Six Weeks

By Nan Comargue

FROM POPULAR ROMANCE AUTHOR NAN COMARGUE

Jaya's relationships never last more than six weeks. Austen wants to be her forever.

Six weeks is the outer limit for one of Jaya's relationships. When men find out there is no future with her, they tend not to stick around for long.

She's gotten into the habit of leaning on her cousin Austen to get over each breakup. Who better? Austen is six feet three of solid sympathy. Both adopted into the same extended family at young ages, they've been friends their whole lives, with a mutual taste for good food and expensive whisky. But when Jaya takes her latest failed romance to him, Austen makes it clear his interest in her is far from cousinly.

“Think about me,” Austen tells her, and Jaya starts to do just that. No doubt, Austen is incredibly attractive, and she can't say she's not curious to find out what he's like in bed, but can their bond survive this new test?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing
• Release date: Feb 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781839435775

Nan Comargue

Nan Comargue is a romance and erotic romance writer who has been reading romance novels all her life. She prefers sexy confident heroes who win over slightly introverted heroines (read: nerdish types) but she writes about everything from angel-warriors to cowboy ménage. Nan blogs about her writing journey and other interesting topics (zombies!) here but lately she tweets more than she blogs (and sometimes more than she writes). Nan is Canadian, eh?

Book preview

Totally Bound Publishing books by Nan Comargue

Single Books

Captive Angel

The Gamble

Snow Fire

Rock Star

Darker Nights

Brother’s Keeper

Hot for the Professor

The Girlfriend Experience

Anthologies

At Your Service: A Lady for Two

Boots, Chaps and Cowboy Hats: Three to Feud

Seasonal Collections

Wanton Witches: Sudden Storm

SIX WEEKS

NAN COMARGUE

Six Weeks

ISBN # 978-1-83943-577-5

©Copyright Nan Comargue 2022

Cover Art by Erin Dameron-Hill ©Copyright February 2022

Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

Totally Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2022 by Totally Bound Publishing, United Kingdom.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.

Totally Bound Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this stripped book.

Jaya’s relationships never last more than six weeks. Austen wants to be her forever.

Six weeks is the outer limit for one of Jaya’s relationships. When men find out there is no future with her, they tend not to stick around for long.

She’s gotten into the habit of leaning on her cousin Austen to get over each breakup. Who better? Austen is six feet three of solid sympathy. Both adopted into the same extended family at young ages, they’ve been friends their whole lives, with a mutual taste for good food and expensive whisky. But when Jaya takes her latest failed romance to him, Austen makes it clear his interest in her is far from cousinly.

Think about me, Austen tells her, and Jaya starts to do just that. No doubt, Austen is incredibly attractive, and she can’t say she’s not curious to find out what he’s like in bed, but can their bond survive this new test?

Trademark Acknowledgements

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Survivor: CBS EYE Productions; Survivor Productions LLC; CBS Studios; Castaway Television Productions; and MGM Television

The Bachelor: Warner Bros. Entertainment

Toronto Life: St. Joseph Media

The Ritz: The Ritz-Carlton Hotel Company, LLC

Chapter One

Austen answered his phone on the first ring.

What do you need, kiddo?

Jaya paused, taken aback by the curt greeting. After a moment, she realised that he always answered his calls from her in the same way. What do you need? As if she could never just be calling for no reason at all.

Is that any way to greet your favourite cousin? she replied, forcing a bright note into her voice. You’re my favourite, you know.

As far as you know, you might have any number of cousins, Austen said coolly. How could you possibly claim to know I would be the favourite?

Because you’re the only one I’ve actually met, she wanted to tell him, although she understood the crude point he was trying to make. By blood, she was no cousin of his.

Jaya wished she owned one of those old-fashioned phones with the long curly cord so she could twine it between her fingers. Instead, she shifted her mobile from one sweaty hand to the other.

She wasn’t about to tell him that she couldn’t bear her own company tonight. She’d left work early, needing to get away from the high-energy actors she was constantly surrounded by, only to find that the so-called peace of her apartment was too oppressively quiet.

I thought we might grab a drink tonight, Jaya said, still striving to maintain her cheerful tone. It’s been a while.

Six weeks, Austen said. Right on schedule.

She remembered what he’d said the last time they’d met up. That she only called him when she broke up with someone. That, to her, he was no more than a shoulder attached to a man. A shoulder for her to cry on, presumably, although she never did cry. She merely got drunk.

Ha ha. Do you want the drink or not? Jaya demanded.

I have to get up early tomorrow, Austen told her, sounding uncharacteristically reluctant.

What is wrong with him? Jaya wondered, pulled out of her own problems for a brief moment. It had to be bad if he was turning down liquor. They both fancied themselves connoisseurs of the hard stuff. Neither of them drank wine or, shudder, beer.

I’ll get you home early, granddad, Jaya told him. So how about it? Nine o’clock at The Cat’s Whiskey?

All right, kiddo.

Shaking her head, Jaya hung up. He didn’t have to sound so bloody glum about the prospect.

* * * *

At nine-fifteen, Jaya was sitting all alone at the bar, nursing her very expensive drink and barely tasting it.

The Cat’s Whiskey was the kind of place she preferred, dimly lit and mellow, not too popular, yet possessing the finest spirits a lover of good liquor could desire. Wealthy retirees blended with depressed-looking young people who had to be rich themselves to afford even the most modest order. The prices were the reason she always came here with Austen or with dates she wanted to impress…or be impressed by.

She liked this bar and she was thoroughly failing to enjoy it.

Another five minutes and she was out of there.

Austen arrived four minutes later.

He stooped to kiss her cheek before settling onto the high bar stool next to hers. Sorry I’m late, kiddo.

That was it—a kiss and a casual apology. No explanation, Jaya noticed, though she’d been expecting a rather spectacular one. Austen was a lawyer and he was never late for a meeting.

As always, the bartender was quick to come up to take Austen’s order. Maybe it was his height—Austen was six-three—or his expensive clothes or simply his air of being in charge of the place, no matter where he was.

Must be nice to be him, Jaya often thought. She was five-six, a respectable height for a woman, but not exactly eye-catching. Her clothes were modest. On a theatre manager’s salary, they had to be. The only place she took charge was in the theatre and sometimes not even there.

If she was casting for a play, she would have put herself backstage. It was where she belonged, while Austen belonged not on a stage, but on a big screen where every aspect of his extraordinarily good looks could be properly appreciated.

Tanned, blond and blue-eyed. Yes, it must be very nice to be Austen King. Everything came so damn easily for him, while she had to work extra hard just to be taken seriously. It didn’t help that with rounded cheeks and big brown eyes, she looked younger than her twenty-eight years. Pinning up her long hair helped, but only a little. By mid-morning, her smooth updo was usually as frazzled as she was.

Feeling sorry for yourself? Austen asked after he’d put in his order.

For a second, Jaya thought he’d read her mind. Then she remembered his prediction. The next time she would call him, it would be because of yet another breakup.

Damn him for being right all the time. It was the most infuriating of his many annoying traits.

Well, Jaya figured, one of us might as well be happy.

George and I broke up.

Austen swirled the glass the bartender had delivered to him, admiring the colour for a moment. George? The politician?

Local councillor.

Right. He paused before he took a small sip of the whisky, held it in his mouth, and then swallowed, grimacing slightly. Wasn’t he married?

Still is, Jaya confirmed, but only unhappily.

Right, he said again.

He was holding out on her. Where was the sympathy, the worn adages about picking herself up and dusting her vagina off? She deserved better, there were plenty more dicks in the city, and so on.

Actually, he was legally separated from his wife, Jaya volunteered. And before you jump to conclusions, no, it wasn’t because of me.

Good, Austen said. Two separations to your credit are plenty, especially if you won’t even stick with the poor bastards afterwards.

Jaya scowled down into her empty glass, bringing the waiter over with the bottle. But who’s keeping count, right?

Right, he said once more.

That’s it. She thumped the top of the bar with her hand. What exactly is eating you, coz?

Austen didn’t scowl. His facial expressions were far more subtle. Yet she recognised his anger the moment she saw the tightness of his lips and jaw.

Don’t call me ‘coz’.

Okay, Mr. Austen Allan King, Esquire—she enunciated every syllable with cutting precision—what the fuck is your problem today?

He turned to face her, his eyes throwing out blue flames. "Have you considered that it’s not what’s eating me but what’s not eating me that’s the problem?"

Heat poured into Jaya’s cheeks. She’d half-expected some lame answer about a client or a court case or a judge, not this blatant admission of sexual frustration.

Talking about relationships was one thing—although Austen rarely discussed his, he was usually content to listen to her go on about hers—but sex was something different.

They were cousins, for decency’s sake!

Okay, cousins by adoption, but they had grown up together. They were friends, allies, confidantes. She wasn’t ready to hear about his sexual problems.

Why would Austen be having sexual problems in the first place? The man had movie star looks and he worked out daily. The worst part about him was that he was a successful lawyer.

There were probably thousands of women in the city who would be more than ready to devour…whatever part of his gorgeous bod he wanted eaten.

You should get out more, she told him. There must be a few gals around who would be willing to overlook your many shortcomings and show you a good time.

She would have to be close to falling down drunk to ever admit Austen was magnificent to look at…and not too bad to listen to, either. His deep voice was like black velvet, smooth enough to lull a jury to sleep—or, more helpfully, to an acquittal. He didn’t waste his talents on ‘real’ criminals, either. Over the last few years he’d come to specialise in big corporate crime cases, defending only those thieves who stole millions, using computers and highly paid accountants instead of masks and guns.

Austen took a too big swig from his glass. Those women cost too much.

Jaya gaped at him. Surely, he didn’t mean…?

Fortunately, he went on talking as if she hadn’t just mentally accused him of violating Section 213 of the Criminal Code.

Dinner, flowers and tickets to shows…time I don’t have.

Oh, thank God. He wasn’t a john, only cynical.

She hadn’t realised before that it might matter so much to her.

The first few dates are the best part, she said. That’s the ‘getting to know you’ phase. The happy, hopeful phase.

Right before the ‘he leaves his wife for you’ phase, Austen added.

She put down her glass too forcefully, making the bartender look up in instinctive concern.

I told you, she snapped, George was already separated. They all were.

"Or