by Elle Kennedy
Dylan rolled his eyes. “Yes.”
“But you also like men.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “And you have sex with each other.”
All right, now he was starting to feel rattled. The way Claire was staring made him feel like a specimen under a microscope.
“Where are you going with this?” he said irritably.
“I don’t know. I just have so many questions and they keep popping out of my mouth.” She straightened up and clasped both hands in her lap. “Which one of you is the bottom?”
He choked on the breath he’d just drawn into his lungs, then burst into a fit of coughing. Next to him, Aidan barked out another laugh.
When the coughs subsided, Dylan cast a frazzled look at the curious redhead. “Neither of us is the bottom,” he sputtered.
“So you’re both the top?”
“We switch off,” Aidan said helpfully.
Dylan turned to glare at his buddy. “Don’t encourage her.”
“Why not? This is highly entertaining.”
Unfortunately, Claire hurled out another question before he could inform Aidan that his definition of entertainment was all sorts of fucked up.
“So if you had to choose, which would it be, men or women?”
“It’s not that simple,” Aidan said in a gruff voice.
“Sure it is. Just pick one, desert-island style. You can only bring one person with you, and that’s the only person you can sleep with for the rest of your life. ’Kay, you ready? On the count of three, pick a gender. One. Two. Th—”
“I think it’s time for you to go to bed,” Dylan interrupted, bolting to his feet.
“But it’s still early!” Claire’s gaze moved to the red numerals on the Blu-ray player. “It’s, um…” She squinted. “Well, it’s blurry, but I think that says eight o’clock.”
“Well, like you said, you’re very tired.”
As he reached for Claire’s hand and hauled her to her feet, he sensed Aidan’s dark eyes watching in disapproval. Fine, so maybe he was trying to get rid of her, but he refused to spend the rest of the night being interrogated about his sexual preferences. He’d performed his good-guy duty today by whisking her out of the country club, and that was as far as he was willing to go.
To his surprise, Claire didn’t launch any protests as he practically dragged her to the corridor on the other side of the apartment. She just kept chatting away—about the same topic he’d been trying to squash.
“Chris told me you’re kind of a slut. He said you sleep with a ton of women. So I’m guessing if you had to choose, you’d pick the va-jay-jay over the cock.”
Dylan burst out laughing again, and regretted it instantly.
Goddammit. He really needed to stop doing that.
“How is it you can say the word cock, but you use a euphemism for pussy?” he said with a sigh.
Her cheeks turned bright crimson. “I don’t know. I just don’t say that word.” Her tone grew haughty. “I grew up in a strict household where you weren’t allowed to talk about sex or be crude. So sue me. Anyway, what was I saying?”
“Nothing. You were saying nothing.”
“Oh, right, how I think you’d choose women.” She paused. “Actually, no, I changed my mind. Maybe you’d pick men. You live with a man, so…”
Ten more steps and they’d reach his bedroom. Just ten more steps.
Sadly, they were a measly three steps in when Claire decided to come to a full stop in the middle of the hall.
“What now?” he demanded.
She was staring at him, pensive again, except now there was an indecipherable gleam in her eyes that gave him a really bad feeling.
“Unless you were lying to Chris,” she said slowly.
She was clearly vocalizing a conversation she’d been having in her own head because Dylan had no fucking idea what she was talking about.
Her expression turned shrewd. “Did you make up the whole manwhore reputation so Chris wouldn’t know you were really into dudes?”
Aggravation clamped around his throat, making it difficult to get out his next words. “No, I did not make anything up. I’m sorry to inform you, but I really am a manwhore. I’ve slept with a lot of women, okay? So now let’s get you nice and settled in your room, and I can go back to enjoying the football ga—”
He didn’t get to finish that sentence, because the next thing he knew, Claire was grabbing him by the front of his wifebeater and forcing his head down for a kiss.
Jesus Christ, she was kissing him.
And not a peck, either. This was a kiss. A hot, passionate kiss with a helluva lot of tongue, and the second her mouth latched onto his, the manwhore they’d just been speaking of flew onto the scene like a bull bursting out of a chute.
He immediately took control of the kiss, hands sliding down to cup the firmest ass he’d ever had the pleasure of squeezing, mouth devouring hers like a man starved. Didn’t matter that he’d had an explosive orgasm a few hours ago—his dick was rock-hard and raring to go again, and it wasted no time in rubbing up against Claire’s pelvis and showing her exactly how much he loved women.
She whimpered, clung to the back of his neck. Her mouth tasted like peanut butter and alcohol, and her hair smelled like lavender, the sweet scent teasing his senses.
Dylan knew he had to stop this insanity, yet he couldn’t seem to wrench his mouth away. Claire’s lips were so soft, so warm. Her tongue eagerly explored his mouth, eliciting shockwaves of desire in his body. When she hooked one leg around his hip and he felt the heat of her pussy against his thigh, he groaned with pleasure and started backing her into the wall behind her.
Their mouths were still locked, tongues tangling, and his hands moved from her ass to her waist, sliding down the sexy curve of her hips toward the hem of her dress, which he bunched between his fingers.
He was two seconds from ripping that dress right off her when a gust of reality swooped in and he suddenly realized what he was doing.
And who he was doing it with.
Stumbling back, Dylan muttered a curse and tried to ignore the frenzied beating of his heart. He was still as hard as a concrete block, so hard in fact, he was surprised the heaviness of his cock didn’t tip him right over.
Claire looked as aroused as he felt. Porcelain cheeks sporting a pink blush, lips moist and swollen from the kiss, breasts heaving as she caught her breath.
“What the fuck?” he demanded with a scowl. “Why did you do that?”
She looked flustered. “I…I wanted to see if you were seriously into women.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I was curious,” she said defensively.
Dylan set his jaw and took a step toward her. “Has your curiosity been sated?” He lowered his hand to the painful bulge in his sweatpants and cupped his aching dick. “Is this a clear enough answer for you, Claire?”
A pair of wide brown eyes dipped to his groin, flickering with heat that made his cock twitch. As she nodded in response, he could see her pulse hammering in the center of her throat.
Silence descended, broken only by the occasional muffled voices coming from the television in the living room. Aidan was still watching the game then, Dylan noted. Thank fucking God. He would have had a tough time explaining all this if he’d turned around and found Aidan standing there, especially after he’d ordered the other man to keep his hands off Claire.
“Any other experiment you want to try out on me?” he asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.
“Um, no. I think I’m good.” Uncertainty washed over her face. “Why did you…why did you kiss me back?”
Million-dollar question right there. He was supposed to hate this woman, not lust over her.
Then again, who said one had anything to do with the other?
“Because I’m a guy,” he finally replied. “When a woman sticks her tongue in my mouth, I react on instinct.”
“Oh. Okay. Right.” She tucked a few strands of dark-r
ed hair behind her ear, then proceeded to spit out a string of rapid sentences that were nearly impossible to keep up with. “Anyway, you were right and I’m crazy exhausted so I’m gonna turn in now but thanks again for everything you did today and I’m sorry for what I did just now but I’m sure I won’t remember it in the morning so do me a favor and don’t remind me of it, okay?”
His head was spinning so fast he felt like he’d just gotten off a Tilt-A-Whirl. “I…yeah, sure, okay. G’night, Claire.”
“’Night, Dylan.”
She dashed off and disappeared into the bedroom, leaving him alone to run both hands through his hair in frustration.
There were many women he had no business making out with. Close relatives, of course. His buddies’ wives, no duh. That Black Widow broad who’d axe-murdered all her husbands, nope, not touching that one. Last but not least, Claire McKinley. Yup, his brother’s ex-fiancée-as-of-this-morning was definitely not someone he should be locking lips with.
Disgusted and annoyed at his lack of willpower, he ordered his erection to retreat, then stalked back to the living room so he could spend the evening with the person he wanted to be making out with.
Chapter Five
“Show of hands—who thinks Dylan’s brother is a grade-A douchebag?” Seth Masterson promptly raised his own hand, and was joined by Cash McCoy, Jackson Ramsey and Ryan Evans, who all wore identical looks of condemnation.
“See, it’s settled,” Seth announced before taking a deep drag of his cigarette.
No sooner did he exhale a cloud of smoke into the late-morning air than a pretty blonde burst onto the café’s patio like a tornado.
“Uh-uh, no way,” Shelby Garrett said in a stern voice. “No smoking!”
Dylan grinned as Seth’s gray eyes flashed with indignation. Their resident badass had been warned several times to not even think about lighting up in Shelby’s place of business or else, and the woman clearly hadn’t been bluffing—she swiped the cigarette right out of Seth’s fingers and proceeded to drop it directly into his coffee mug.
“Aw, that’s cruel, Shel,” Seth grumbled. “Now what am I going to drink?”
“Oh, is there something wrong with your coffee?” she asked sweetly. “Go ahead and drink it right along with that nasty butt, seeing as you were determined to put those toxins in your body anyway.”
As the other men laughed and applauded, Shelby settled in the chair next to Ryan’s and glanced at Dylan. “Okay, finish your story. I just had to show my new part-timer how to take down a cake order.”
For the tenth time that morning, Dylan had to wonder what Shelby was even doing here. Not that he was complaining or anything. The wife of a former SEAL, Shelby was not only gorgeous, but so easy to talk to, and she was a California girl to the core. The moment she’d learned that the guys were incorporating surfing into their Sunday workout, she’d invited herself along and had been joining them bright and early on the beach every week.
Not much surfing to be done today, though. The water had been too calm, not a decent wave in sight, so eventually Shelby went for a walk while the men finished their workout, and then the six of them had headed over to the Coronado bakery/café Shelby owned.
Dylan had been in the process of telling everyone about yesterday’s wedding fiasco before Shelby had hurried inside to assist her employee, and now he quickly wrapped up the tale. Omitting, of course, the unexpected kiss Claire had planted on him—that was one can of worms he had zero intention of opening.
“So she’s staying with you and Aidan now?” Shelby raised her coffee to her lips, her blue eyes watching him over the rim of her mug.
“Yeah, for a few days,” he said.
“That was cool of you, rescuing her like that,” Cash told him. The dark-haired SEAL reached for the plate of banana muffins Shelby had brought out, grabbed one, and proceeded to shove the whole thing into his mouth.
“Such manners,” Jackson remarked in that southern drawl of his. “Jen must be so proud of you.”
“Trust me, Jen has no complaints about the way I eat.” Cash’s blue eyes twinkled. “Food, of course. The way I eat food.”
“What I want to know,” Seth said, “is whether you and Aidan have—cover your ears, Shelby—fucked her yet.”
The blonde rolled her eyes. “God, you are such a sleaze.”
Seth blinked innocently. “Hey, I was just voicing what everyone else was thinking.”
“Uh, I wasn’t thinking that at all,” Ryan spoke up.
“Me neither,” Cash piped up.
“Didn’t even cross my mind,” Jackson confessed.
“Oh, come on, you were too. I mean, you all met her when she came to visit, right? She’s a stone-cold fox.”
“Claire and my brother were just here for a night,” Dylan reminded his former roommate. “You were the only one who met her.”
“Ah, right. Well, shit, you guys missed out.” Seth offered the other men his trademark scoundrel smirk. “She’s sexy as hell—great tits, curves in all the right places. Oh, and she’s a redhead. Every redhead I’ve ever—cover your ears, Shelby—fucked has been phenomenal in bed.”
This time the eye-roll came from Ryan. “Dude, do you kiss your wife with that mouth?”
“Yup, and she loves it.”
Dylan didn’t doubt that; Miranda Breslin—well, Masterson now—seemed to have no problem with her new husband’s rough edges.
Man, it was still hard to believe Seth was married now. Much to everyone’s surprise, he and Miranda had eloped to Vegas last month, and Seth had recently confided in Dylan that he was going through the process to adopt Miranda’s six-year-old twins. After a shaky start with Miranda and a tenuous relationship with her kids, Seth now worshipped the ground all three of them walked on.
Seeing his buddy so happy never failed to bring a rush of longing to Dylan’s heart. In fact, as he looked around the table, he realized that he and Jackson were the only single ones there. Shelby was happily married and raising a three-year-old daughter. Seth and Miranda had tied the knot and were doing the whole family thing too. Ryan and his girlfriend, Annabelle, had recently gotten engaged, Cash and Jen would surely follow suit. And who could forget all the other married couples in their circle, all blissfully happy.
And then there was Dylan. Living with Aidan, yet he hadn’t told any of his buddies about the sexual nature of that arrangement. The only person who knew was Jen Scott, Cash’s girlfriend and Dylan’s closest female friend. He’d asked Jen not to say anything to Cash, but it wasn’t shame or fear that was stopping him from telling other people. Like he’d told Aidan, he had no clue how to classify what they had, and until he could make sense of it himself, he didn’t want to deal with all the questions he knew he’d receive.
“Anyway, speaking of Miranda,” Seth was saying, “she wanted to know if you’re all planning on coming to our place for Christmas Eve dinner. My mom’s flying in from Vegas on the twenty-fifth, so we’re doing Christmas Day with her.”
“Annabelle and I will be in San Francisco that week,” Ryan said. “Seven whole days with the snooty Holmes clan. Can’t fucking wait.”
Shelby glanced over in sympathy. “They still haven’t warmed up to you? Even after, what? Three years?”
“Naah, they’ve gotten a lot better. Her dad has stopped trying to bribe me into dumping her, so that’s progress. And I think he was secretly happy and impressed when I flew up there to ask for his blessing to marry her.”
“And he gave it to you,” Shelby pointed out, “so I guess that is progress.”
On the other side of the table, Seth reached over the muffin plate and nonchalantly stole Dylan’s coffee from right under his nose.
Scratch that—not nonchalantly at all.
“Seriously?” Dylan sighed. “You’re that lazy? Stealing my coffee instead of walking ten feet to the counter and getting a fresh cup?”
“That lazy,” Seth confirmed. “Anyway. So Ryan’s out. Texas?”
Jackson nodded. “I’ll be there.”
“John and I won’t,” Shelby chimed in, sounding apologetic. “We’ll be at my parents’ place that night, and his family’s the next night.”
“McCoy? You and the Scotts?”
“Yeah, we’re all coming,” Cash answered.
“So that leaves the D-Man. You coming or what, bro? Oh, and Miranda says Aidan’s welcome too.”
Dylan raised his eyebrows. “The D-Man?”
“New nickname I’m trying out.” Seth paused. “Is it not working?”
“No,” everyone answered in unison.
“Fine. I’ll think of something else.”
Dylan snorted. “Please don’t. You’re terrible at giving people nicknames.”
“Fuck you. I rock at it,” Seth retorted. “Who gave Texas his nickname, huh?”
“Yeah, because it’s so original,” Cash said with a laugh. “Calling a man from Texas Texas. Pure gold, man.”
“Ugh, you guys all have major ADD,” Shelby declared. “I want to know more about Dylan’s brother fleeing the country on his wedding day.”
“That’s pretty much the grand summation of it,” he said wryly. “Chris left without a word and is now lying on a beach in Aruba.”
“Douchebag,” Seth muttered.
Shelby’s blue eyes shone with compassion. “How is Claire handling it?”
“Well, she got rip-roaring drunk last night, so…” Dylan let the others reach their own conclusions.
“And you and Aidan didn’t take advantage of that and—cover your ears, Shelby—double-team her? Prudes.” Seth shook his head in mock disgust.
“Why do you bother telling me to cover my ears?” Shelby demanded. “You don’t even give me time to do it! And besides, since when do you care about offending my delicate sensibilities?”
“I live with kids now,” the scruffy-haired SEAL replied. “I’m pretty sure I ask Sophie and Jason to cover their ears at least twenty times a day.”
Everyone snickered, including Shelby, but the blonde didn’t waste any time in steering the conversation back to what she perceived as juicy gossip.