He mumbles something completely inaudible and smiles down like a madman at me.
I’m breathing hard when we make it to the front door.
We collapse onto the porch. “I m-m-made it,” he stammers.
“We made it, Vaughn. You wouldn’t have even won a participation award for that blizzard walk.” I reach up for the door and tug it open, I don’t even stand, I just pull it open and crawl inside, dragging Vaughn behind me.
I prop him up on the wall and close the door, sealing the cold out.
Our clothes are drenched, ice and snow melt into puddles on the floor around us. The storm howls outside, like a cry for us to come back out and play, but I pay it no mind now. We’re out of the cold. We’re both safe.
Now I need to look at his head and get us out of these clothes—maybe into warmer ones. Maybe even start a fire. He smacks my hands away playfully when I try to tend to his wound, and mumbles something about me being a voodoo-cooching-gale. Whatever that means. He’s delirious, obviously.
“Fine, I’ll look at it later,” I say, getting up off the floor. I think I should start a fire first, hopefully it’ll warm us quickly, but I don’t see any wood.
That’s strange. I remember seeing a circular stack of wood somewhere here. I check in the other rooms, and in each of the two bedrooms there’s a stack of logs, neatly laying in a large decorative, metal basket. God, it’s like Pottery Barn threw up all over this place, it’s so catalog-perfect. Glad Mommy-dearest had a luxurious life right before she ended it, you know, while I was ignored and made to pay off my family’s debt.
Vaughn grunts something unintelligible back in the living room.
In the guest room, I rush over to the fireplace. My wet clothes have chaffed against my skin so much today I must be zebra-striped with red welts. I pile four or five logs into one another, cringing each time the soaked material cuts into my skin. Thankfully there’s a fire starter log, and with a few flicks of the lighter I find on the mantle, I have an instant blazing fire. Now I need to get out of these clothes. I pull off my shirt and fumble with the button of my jeans, but my fingers are too numb to grasp its tiny shape.
“Is this your room?”
Startled, I spin around, covering my upper body with my arms.
“Is it?” Vaughn’s eyes are super glassy. He probably doesn’t even notice my shirt is off.
“It’s not my room,” I mutter. “And the only other room is their room and I’m not sleeping in their bed. You can.”
I finally get my button undone and I have to peel the fabric down my legs. “You need to get out of those wet clothes, and you need to warm up.”
“You’re trying to get me naked?”
That’s what he gets from all of this?
“You’re a moron, you know that, right?” I march over to him and yank his shirt up off his body. It catches on his head and he grunts out in pain. He’s so cold, his muscles are visibly trembling.
“See,” he whispers madly, “you want my body.”
“Maybe I should tape your mouth shut?”
“Kinky freak,” he mumbles.
I manage to fight his pants down his legs, but he removes his boxers on his own and flings them at me. My hands fly up to cover my eyes, but they’re not quick enough to block out the gorgeous view of Vaughn Montgomery in all his naked glory. Oh, I hope he remembers this in the morning. I pull down the covers of the bed and pretend his nakedness doesn’t faze me. “I don’t remember inviting you in here. I just told you to go sleep in the other bedroom.”
I slip under the blankets, and under the cover of them, I slide off my wet bra and panties.
Vaughn flicks off the light and climbs into the bed next to me. I’m too exhausted and emotionally overwhelmed to fight with him about it—I’ll deal with it all later, when it’s warmer, and my body stops shivering. His body is instantly up against mine, his arms wrapping around me. “Uh—” he breathes, when he realizes I’m just as undressed as he is, “so it is still that easy to get you naked.”
“Shut your face, or I’ll drag you back outside and leave you there.”
He snuggles in closer, his bare chest against my back, his body folding around mine. My eyelids are so heavy, it’s as if the weight of the world was suddenly pulling at them. Slowly, my body starts to thaw, melting piece by piece.
“You know I remember what it was like to be inside you,” Vaughn mumbles sleepily. “Do you remember? Or have there been so many others after me, you don’t remember your first?”
He doesn’t seem to notice the tears that fall from my eyes and land on his arm.
Chapter 12
Vaughn
I wake with a start from some intangible dream that fades the moment I open my eyes. Above me is a strange ceiling made of knotted cedar beams. Very modern rustic. Expensive. The bed is warm and extremely comfortable, better than any mattress I’ve slept on before, and the woman in my arms has the softest, silkiest skin I’ve ever felt. A slow slide of my hand over her form tells me she’s completely naked, and in absolutely exquisite shape. Too bad my head feels like it’s splitting open, or I’d reacquaint myself with—
She shifts under the blankets, her arm breaking free of the small cocoon we’ve nestled ourselves in, and one perfect breast peeks out at me with a deliciously appetizing pebbled nipple.
Claire Radcliffe. Her wild champagne-colored hair spread across the pillows.
My dick stiffens and strains against her hip.
I know I should move—push her off me, or at least reposition her body clear across the bed from mine. But I don’t. My hand stays on the curve of her hip, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the slope of her breast and its pale pink peak. It takes everything in me not to catch it between my lips and slip my hand between her thighs. This is my ultimate hell—her body—so soft, so inviting, so deliciously warm, and so fucking forbidden.
I have to get out of this bed. I know I do. I have to wake her up and uncurl her from my body, maybe find some Tylenol for this pounding headache. Call for help—a tow truck, maybe a plow.
I could shout, yell something out so loud she startles awake and flies away from me with those giant wild blue eyes of hers. How humiliated would she be? Waking up naked, tangled under the covers with someone who loathes her very existence. And I know she despises me just as much.
This hatred between our families was never going to end, and now knowing that the affair between our parents had never stopped, and she lived here with them? I wonder if she ever had a clue how much it hurt me, how she completely destroyed my family.
Damn you, Claire.
I can’t even believe she’s here.
I haven’t seen or heard about her since that awful summer.
She’s not on any social media that I’m aware of—Lord knows how many drunken nights I searched through every platform possible trying to get a small glimpse of her life. I wanted to find her in some awful place, maybe married to some fat, toothless old guy, and living in a small broken-down shack in some backward little town. I wanted her a lost soul, full of shame and remorse. A little harsh, I know. But she was the only girl who ever truly hurt me. It’s because of her that I learned love isn’t real and people, especially women, can’t be trusted.
Her breast rises and falls with her steady breathing. I’m a creeper, watching her, mesmerized. My cock throbs to be inside her. This is wrong, so wrong. I can’t want her like this.
So what, she grew up to be even more beautiful than I ever remembered; her and her perfect perky breasts are off limits. I could have a dozen women lined up for me in mere minutes, once this snowstorm is over. And they wouldn’t cost me anything—not my sanity, my money, nor my integrity. I’m nothing like my father. I don’t take whatever seems pleasurable to me with no concern for the consequences, no matter how aroused I am with her in my arms right now.
Fuck! I wish my body wouldn’t respond like this to hers. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s been too long, that’s all. I have
n’t had sex since the day of my father’s funeral, with—I can’t remember her name, Elaine…Elena…Elaina. It doesn’t matter, she’s one of the country club members, offering her condolences to me in the club’s restroom. It was hardly satisfying. I just need a release, some mindless sex with someone, someone who isn’t such a thorn in my family’s side.
I mumble a low rumble of curses under my breath, I still haven’t attempted to move away from her at all. Embers crackle and snap in the fireplace near the foot of the bed, keeping the room cozy and warm.
Claire moves again and another breast bounces out to greet me hello. I rub my hand over my eyes to block the view. My cock is rock hard now—this is ridiculous. Images of dead animals and screaming babies flip through my mind, anything to lessen my desire that’s obnoxiously straining against her leg. But those breasts won’t clear out of my thoughts. Can you imagine the intensity of the hate-fuck we could have?
It’s definitely way past the time to vacate this bed.
Gently, I try to slide my arm out from underneath her head, but Claire responds by rolling and burrowing closer, slinging a smooth, silky leg over me. Just an inch more and her body would be in perfect alignment with my cock. What the fuck is wrong with her? Can’t she feel how hard I am?
I’m so fucking angry and aroused, it’s insane. I’m torn between wanting her to wake up and hate-ride me until we’re raw and her—no, I’m lying, I’m not torn, that’s the option I want—nothing else.
She moves again, and I swear to God I think she rocks against me. A low groan slips past my lips. We should not be in this position. I should not want this so fucking bad, but I desperately want to slide my fingertips down the length of her back and position myself flush against her core.
How could this be so erotic? How could I still want her this much?
She needs to get off me right now.
“Claire, get up.” My voice is husky and low. “You’re naked. Fuck,” I breathe, “we’re both naked.”
She slowly blinks her eyes open and pulls her head off my chest. Her hair tumbles around her, framing her beautiful face perfectly. Our eyes lock and we stare at each other for far too long.
“You need to get off me. Now,” I say, through tightly clenched teeth.
Her eyes shoot down over our tangled bodies.
“What is that?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.
“What’s what?” I say, knowing exactly what she’s talking about, but not wanting to give her the satisfaction of her knowing that I know she can feel my dick pulsing and throbbing between us. Jeez, I’m freaking losing it.
“Well, hello there, Mr. Montgomery. Are you happy to see me or are you holding a pencil in your hand?”
“My dick is a hell of a lot bigger than a pencil,” I growl.
“Is it?”
“Yes, it is.” I could call her bluff and show her, see what she does with it.
“Uh huh, sure.”
She presses her hands to my sides and tries to push herself off me, but the blankets we’re wrapped in prevent her from getting far. She tries to roll to her side and somehow manages to tangle the sheets tighter around our bodies. Now there’s no denying how aroused I am, with it all smashed up against her stomach.
“I’m just…I’m trying to get up,” she mutters.
“Then get up,” I can’t help but chuckle.
Her cheeks redden. “I will,” she says, curtly.
“Good,” I whisper, not wanting her to.
I push down as she slides her body up trying to squirm her way free, but we both still when we’re eye level and our lips only inches apart.
“You’re getting us more tangled,” she says.
“Oh, this is all my fault, huh?”
“Yes. It is,” she says flatly.
“Well, why did you put all these blankets on us and wrap us up all burrito-style?” I ask.
“So we wouldn’t die,” she snaps.
She squiggles up more, higher on my body.
“Jesus, okay, stop moving. Seriously, don’t move,” I say, trying to hold in a laugh.
She pulls her head back and squints her eyes down at me. “Why?” she barks.
“Why? Are you serious? If you keep climbing up my body, in about three more seconds your tits are going to be smashed across my face and I will not be held responsible for what happens to them when they get there.”
“You’re disgusting,” she says. I’d agree with her too, but the corner of her lips lift up in a small smile, and my thoughts sort of get lost in the expression. Instinctively, I slide my hands up her sides, stopping one on the curve of her waist and the other gently up to the side of her neck.
A small gasp escapes her lips.
Beneath my thumb, the pulse in her throat races and a darker blush than before floods her face. Her lips part slightly, and the sudden urge to kiss her overwhelms me. For a brief moment the heat of her skin everywhere it touches mine burns through me. It feels almost electric, like hot fiery sparks pulsing between both our bodies.
I have no desire to break free of these blankets. Ever again, in fact. Though I can’t see either of us setting aside our differences to deal honestly with what’s happening at this very moment, I still don’t want to move. For just a few breaths I want to savor this…undeniable sensation, this electrifying awareness of one another’s bodies. It’s the single most stunningly erotic thing I’ve ever felt in my life.
Focus on reality, you perverted jackass.
Claire and I hooking up right now would be nothing more than a mistake.
“So, you look like life’s been treating you well the last decade,” I say.
For a moment her eyes get lost in the back of her head.
“Oh, wow. You lost your baby blues there for a second. Such animosity for someone who seems to be doing really well for themselves. This is a nice little set-up you and your mother have here,” I say.
I feel every muscle in her entire body stiffen and turn rigid against mine. “How hard did you hit your head? Are your brains leaking out somewhere I can’t see?” she quips.
My chest flushes with fire at her denial.
“I need to get out of this bed. Away from you,” she seethes as she starts fighting with the blankets again.
“Ohhhh,” I laugh, “it’s you that needs to get away from me, is it?”
“Of course it is, you’re a Montgomery asshole,” she grunts, flinging her arm away and accidently yanking one of the blankets over both our heads.
“You’re a Radcliffe asshole,” I retort, “and you’re full of shit.”
“Oh, that’s so mature of you, really,” she growls, slapping the blanket away from her face.
“You started it by calling me a Montgomery asshole,” I laugh.
“No, you started it by thinking that I lived here with those two—" her words cut off and her body stills. Bright blue eyes look up at me through delicate lashes. I should be telling her to go fuck herself and climb out of this bed, let her go tell her lies to someone else.
I try to move, but my body feels tied to the mattress by invisible binds.
“Oh my God, you really think I lived here with them?” she whispers. There’s a heartache in her voice, a deep, awful sadness I’ve never encountered before.
“Tell me you didn’t.” It’s the strangest sensation, one that radiates in the small space between us. It’s like something inside her is slowly seeping its way into me, wanting me to listen to her. I want to close my eyes against it, push it away. Instead I watch her closely, our gazes locking together. Two hungry statues.
Tears fill her eyes. “I hadn’t seen my mother in at least five years, Vaughn. I don’t live here with them. I didn’t even know…”
She didn’t live here with them.
Again, I become intensely aware of her body draped over mine. Her pelvic bone seems heavier, warmer, pushing me into the mattress. I can imagine myself inside her, forgetting all this parent shit for a just minute, and giving to each other wh
at we both seem to need.
“Vaughn?”
A wave of lust rolls through me as she says my name, and suddenly we’re back in my room, fifteen again, discovering each other’s bodies for the first time. Jesus, I loved her. I loved her with every ounce of my being. I want to live in that memory forever.
“I have to get up. I…I don’t want to be this close to you,” she exhales. “You hate me.”
Have I really ever hated her? I thought of that first moment I saw her though the window of the cabin, and my confusion between heartache and anger. What her mother did—and my father—I can’t only place blame on Libby, what they both chose to do behind everyone’s back—I always hated Claire for it. For years I was furious with her for what my family turned into, what both my sister and I had to endure. But was it really hate? Right now—with her golden spun hair tangled and wild around her pale face, her big blue eyes brimming with tears, her full lips slightly parted—she takes my breath away. I feel a thousand different emotions, but hate—hate surprisingly isn’t one of them.
“I can’t be anywhere near you,” she sniffles.
“Why?” I ask, rolling us onto our sides.
“Because I’m so tired of all of this,” she whispers through tears. “I’m tired of people letting me down, always lying to me. I’m tired of everyone hating me. Not believing me. Not even willing to listen to my side of the story. I’m tired of men. Men like your father who trick women with promises and lies, just to keep you their secret. Men that make you give up everything, even your children,” she rants.
“I am not my father,” I growl, stunned she could possibly think I am.
“It doesn’t matter and I don’t care. I need to get out of here before I say something I can never take back or either of us do something we’re going to regret.”
“Oh yeah? And what would that be, Ms. Radcliffe?”
Chapter 13
Claire
My body is fire.
Ten years of pent-up sexual frustration.
Enemies & Lovers Page 8