  42. Two
  43. Three
  44. Four
  45. Five
  46. Six
  47. Seven
  48. Eight
  49. Nine
  50. Ten
  51. Eleven
  52. Twelve
  53. Thirteen
  54. Fourteen
  55. Fifteen
  56. Sixteen
  57. Seventeen
  58. Eighteen
  59. Nineteen
  60. Twenty
  61. Twenty-one
  62. Twenty-two
  63. A Christmas Date
  64. One
  65. Two
  66. Three
  67. Four
  68. Five
  69. Six
  70. Seven
  71. Eight
  72. Nine
  73. Ten
  74. Eleven
  75. Twelve
  76. Thirteen
  77. Fourteen
  78. Fifteen
  79. Sixteen
  80. Seventeen
  81. Eighteen
  82. Nineteen
  83. Twenty
  84. Twenty-one
  85. Twenty-two
  86. Note from the Author
  87. Sneak Peek – To the Stars and Back
  88. Two
  89. Three
  90. Four
  91. Also by Camilla Isley
  92. About the Author

Still not used to the key card or the driving system, I pull away from Lana’s house in understated silence. The rumbling engine of the Ferrari would’ve made for a much more dramatic exit.

Three

Lana

I shouldn’t have given him my number.

“Call me if you ever need an aerospace consultancy.”

So lame. What was I thinking?

You were pissed and feeling a little vindictive toward your jackass of a boyfriend, so you gave the cute guy your number.

Cute. The guy isn’t cute, he’s trouble. Eyes too green, face too handsome, smile too dashing. Not to talk about the half British accent. Right, too much on my plate already.

Ah.

Fury mixes with bitterness as I yank another of John’s shirts off its hanger and curl it into a tight ball. When the fabric is all crumpled, I stuff the shirt in the open suitcase on the bed.

Johnathan likes his work shirts to be starched, pristine, and crisp. No one hates creases more than he does.

Aha.

Vengeful delight fills me as I grab the last dry-cleaned shirt and cram it messily next to the others in the case.

Never had more fun packing! Right! Tears threaten to start spilling again, but I fight them back and focus on taking out my rage on John’s clothes.

Cengel must’ve sensed something is wrong, because he appears in the bedroom and jumps on the bed with a long meow.

“No, darling, Mom’s not okay.”

He bumps his head against my thigh and I scratch him behind the ears. But feline empathy only goes so far. Cengel soon loses interest in me and eyes the open suitcase with keenness.

If there’s something John hates more than wrinkled clothes, it’s clothes coated in cat hair. We used to have countless arguments about keeping the cats out of the bedroom—and the bedroom closet in particular. Especially when we were packing for a trip and unattended, open suitcases were left lying around. Apparently, luggage, like boxes, is a premium napping location for kitties, even more so once they sensed case-sleeping was a big no-no for their humans.

“Go ahead, then,” I tell Cengel.

He eyes me surreptitiously.

“No, it’s not too good to be true. Mommy is being serious; you can sleep in the case.”

As if to test me, the cat places both his front paws on the brim of the suitcase. When I don’t protest, he dives in, kneads Johnathan’s clothes, purring loudly, and finally settles down.

His twin, probably sensing a great injustice was taking place, hops on the bed only a few minutes later. He throws his brother a dirty look and then stares up at me accusingly.

“You can sleep in the case, too,” I reassure Boles. “Let me pad the other side for you.”