by C J Burright
“Adara…” His whisper was strained, but he didn’t care. “Do you have any idea how intoxicating you are?”
The tiniest of smiles curved her mouth. “Brain overcome by hyperthermia, Ambrose?”
He leaned into her, close enough to rest his cheek against hers. “Overcome is a perfect description.”
She slipped her arms around his neck, and he slid one hand beneath the borrowed shirt to her bare back, needing to touch her. Her skin was cool against his fingers, and as much as he wanted to shelter her, wrap her in a dozen blankets to protect her from the cold, the urge to strip everything away and exchange his heat for hers, right there on the kitchen counter, nearly won.
“You’re so warm,” she whispered, squirming closer, as if she could burrow into him and snuggle there forever, exactly where he wanted her. “How is that, when you’re still wearing your wet clothes?”
“Another one of my superpowers,” he murmured next to her mouth, and before she could reply, he kissed her.
Adara pressed harder against him and her mouth opened under his, welcoming. His oversized shirt concealed her slender curves but did nothing to reduce the maddening softness of her breasts crushed against him or the gentle flare of hips beneath his hands
He dipped his fingers in her waistband, skimmed cold, damp skin, low enough to brush lace. Fire erupted in his veins, testing his restraint. She was here, in his arms, and with only a quick tug, she could be wearing only his shirt, with nothing beneath but skin. Despite his resolve, he inched his hand down farther, to the slope of her perfect rump, dying to memorize every inch of her, to learn every nuance of her until he could manipulate her responses like a master musician with his favorite instrument. With an effort that made him lightheaded, he broke contact. A lifetime with her included controlling his urges for now, no matter how trying.
“Garret,” she said between kisses, “don’t stop.”
He briefly closed his eyes, his heartbeat clanging in his ears and painfully hard in more southern appendages. If he survived this, he’d tattoo the word ‘forbearance’ on his butt. “We can’t.” His voice was hoarse, rough. “Not yet.”
She eased back, her hands on his shoulders, her hips still tight to his, tight enough she had to know his refusal had nothing to do with a lack of wanting her.
He drew his thumb over her soft lower lip, the taste of her still on his tongue, the need for her a steady burn in his veins. While igniting faster than he imagined possible, his love for Adara was so powerful, so deeply rooted, that he couldn’t imagine a future without her. He held her gaze, the air between them sizzling with all the things he wanted to say and knew he couldn’t, not yet. But someday soon.
The microwave beeped, and they jumped apart, as if a trance had been broken.
Adara swallowed hard, her pupils large. She waved vaguely behind her and backpedaled. “Left the sweats in the bathroom. Thanks for the help.”
Garret forced himself to breathe as she slipped out of the kitchen, slowly regaining control as the microwave beeped another reminder. Nothing, no one would derail his determination to win Adara forever, not even a few minutes of sexual torture.
* * * *
Wanting to wait until her blush died but too cold to hang out in the bathroom, Adara held on to the waist of the borrowed and way-too-baggy sweats and scampered to where a couch waited with a snuggly, Garret-scented blanket. The music room was empty. She wedged into the couch corner and tucked the blanket around her a second before Garret eased in, carefully balancing two steaming mugs. He was still in his wet clothes, hadn’t even taken off his boots. Something warm and fuzzy threaded through her and knotted tight around her heart. He was seeing to her needs first before even changing, even if it meant icing off his man-bits.
“Garret.” Her third-grade commander tone stopped him in his tracks and his eyebrows lifted. Works every time. “Strip. Now.”
He relaxed, his grin sly. “Miss Dumont, I believe you have me confused with that other guy with the bagpipes. I don’t play nude for the general public.” He resumed his deliberate pace forward and handed her one mug with a wink, setting the other on the end table. “But I’ll make an exception for you.”
“I actually like the bagpipes, especially when they’re played by a Scotsman in the buff.” She hid her smile in the mug, the delicious steam warming her chin.
“Sadly, I’m delinquent in both the bagpipe and Scots departments.” Rubbing his bottom lip, he studied the neat line of instruments waiting on the wall. “I’ll have to do the best I can.” In one quick move, without any of the wet clothing struggles she’d experienced, he peeled off his stuck-together shirt layers.
The steam didn’t prevent her from freeze-framing. A sharp jolt rearranged the rhythm of her pulse as he obliviously strolled to his suitcase, half-dressed. She’d never spent much time admiring men. Not that she didn’t notice or appreciate a good-looking guy who randomly interrupted her line of sight, but it was rarely more than a passing glance and a ‘he’s handsome’ quick-fire thought. But there hadn’t been a single instance since Joey’s death.
Then there was Garret, reshaping everything.
She couldn’t pinpoint one specific detail about him that sabotaged her common sense and made her susceptible to schoolgirl crush syndrome. It wasn’t only the tempting ridges of his lean body or his easy charm, not his dark eyes or ridiculously soft hair, not how he personified music or the way he lit up a room with his smile. It was the combination of everything, every nuance of him that formed her kryptonite.
Her gaze still on Garret, she took a swig and nearly spluttered. Liquid fire burned down her throat, toasting everything along the way. “Trying to get me drunk, Ambrose?”
“Darling, if you get drunk on a shot of watered-down cinnamon whiskey with honey, that’s all on you.” He dragged a shirt over his head, ending her ogling, and slung some sweats over his arm. “Wait until I get back before you dance on the table.” He ducked the pillow she threw his way and slipped around the corner, leaving his laughter behind.
She barely had time to hide her lingering smile before he returned, patting his hair with a towel, fully dressed in sweats and a faded thermal shirt sporting the cartoon Schroeder bent over his piano. “Good, you’re back. My feet are cold and your stomach looked so toasty.”
He paused and met her gaze, his black eyes burning. “You’d better put your mug down.”
“I’m not toasty yet.” No way was she giving up her hand warmer. “Or drunk.”
“Do it.” Soft menace laced his voice.
Only because he wasn’t smiling, she twisted around and set her drink on the end table.
He dropped the towel, leaped over the coffee table, and tackled her, all before she’d fully righted herself. His sinister, icy hands wormed beneath the blanket and tickled, wriggled under her shirt to her recently-warmed-up back and ribs. His laugh was pure evil.
“Miscreant!” Breathless, she squirmed and flailed and screeched, but Garret merely laughed harder. For his proclaimed zero athleticism, he was strong—and heavy. With her added out-of-practice laughter sessions, she was getting nowhere fast without hurting him, which became more appealing with each second.
He broke from the tickle torment, one hand restraining hers above her head, the other planted firmly on her hip and the dangerously low waist of her overlarge sweats. His body still trapped her, hot and solid. “Warmer now?”
As she tried to suck in enough breath to respond, his playful expression faded into something else, something intense and hungry. Longing washed over her, drowning out her reservations. She didn’t want to shatter the spell he wove over her. Tonight, she wanted to stay lost in him and deal with the consequences tomorrow.
“You win,” she gasped.
“I wasn’t aware this was a competition.” His voice was almost as breathless.
“Not a competition.” She shook her head, her mouth dry, her heart pounding. Starting this conversation felt like walking a tightrope. Any
misstep and she’d fall into a void. “A series of battles. A war.”
“No.” He leaned in until his lips hovered a few inches above hers. Instead of the kiss she waited for, his dark eyelashes swept down, thoughtful. “It was a cantata with varied tempos and keys. There have been solos, choirs and at times only the music played. But now”—his whisper softened even more, and he met her gaze—“it’s a duet.”
She cocked an eyebrow, needing to counterbalance his emotional intensity. “Cheesy much?”
“So I’ve been told.” He grinned, meeting her halfway.
“I kinda like it.” She exhaled. “I kinda like you. I think I might have a thing for band geeks, chubby version or not.”
“Band geek, you mean. As in only one. Only me.” At her teasing shrug, he assumed his menacing pirate expression. “Don’t make me give you a tummy raspberry. My lips are cold.”
Adara held his gaze, the sudden need for him so powerful it crushed her. “I can think of a few places on my body you could use to heat them up.”
“Chara.” The word was hardly more than a breath, then he kissed her.
His lips weren’t cold at all.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lost in the weight of Garret’s body on hers, the magic of his mouth, his hands and heat, Adara let her worries float into the night, out of reach. A hint of peach cobbler sweetened his tongue, each luscious stroke a sensual taunt. Unable to get close enough, she arched into him, which earned her a low, hungry groan. He kissed her like he had in London’s hallway, greedy and demanding, a challenge still unanswered. Rationality dissolved and her senses took control, demanding he touch her everywhere, fill her empty spaces. And he still hadn’t ventured to all the places she wanted.
Disentangling her fingers from his hair, she slid a hand over his ridged shoulder, down his smooth ribs to his waistband.
He shackled her wrist and laced her fingers with his. His breath ragged, he dropped his head to her shoulder. “Adara, I’ve been thinking.”
“Really?” She nibbled the rim of his ear. “I haven’t been able to think at all in the last half-hour.”
His small laugh was strained. He lifted his head, meeting her gaze. Fire sparked in the depths of his dark eyes. “You said you didn’t want to lead me on, and I don’t want to give you any false impressions, either. When it comes to you, I intend to do everything right.”
She went still, her heart pounding from more than the effects of his coercion tactics. His expression was grave, his smile gone. He shifted, trapping her in the couch cushions, no doubt a calculated move. Whatever he said next, she had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t like it.
With his thumb, he traced her bottom lip, distractingly gentle. “I won’t settle for a shallow relationship with you, friends with benefits, temporary bed buddies, whatever name you want to call it. I want everything from you, neshama.” He kissed her so possessively her breath snagged, only to release her. “And until you confess you want everything from me too,” he continued, his voice rasping, “this is as far as I’ll go. Physically, I mean.”
She blinked several times, playing catch up to his kiss, sure she’d misheard. He couldn’t be playing the chastity card, holding out on her, but she couldn’t find a single hint of humor in his expression. “Seriously?”
“Terribly.” He didn’t smile.
“You big tease.” Adara wriggled beneath him, and his mouth—along with the rest of him—tightened. ‘Wait until commitment,’ said no man ever, except the one she actually wanted. But commitment was a line she wouldn’t cross unless she was sure, and playing with Garret’s heart wasn’t something she’d do. “So that’s your strategy? Sexual torture?”
“If it’s any consolation, I’ll suffer with you.” He rocked his hips just a bit, enough so she felt exactly how he was already suffering. “You alone have the power to end it, Adara.” He kissed the sensitive right beneath her ear, and her eyelids fluttered. “Confess you love me.” The hush of his breath hitching prickled through her, calling her to surrender. “Admit you want me in your life.” He nibbled her bottom lip. “Commit to forever.”
She moaned, melting like wax beneath a flame. “Should’ve known…a sadist pirate.”
“I’m simply using all tools at my disposal in enticing you to accept the truth. Big difference.” He took her hand and kissed her fingers one by one. “I don’t want whatever scraps you’re willing to toss my way in moments of vulnerability. I want all of you, every piece, broken or not. Every day, always. Joy and pain. Everything.”
Joy and pain. A rock dropped into her stomach, pushing ripples of panic in every direction, and as if sensing her mood swing, Garret kissed her again. But a kiss couldn’t lure her back, not this time. Considering emotions in the recesses of her mind was safe. Confessing them aloud got other people involved, got her heart involved. She’d already stretched her frayed stitches to the snapping point and was nowhere ready to rip out the seam.
When he released her, she exhaled, long and slow. “Garret—”
He kissed her once more, lingering and laced with tenderness, a promise unspoken.
A knot inside her unsnarled partway, a tightness that had been there for so long she’d accepted it as a permanent part of life post-Joey. As it eased, her lungs expanded, finding just enough room to breathe.
“I’ll wait for as long as it takes,” Garret whispered at her ear. “When you’re ready—and you will be, no matter what you think right now—tell me.” He lightly bit her earlobe. His bristle chafed as he kissed along her jaw and down her neck, rekindling the fire so suddenly doused.
She sucked in a breath. “You’re incorrigible.”
His mouth curved against the hollow of her throat. “I’m not above manipulation, coercion or trickery to fulfill my vow, darling. And I’m the patron of patience. I won’t think any less of you if you surrender now and save us both the time and misery.”
Desire and unease trembled through her bloodstream, a struggle between future and past. It had taken him years to bring his house dream to fruition, even longer to master the violin. He wouldn’t blink an eye at devoting the same amount of time to erode her body, mind and soul on a daily basis. She could survive a weeks-long battle on the music mentor front with only a few scars to show for it, but a Garret Ambrose siege? She’d never weather it.
A black ball of fur leaped onto the couch.
“Gah!” Adara would’ve jumped if Garret hadn’t been holding her hostage. Hellion clambered over her shoulder, blinking sleepily. She waited for her heart to settle back into its proper place. “I forgot about the addition to your family.”
“How could you forget my ticket to more frequent Adara visitations?” Still trapping both her wrists in one hand, Garret butted the kitten’s head. Hellion circled, his tail tickling her nose.
Adara turned her face away. “Remove your butt from my face, fleabag.”
A slow, sly smile spread over Garret’s face. With his free hand, he guided the kitten’s face to hers until soft fur brushed her cheek. A rumbling purr filled her ear. “Don’t bother fighting it. I know you love him. He’s irresistible. You don’t have to say it aloud. Give in and pet him.”
Hellion pressed his wet nose to hers and rubbed his whiskers on her cheekbone, a minion following his master’s order. He already smelled like Garret, probably from sleeping in his laundry.
“I thought the chart said he doesn’t like most people,” she grumbled, relaxing against Garret’s hold. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere with him still lying on top of her and a happy cat on her neck.
“You’re not most people.” Garret kissed her nose and rolled off the couch, taking his warmth and weight. “I’ll be back.” He padded out of the room.
Adara scooched to a sit, holding the kitten to her chest. It still purred and curled in her arms, small and limp and warm. Since Garret wasn’t watching, she stroked the cat’s head. “You are stinkin’ cute,” she whispered. “Don’t tell him. He already knows how
to weaken me enough without adding you to the mix.”
She sighed and leaned her head on the couch, scratching between Hellion’s ears. No matter how much she hated to admit it, how much it scared her, Garret had been tugging her out of her solitude inch by inch until she stood at the center of a minefield crossroads. A step in any direction might destroy her, but she’d eventually have to choose which direction to take—life and pain with Garret or solitude and safety without. Cold slivered through her, working into her marrow. She couldn’t have both indefinitely.
Garret returned, wearing jeans instead of sweats, boots on, his hair neatly pulled back beneath a black beanie. “I need to take you home before I stumble and sabotage my plans.”
She stopped scratching Hellion’s head. “I vote for sabotage and deal with the misfire tomorrow.”
Studying her, he rubbed his bottom lip and his throat worked. His grin appeared, an official veto of her suggestion. “And you question my integrity?” He handed her an origami boat made from one of the flowery paper napkins at Bob and London’s. “Figured it out yet?”
No, she hadn’t. It was annoying. She rolled her eyes to throw him off. “As if I’ve had time to ponder your weird, ridiculous puzzles.”
A knowing gleam brightened his eyes, and before she could take a breath, he scooped her off the couch, Hellion still on her lap. “Your wet clothes are in my car, and since your shoes are still sopped, I get to carry you.”
She snuck one arm around his neck, holding Hellion securely with the other. “I’ll let you.” Leaning close, she licked his ear, and he shuddered. “Sure you aren’t up for sabotage?”
Garret hurried toward the door. “The only thing holding me in check is the promise of the end result.” He stopped beneath the chandelier and kissed her once, quick and fierce. “You’re mine, Adara Dumont, and I’ll endure any torment to hear you admit I’m yours too.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Long after dinner time, Adara slumped back against her front door and let her umbrella slide from her fingers. It thunked, limp and damp, into the gathering puddle at her feet. Rain dripped from her slicker, a reflection of the tears she refused to cry. Her job was toast.