Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set Read online

  Slip of the Tongue Series

  The Complete Boxed Set

  JessHawk

  Contents

  Praise For Jessica Hawkins

  Stay Notified

  Slip of the Tongue

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  TEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Afterword

  The First Taste

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  Afterword

  Yours to Bare

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Afterword

  Preview: Possession

  Chapter 1

  Titles By Jessica Hawkins

  Audiobooks

  About the Author

  Connect With Jessica

  Praise For Jessica Hawkins

  "Addictive. Painful. Captivating. Tumultuous. Juicy. Sexy. Slip of the Tongue is an authentic, raw, and emotionally gripping must read that I just loved. A highly recommended favorite of mine."

  —Angie's Dreamy Reads

  "Jessica Hawkins is a master at forbidden stories...Angsty doesn't begin to describe the content of this book. The drama and the sensuality was enough to keep me up reading through the night. [Slip of the Tongue] was HOT. HOT. HOT."

  —R.S. Grey, USA Today Bestselling Author

  "Slip of the Tongue is an emotional, compelling read that you won't be able to put down. Beautifully written, it's a study of romance and what it takes for that to survive in the real world, with all the pressure and doubts of every day.”

  —Louise Bay, USA Today Bestselling Author

  "The First Taste is a five-alarm fire of a book with sex scenes that will melt your e-reader, a story that's gripping and complex, and a father-daughter relationship that will make little hearts pop out of your eyes."

  —Lex Martin, USA Today Bestselling Author

  "Filled with emotion, angst, and love, The First Taste is a delicious read that will have you craving seconds. I promise!"

  —Kim Karr, New York Times Bestselling Author

  "Addicting! Powerful! Beautifully sexual! I was absolutely SEDUCED from the very beginning! ...Hawkins delivers the most provocative romance of the year with YOURS TO BARE. If you think that you've seen her best, you have another thing coming with this release. It's PHENOMENAL. It's RAW. It's REAL. It's an EXPERIENCE.”

  —Shayna Renee's Spicy Reads

  "Provocative, thought-provoking, and breathtakingly honest, Yours to Bare is a sinfully sexy journey."

  —Rachel Brookes, Author

  "To say [Yours to Bare] is addicting is an understatement. I was hooked from the first page to the last. This is so much more than a book. The characters, the plot ... it's all so real and raw. And the poetry--oh my God the poetry--is beautiful, provocative, and heart-wrenching. Hands down, this is the best book I've read all year."

  —Emily Goodwin, New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author

  * * *

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  Slip of the Tongue

  Slip of the Tongue 1

  Sadie Hunt isn’t perfect—but her husband is. Nathan Hunt has her coffee waiting every morning. He holds her hand until the last second. He worships the Manhattan sidewalk she walks on. Until one day, he just . . . stops. And Sadie finds herself in the last place she ever expected to be. Lonely in her marriage.

  When rugged and sexy Finn Cohen moves into the apartment across the hall, he and Sadie share an immediate spark. Finn reveals dreams for a different life. Sadie wants to save her marriage. Their secrets should keep them apart, not ignite a blistering affair. But while Sadie’s marriage runs colder by the day, she and Finn burn hotter.

  Her husband doesn’t want her anymore. The man next door would give up everything to have her.

  ONE

  The man who just stepped out of 6A doesn’t notice me staring. He shakes out his honeyed-brown hair like a boy after a bath and wipes his temple with his sleeve. He rolls his neck. Watching him, I feel like an intruder in my own apartment building.

  It’s the jingle of Ginger’s dog tags that makes him look over. He tilts his head, studying me. “Hello again.”

  I squint. The sixth floor has never been well-lit. Warm light bathes the beige walls and a carpet the color of dead leaves. I let Ginger pull me down and across the hall. She wants to smell this new person, and I want a better look. When he and I make eye contact, my heartbeat snags as it might for a new lover. Because he isn’t familiar. I don’t know him. “Sorry, have we met?” I ask.

  He doesn’t respond, as if he’s waiting for me to go on, but it’s a pretty straightforward question. I’m not sure where to look—his soulful green eyes, or a bottom lip that sticks out like his default expression is a pout. He licks it with an easy smile and once again, I’m staring.

  “I must’ve mistaken you for another neighbor,” he says. “Just moved in yesterday. You’re 6B?” He points to his chest. “6A.”

  I stick my coffee thermos under my arm and shake his paw of a hand. He then ruffles Ginger’s polished-penny red
fur but watches me. And I forget that just moments ago, I was sad. Lonely. Confused. Now, I’m still a little confused, but not in the way that makes my brain and chest hurt.

  “Welcome to the building.” Since I’m already behind schedule thanks to this unplanned dog walk, I tug the leash. “Let’s go, Ginger.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” he says as I continue to the elevator, “can you point me in the direction of a good breakfast spot? Something hearty.”

  I glance back. His back is arched, his large hand spread over his stomach. The corner of his mouth is quirked. He’s kind of a hunk, and I think he knows it. I contain my smile, even when I realize it’s my first genuine one in days. “There’s a diner on the corner.” I begin to sweat, my hands in my gloves, my neck under my scarf. I hadn’t planned to be indoors this long. His expression is eager, though, like he’s asking an old friend for help. “Don’t be scared off by the smell. It’s good.”

  “Which corner?”

  “Lexington.” Ginger whines. I shouldn’t even be standing here. I’m verging on late for work. Suddenly, though, that seems less important than welcoming a new neighbor. “We’re headed downstairs. I’ll show you.”

  “That’d be great.” He heads past me down the hall to get to the elevator first, where he pushes the button. Ginger and I catch up as it arrives, and he holds the door open for us. The space feels small with him in it. He’s big, one of those guys who could jump and knock his head on the ceiling of the subway. One of those guys who can make the whole city feel small.

  He glances up at the digital numbers, his hands stuck in the pockets of his hoodie.

  “Won’t you be cold?” I ask, eyeing the thin material.

  “Nah. My heater’s busted. It won’t turn off. It has to be over eighty degrees in my apartment.”

  I had the opposite problem when I moved in. It shouldn’t make me smile to remember that, but trying to stay warm can be fun when it involves a ridiculous amount of cozy blankets and endless, stovetop hot chocolate.

  “I can deal with the cold,” he continues, then groans, “the heat, though—Jesus. I could not sleep. I’ve been up for hours, moving boxes around the apartment. Finally, I had to come out for fresh air. You can only remove so much clothing, you know?”

  Heat creeps up my chest. I scold myself. So what if he’s naked in his own apartment? I try to think of a witty response to cover the fact that I’m blushing, but I come up short. I sip my coffee instead. We exit the elevator with his last comment hanging between us.

  “So, these are the mailboxes,” I say with flourish, breaking the silence, as we cross the small lobby. “Yours is next to mine.”

  He smiles politely and gets the door. We’re blasted by cold air. I try to pull my collar up around my neck, but my hands are full.

  “Need some help?” he offers.

  I give him Ginger’s leash and my thermos so I can bundle deeper into my coat. “The diner’s to the right,” I tell him. “I’m going that way too.”

  He gives me back the coffee but takes Ginger down the sidewalk as if she were his own.

  Despite the cold, the sun is shining. I get a better look at him. He has a five o’clock, butter-blond shadow at seven o’clock in the morning. It’s a shade lighter than his coppery lips and shows off his high cheekbones. His is the kind of face you’d see in a movie. One I might’ve gone to as a teenager just because he was on the poster.

  “Shit,” he states.

  Because I’m paying attention to him and not where I’m going, it takes me a moment to understand. Literally—shit. I hop sideways just in time, narrowly avoiding a pile of dog poop. “Ugh.”

  He grins. “Mondays.”

  “Lazy assholes is more like it.”

  “Spoken like a true city girl.” He smiles bigger. “Have you lived in the building long?”

  “Four years yesterday.” We stop so Ginger can pee on her usual tree. “But I went to NYU. I’ve lived on the east side for over ten years.”

  “So you hate it here.”

  I laugh, and God, does it feel good. My dry cheeks crack like they’re made of concrete and I’ve hit them with a hammer. We continue walking, Ginger looking back at us every few seconds, as if we might disappear on her. My mood has lifted. Sometimes, in this city, talking to strangers is a burden. They want something—directions, money, time. I’m glad I stopped for my new neighbor, though. He’s chasing off the dark clouds that’ve been hanging around lately.

  But then, he stops abruptly and groans. I get the sudden, intense feeling this walk is over. “I left my wallet in the apartment. Think they’ll let me open a tab?”

  “Not a chance.” We’re a few feet from the crosswalk, and I nod across the street. “There’s the diner.”

  “Okay.” He wipes his nose on his sleeve. Mine is also running a little despite the fact that the walk has warmed me up. I don’t believe he isn’t the slightest bit cold. “I better run back. I’m about to eat my hand.”

  I don’t have to think twice. He’s helped me out just by making me feel better, and I want to return the favor. “I’ll spot you,” I say, digging in my pocket for cash. I keep forty bucks in my coat in case of dog-walking emergencies. Since I can hear his stomach grumbling from here, I give him both twenties. “Get the hash browns. Trust me.”

  He takes the money. “You’re an angel. I’ll pay you back.”

  “No problem.” I nod at Ginger, who pants, giving us her signature Golden-Retriever smile. “Consider it a thanks for your services.”

  “For a ten-minute walk? Expensive pooch.” He hands me back the leash, then adds, “Unless you want to join me? My treat,” he teases.

  I’m surprised by his invitation but even more so that I’m disappointed to turn it down. Hash browns and good company sound like a great way to spend the morning. “I should get to work,” I say with some reluctance. “Not everyone can make rent walking dogs.”

  “Good point.” He grins. The walk signal begins to count down. Last chance to change my mind and play hooky from work. He holds up the money. “Thanks again.”

  He jogs across the street toward the restaurant. I wonder what his name is. And why he isn’t also on his way to work on a Monday morning.

  Except for him, the view from this corner is familiar. I’ve stood here more times than I can count. Ginger pulls on her leash. She knows this is where we turn back for the apartment. The sun is still out, but clouds edge the city. Alone again, any humor in my morning dissipates. My mood creeps back down to where it was earlier—where it’s been for months.

  TWO

  After work, I shower longer than necessary. Some days, working PR in New York City leaves a layer of grime on my skin. And the hot water just feels good. I could stand here all night. I don’t really have anything else to do. It’s already been dark an hour, and the apartment is cold. Eventually, I reach one arm beyond the shower curtain and take a handful of terrycloth. Getting out is like pulling off a Band-Aid, same as always this time of year. In studied form, I turn off the faucet and have a towel around myself the next second.

  I’m at the bathroom counter, getting out my blow dryer when Ginger barks. She doesn’t stop, so I head to the door, tying the sash of my worth-every-penny cashmere robe. It takes me a moment to figure out I’m looking at my new neighbor through the peephole. The hallway seems to shine a spotlight right on him.

  “Is this a bad time?” he asks when I open the door.

  I’m not much warmer, and my hair is wet. My nipples whisper against the inside of my robe like a secret. “For what?”

  “So, apparently you have curly hair,” he says, ignoring my question, letting his eyes wander over me. “It’s like I don’t even know you.”

  I hesitate, and then let my smile happen. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve his teasing, but I think I like it. “I wear it straight most of the time.”