by Cathryn Fox
My hand touches his as I take the knife into my palm and a needy little gasp catches in my throat as his warmth penetrates my skin.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I weigh the knife, “This is just big in my hand.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, my gaze drops to his zipper, seeking out something else that might be big in my hand. His chuckle curls around me, and I throw up a silent prayer. Dear ground, please open up and swallow me whole. I didn’t mean for those words to come out sounding so sexual, and why the hell did I look at his crotch? Tonight is just getting better and better.
“I just mean—”
“Here,” he says, handing me a smaller knife and wood cutting board. “This might work better in your small hand.”
“Thanks,” I say, grateful that he’s letting it go. I cut into the onion, and Cason moves around the kitchen, searing the scallops in the hot pan. My entire body is in hyperdrive, fully aware of his presence, his movements, his every damn breath. Once again, unbidden memories from our college days infiltrate my thoughts and skip down my tingling spine. How I’ll make it through the next two weeks is beyond me. The alternative is to go home empty-handed, which I’m not about to do. But hey, after two weeks cooped up with a man who doesn’t really want me here, well, that might work out to my advantage. Maybe when we’re done, I’ll be able to go home with my heart back in my chest, instead of in his palm. It’s not like he wants it, or even knows he has a tight grip on it, right? So yeah, maybe something good will come out of all this. My lips twist at that thought.
“Something funny?” Cason asks, and I lift my head. He takes the board full of chopped onions and tosses them into a sauté pan.
“What?”
“You’re smiling.”
“I am?”
“Yeah, what were you thinking about?” he asks and leans against the counter, his body so close to mine, it generates instant heat and my stomach takes flight. I resist the urge to squeeze my thighs together to help quell the building ache and the last thing I should be thinking about is my G-spot and how I’d bet top dollar he’d be the first man who could find it.
“Nothing important,” I say.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
He reaches out and drags the rough pad of his thumb down my cheek, his capable fingers creating a bone-deep warmth inside of me.
“Tears,” he explains.
I sniff and pray my voice doesn’t come out as shaky as I feel. “Onions. Cutting them always does that to me.”
His smile is soft, so damn full of love when he says, “When Peyton was young, she used to put on swimming goggles when she helped me cut onions.” He goes quiet, like he’s remembering old times, and he chuckles softly. “She was a funny kid.”
His eyes lift, meet mine, and the admiration I see shining there steals my next breath. I remember when he used to look at me like that, but now that adoration is reserved for his sister. But it does remind me how much I loved and respected that about him. Those he cares about always come first—he’d run through fire for those people. Those who crossed him however...look out.
I crossed him.
“So Peyton has no desire to get serious with anyone?”
He frowns. “No, and she had the nerve to ask me to set her up with someone on Penn Pals to help with the teaching job in Malta.”
“The nerve?”
“She’s my kid sister. I don’t want to set her up with anyone.”
I chuckle at that. Peyton is going to have one hell of a time with her brother when she eventually falls in love.
“She was always beautiful, Cason. Why does she need an app to find a guy?”
“She’s not looking for anything serious.” He laughs, like he understands fully, and I take it he’s in no hurry to change his bachelorhood—or ever. “But she needs it for work and I want her to get her dream job.”
“I can understand that,” I say. I know exactly what she’s going through. I come up against someone wanting me married every day.
“If I don’t help her out, she’ll just find someone else to pretend to be her fiancé. Some guy I know nothing about.”
“You’re going to do it, then?”
“As much as I don’t want to, I’ll set her up with someone who knows the ground rules and understands the consequences if he breaks them.” He cracks his knuckles, and reaches above my head to pull out a bowl. His warm scent wraps around me, and as I lose my sense of balance, I wobble, bang into his body. He falters, and nearly loses the dish in his hand as I wrap my arms around him.
“Whoa,” I say. “You okay?”
His throat makes a strangled gurgling sound, and he coughs as he breaks from my arms. “It’s just been a long work week. Exhausted on my feet.”
“Maybe we should get you to bed?” I shake my head. “Wait, I don’t mean we. I mean you. You should get to bed.”
“I’m fine, Londyn.”
“If you’re tired, you could sit down, and I can finish this for us. It won’t be as good as yours, but...”
Our eyes meet, and heat arcs between us. He steps back, distancing himself even more, but I catch the want in his eyes. Okay, so he clearly feels this pull between us every bit as much as I do, but isn’t about to act on it. No worries, Cason. I’m not either.
Wait, why the hell not?
We’re not college kids anymore. We’re both consenting adults. Maybe having sex with him will get him out of my system once and for all, and put my heart back where it belongs.
The rules are clear. He’s not allowed to seduce me. But that doesn’t mean I can’t seduce him. Yeah, he hates me, and thinks I hate him, too. But unlike him, I don’t hold hate in my heart. Regret, however, that’s a different story. I’ll always regret what I did to him, the hurt he continues to hold close, and the future we no longer have. But tonight, I believe it’s time to start anew. We have two long weeks together and let’s face it, he only has so many clothes in need of ironing.
I run my tongue over my bottom lip. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute.” I find my purse, pull out the tube of lipstick and swipe it over my lips. I recap the tube, and slowly lift my lids. But I didn’t need to look up to know Cason is watching me, his sole focus on my mouth. His entire body is stiff, his chest rising and falling a little faster as his nostrils flare.
“My lips were a little dry,” I explain. “I needed to moisten them.”
His low growl punctures the night and rumbles around me, and smoke rises from the pan behind him. I point at the stove, as a little thrill goes through me. Jennie was right. This color is like an aphrodisiac.
“The onions,” I say. “I think they’re burning.”
He blinks once, then twice, and I’m about to repeat myself when he snaps out of whatever trance he was in. “Right,” he says.
He turns, and my gaze drops to take in his perfect backside hugged so nicely in those dress pants. Back in college he was more of a jeans and T-shirt kind of guy, and I have to admit he’s grown up and filled out rather nicely. I take a moment to admire the man he’s become, his body thicker now, his muscles fuller and taut. While he was always a great-looking guy, the put-together man before me is just that—a man. One who has awakened every inch of my body, and I can’t help but think we should finish what we never had the chance to start.
I step beside him, and reach for the wine. I splash a little more into our stemware, and take a sip. I’m a lightweight, but the buzz is a welcome reprieve from the stress of the night, and gives me a burst of courage. I step a bit closer, and his muscles ripple. Looking around him, I inhale, but it’s the warm scent of his skin, so arousing and familiar, that I take into my lungs.
“Smells great,” I say as he tosses the fish into the white sauce.
“Almost done,” he grumbles, his voice an octave
deeper. I let it wrap around me, let it slide over my body and stroke all my needy places.
“Oh, and here I thought we were just getting started.”
His eyes jerk to mine and I blink innocently. “What do you mean?”
“Getting started, you know, on me being your companion, doing what you need me to do for the next two weeks,” I say, and he doesn’t move. I’m not even sure he’s breathing and I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his head. Is he picturing me on my knees before him, taking him into my hands and mouth? Holy, that hot image sends heat straight to the quivering spot between my legs, and a little moan catches in my throat.
“Can you...uh,” he begins, his eyes dilating, his arousal evident in the swelling of his pants.
“Can I what?”
He clears his throat, the muscles along his jaw rippling. My God, if he keeps clenching like that something is going to snap out of place.
“Grab the plates,” he bites out.
Disappointment settles in my core, but the night is still young. “Sure.”
I set the plates out, and stand back and sip my wine as he finishes making our dinner. He divvies up the pasta and seafood, and steam rises from the plates as he makes his way to the table.
“Maybe we could eat outside. It’s such a beautiful night. We should totally take advantage of this unusual heat, don’t you think?”
His eyes meet mine, and hold for a long time. He’s a smart guy, one of the smartest I know, and yeah, he’s well aware of the heat I’m referring to. He’s fighting it, but I’m not a girl to go down easily—so to speak. Does he remember my inner determination? If so, is he regretting this situation, bemoaning the sizable amount of money he dropped on a girl who might take him down before he gets his payback?
“Yeah, outside is a good idea,” he says. He hands me my plate and gathers our utensils. I follow him out back and gasp when I see the view from his deck. In the distance, Christmas lights in the downtown core illuminate the dark sky, and warmth moves through me.
“My God this place is gorgeous.” I set my plate on the table and walk to the railing. Gorgeous. Romantic. The perfect place for a seduction. “Look at all the colorful lights.”
“Yeah, gorgeous.” I turn to find him staring at me. He tears his gaze away and sits.
“Are you going to stay here for the holidays?” I ask, and press my back against the rail.
“That’s my plan.”
I spin in a circle, to take it all in again. “It’s so strange being in a warm place for the holidays. I think I’m going to miss the snow.”
“Not me.”
I study the frown on his face. “Are you going to decorate?” I ask, even though it’s a question I already know the answer to. But maybe things have changed for him. Maybe he learned to love the holidays instead of running away from them.
“No.”
“What about a tree?”
“What about it?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Are you going to put one up?”
“No.”
“Why not?” He flattens both hands on the small table, and lifts his gaze to me. His eyes are dark, frighteningly intense as they meet mine. “I didn’t think Christmas was your thing either, Londyn,” he says, his voice a low controlled whisper that skitters through me.
“You’re right, it’s not.” I’m surprised that he remembers so much about me. What else does he have stored in that brilliant brain of his? I steal another glance out at the town in the distance. “Something about this place makes me feel a little festive inside.”
“Sorry about that.”
I laugh. “I’m not saying it like it’s a bad thing. We’re far away from home and things just feel...different.”
“Things are different.”
“Maybe we could pretend this isn’t the real world for a while.”
“I don’t pretend, Londyn.”
“I’ve traveled to numerous places, but here, I don’t know, it’s so removed from the real world, it feels like...like...”
“What does it feel like?”
“A fairy tale.”
He laughs, and I get it. Life was anything but a fairy tale for him and his sister. Ironic really, considering in college he developed the Penn Pals app, and all the guys he hired became known as the Princes of Penn to the girls using the service.
“That’s why you called me an ogre?” he says. “You still believe in fairy tales?”
“I called you an ogre because you were acting like one.” He doesn’t say anything so I add, “And I guess I don’t really believe in fairy tales anymore.” His brow knits together, and I can’t tell whether he’s happy or sad by that admission. “Are you keeping me here through the holidays?”
“Do you want to stay that long?”
“I don’t really have any reason to rush back home. You know my mother, she always goes away, and my father buries himself in work. I actually told him I was in Florida visiting a friend. Not that he’d worry about me, but I just needed a break from...” I shift a little uneasily. I probably shouldn’t have brought up my father, judging by the way he’s suddenly glaring at me. “What about Peyton? What is she doing for the holidays?”
“Working.”
“Don’t you two—”
“We do what we can just to get through the holidays. Working helps us move on.”
Without thinking, I step closer and put my hand over his. I give it a squeeze and honest to God, I swear I can hear his heart crashing against his chest. I understand Christmas is a bad time for him. It’s when he lost his folks in a car accident. I’m just sad that he and Peyton haven’t found a way to make new memories for the holiday. Happier ones.
“We should eat,” he says and turns from me, but not before I catch that lost look in his eyes, the same one that haunted him in college. Cason Harrison might be a grown man, but deep inside he’s still sweet and vulnerable, a guy who cares about others, but had no one there for him. I cared about him—still do. But I wronged him, and lost the privilege of giving affection, as well as receiving it.
“Right,” I say, pushing those troubled thoughts to the back of my brain as I settle in next to him at the bistro table. Silence falls over us as we dig into our meal.
I moan as I slide my fork into my mouth, the flavor dancing on my tongue. “This is better than I remember.”
“I’ve perfected it over the years.”
“I’ve bet you perfected a lot of things,” I say.
“You could say that.” He twirls the pasta and takes a generous bite. “We learn and grow from our mistakes.”
I set my fork down. “I know why you bid so fiercely on me, Cason.”
He frowns. “Do you now?”
“Yeah, this is about revenge.”
He takes another bite, chews slowly, and gives a slow nod of his head. “Is that what you think?”
“It’s what I know, and I was thinking...” I lean forward, and his warm familiar scent wraps around me. Need races through me, floods my body. My breasts swell with heated blood, and ache for him to take them into his big hands. “Most people feel revenge is a dish best served cold, but if you ask me, I think it’s best served hot.”
He sets his utensils down, and sits up a bit straighter, the frown on his forehead deepening. “What are you suggesting, Londyn?” he asks, a slight edge to his voice.
“You said I’m here to do your laundry. I get it, you’re sticking it to me.” I pause to do quotes around those words. “But maybe there are other ways we can go about that?”
“You’re suggesting there are other ways I can stick it to you?”
“Yes.”
He leans toward me, his body so close to mine, all I have to do is inch forward if I wanted to kiss him. His thumb slides over my hand, and the touch vibrates through me, stroking the hot spot
between my legs. As I bite back a heated moan, my nipples harden, poke through my lace bra, and his eyes drop to blatantly stare. I’m not normally one to put myself out there and boldly lay my needs on the line, which is probably why equal amounts of excitement and nervousness are racing through my veins, both fighting for control.
“There are rules,” he says.
I shrug. “Rules are meant to be broken.”
His gaze rakes over my face, and without warning, he cups my chin, his touch firm, reassuringly strong. “You think I’m the kind of guy to break trust?”
My heart slams against my chest at the reminder, and he inches back, leaving cold where there was once heat. “Cason—”
With an unnerving look, he says, “Perhaps it’s time we call it a night.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Cason
I TEAR OFF my shirt and toss it onto the bed as her words continue to race through my brain, teasing my aching cock to the point of pain. The woman is a contradiction. One second she’s hell-bent on neutering me, and the next she wants me in her bed. I want that, too, long before she ever coated her lush, bee-stung lips in that fuck-me red lipstick. Then when she turned seductive, suggesting I stick it to her, I was seconds from carrying her to this very room when self-preservation kicked in. She broke my heart, tore it from my chest and stomped on it. I can’t do this again with her. I can’t get involved.
Then why the hell did you bid on her, dude?
Okay, fine, I hated the way the other men in the club looked at her, but there is no point in downplaying what’s really going on here. I couldn’t leave that club without her. Couldn’t turn my back. Couldn’t walk away. There isn’t a single bone in my body that would let me leave without her. But now that I have her here—and no way are we sleeping together—what the hell am I supposed to do with her for the next two weeks? Maybe I should put her in the car and drive her to a hotel and end this sweet torment right now. I clearly have no idea what I’m doing and tonight was nothing but a total disaster. My dick agrees, even though he’s hating on me right now. But there was a reason she was on that stage, and I can’t let her go until I get to the bottom of the matter.