by Kate Meader
Hang up, her brain screeched. Hang the fuck up.
“Hello—Angel, is that you?”
Angel. Why would he call her that? Did he think she was someone else?
“Hi, it’s me. Sadie.”
Sadie.
Gunnar blinked, confused as all hell. He checked the name on the incoming call. Angel. She had yet to respond to any of his texts. It had bothered him but then he’d had that exchange with Sadie—of words, of lust, of hot kisses—and Angel, the woman who had helped him through, had gone clean out of his brain. A clear case of his little head ruling the big one.
How could Sadie be calling from Angel’s number?
“Sadie Yates?” It was her voice, and Sadie was a unique enough name. He felt stupid fumbling for confirmation. “Lauren’s sister?”
“One and the same.”
“How did you get this number?” He wasn’t even sure if he meant his number or Angel’s.
“Ah, that’s quite the story, which I only realized was a story when I ran into you at that coffee shop yesterday.” She cleared her throat, then added, “You were planning to meet someone there.”
“Yeah, but—wait, how did you know that?”
A sharp inhale of breath preceded her next words. “I’m that person, the one you were supposed to meet. I’m the one who got your wife’s number.”
His heart plummeted, a free-fall with no apparent end in sight.
He couldn’t speak, so she spoke for him. “Fucking AT&T, remember?”
“No, that’s … not right.”
“Might not be right, but it’s the truth.”
Sadie was Angel, Angel was Sadie. The shock had subsided, and something else had taken over. That feeling of knowing something innate, in his bones. Like it was meant to happen like this.
A chill crept over his skin. “When did you know?”
“While you were buying coffee. You texted me that you’d arrived that minute but you might be hanging with another woman and … I put two and two together.”
“So you knew when we were at the Isners last night for dinner? And when I drove you home? And kissed you?” And waited with her for the police to arrive. This was completely ass backwards. “You knew through all that and decided not to tell me?”
“I screwed up. I was reeling with the news and what was I supposed to say? By the way, the woman you’ve been flirt-texting with for the last year is actually the woman you think is a terrible parent and bad sister and incredibly annoying person—”
“Flirt-texting?” That was not what they were doing. “This is fucked up. You should have told me the second you figured it out instead of stringing me along like some sort of game. Unless you’ve known longer. And this was—I don’t know—planned.”
“That’s not—that’s not what I did! And planned? What do you think I did? Bribed someone at AT&T to give me your wife’s number so I can stalk you for a year and then finally surprise you after I find out you’re a complete and utter jerk? You think this is some sort of long game? I should have known you’d be like this!”
She ended the call.
No. She didn’t get to end this conversation. This was not even close to ending.
21
Sadie wasn’t sure how long she sat in the kitchen, staring with unseeing eyes at the phone. Ten minutes? Thirty? Peyton had texted a couple of times, Allegra had called her usual twice every fifteen minutes, and Gunnar had called once, after which Sadie decided the best course of action was to turn off her phone altogether. Because ignoring the problem always worked.
Gunnar Bond was definitely LonelyHeart. And he’d been a jerk about it, just as prophecy dictated.
Well, not prophecy. Sadie had known he wouldn’t react well. She should have hung up when he answered, then texted the details. Reading it on the screen might have softened the blow. As it was, hearing Sadie’s voice with the news was never going to endear her to him.
Was that her intention? Push him so far that he would be pissed off at her and they could pretend the attraction between them was really too hard to overcome? After all, there was no way they could return to that previous state of affairs, the messy I-don’t-like-you-but-boobs-and-pecs-are-nice option. It had seemed so much simpler last night when all that existed between them was unabashed chemistry.
Now they had baggage. They didn’t have a relationship but whatever they had already came with pre-packaged cargo weighing them down and dooming anything more.
It probably would have been awful anyway. The man looked like a Viking god and she was about as far from warrior queen as it got. That mouth, though. And his kisses … Reel it in. She was not in his league—and now she needn’t worry about it.
She might want to worry about that insistent doorbell.
It had to be him. She didn’t know how he’d made it from Riverbrook in twenty minutes, but she knew it was him. She could ignore it like she’d ignored the phone call but they really needed to have this out face to face.
Shooting titanium into her spine, she marched to the front door and yanked it open. He stood there wearing black sweatpants, a gray tee, and a scowl.
Never had anything sexier appeared on her doorstep.
Give him a chance to speak, Sadie. Expect the hot vibe to be ruined in three, two, one …
He opened his mouth. She opened hers. Neither of them said a word.
Standing back, she motioned him inside impatiently as if she had gossiping neighbors to consider. “Shouldn’t you be in hockey class?”
“I was running errands in the neighborhood when you called.”
Sure you were. He had arrived fairly quickly, though.
“Listen, I’m sorry for how this went down,” she started, eager to move off the back foot. “I’ve been in a state of shock since I figured it out.”
“But you did figure it out.” His eyes burned into her. “You knew and you still chose to stay silent. You had a chance to speak last night. Instead you kissed me back!”
“If you recall, I didn’t kiss you. I didn’t react at all, and then—okay, I did. But only because you drive me nuts. You’re such a jerk but apparently my hormones don’t care!”
He rubbed his forehead. “Jesus. This is fucked up.”
“Yeah, you said so on the phone. Can we assume that’s all entered into evidence and skip to the part where we figure out how we’re going to deal with this going forward? We know it’s a mess, we know it’s really awkward, and we know it shouldn’t have happened.”
“What shouldn’t have happened?” He took a breath-stealing step closer. “You having Kel’s phone number? Us talking to each other for months? Sniping at each other from the minute we met?” Another step. Another hitch in her throat. “Or kissing? Is that what shouldn’t have happened? Because a lot of things have happened here.”
Kel. He called his wife Kel.
“I guess what I mean is that if we hadn’t given into our baser urges, we wouldn’t be having this problem. You liked the woman on the texts. You don’t like the woman before you.”
“You’re the same person,” he said, King of the Obvious.
“And you wish I wasn’t.”
He narrowed those stunning blue eyes. “I didn’t say that. I just wish you’d told me as soon as you knew instead of keeping it to yourself.”
“Do you think I hid this from you for some dastardly plan?”
“I don’t know. I just know I don’t like it.”
Typical male response, instinct telling him what his brain couldn’t compute. That was all very well on the ice or in a foxhole, but instincts tended to get people like her into trouble. She should have played it safe, not agreed to meet. Knowledge was dangerous. Putting all that can-do energy out into the world had come back to bite her.
He was thrillingly close now, his eyes flashing in fury, blue brightening with golden sparks.
“You can’t even admit why you don’t like it,” she said, going on the offensive again. “We know it’s because you don’t l
ike me.”
“I never said that. Are you forgetting that kiss?” His eyes dropped to her mouth. Mentioning the kiss created a warm bloom in her core that spread outward to all extremities.
“I’m—I’m not forgetting it. I’m saying you didn’t like me when you kissed me. I mean, you liked my mouth and maybe you liked touching and tasting me”—all things she liked about him—“but you didn’t like me, the person those lips belonged to.”
“So we got off on the wrong foot, you annoy the hell out of me, and I like kissing you. It’s possible to not be crazy about someone’s personality and still want to kiss the living daylights out of them. Finding out that we know each other in this alternative universe is weird. I am allowed to think that.”
Of course he was. Just as she was allowed to think about kissing and tasting and so much more.
“You want to kiss the living daylights out of me?”
“Sadie—” He stopped abruptly, making her name sound like a curse. He rubbed a hand cross his mouth, a big meaty paw that drew attention to that sexy beard and those gorgeous lips.
It was suddenly very hot in there.
They seemed to be at a crossroads, where they could only deal with one thing at a time. The facts so far:
1. They liked the texting versions of each other.
2. They did not like the IRL versions of each other.
3. Kissing each other felt really, really good.
Points one and two canceled each other out, which left point three.
“There’s a lot going on here,” she murmured, “but the one thing I’m hearing is: Kiss. Good.” Woman echoes prehistoric ancestor. Complete sentences no longer necessary.
He must have agreed because he set about proving that kissing was indeed good. His mouth on hers was heaven, hell, and all points in between. It was everything.
She didn’t want to desire someone this much, to be so focused on another person’s mouth and feel and taste, yet here they were with a kiss that blocked out everything else. All problems were null and void. If this was everything, what was left?
He backed her up a few steps, clearly seeking some sort of leverage. A wall, a stair, a—yes, that would do. The backs of her knees hit the edge of the chaise. Don’t ask why there’s a chaise in the entryway to the house, Sadie, just be thankful it’s here! She flipped their positions and pushed him down. He landed with a thud.
Their mouths separated and now he peered up at her from beneath those forbidding brows, his eyes alight with something she hadn’t seen before: undiluted want. Oh, she’d seen garden variety lust and plain old I-bought-dinner-so-you-owe-me lust but never such need. To inspire that was heady and for a moment, she hovered over him, unsure of her next move. Unsure if she could live up to the expectations she saw in those blazing blues.
He made the decision for her with his big hands on her butt, pulling her astride his lap.
“Oh,” she ooffed. She took a moment to study him, placing a hand at the back of his head, another at the side of his face. The facial hair was surprisingly soft. He must condition it.
His lips shone wet with her kiss and she couldn’t help herself: she licked the corner of his mouth, then along the seam until he opened to let her in. The frenzy of the kiss had subsided, and in its place was an awareness that there was pleasure to be had. It crackled between them, a special brand of knowledge.
Gunnar Bond was a wonderful kisser. He applied himself with deliberate thoroughness. This was a man who enjoyed giving the full experience. A light tug of the lips, a protracted nibble, a flick of his tongue, a guttural sound to indicate pleasure. Gunnar Bond kissed with gusto!
That made her giggle—and not just in her head.
“What?” He whispered, pausing long enough to blow the word into her mouth. It didn’t stop this kiss. Nothing could stop the kiss. It merely morphed into a different phase. Nibbling continued. Nuzzling took over.
“Admiring your technique.”
He spread a large palm over her ass and yanked her forward over his erection. Yep, perfect technique.
“You usually laugh when you’re admiring a man’s skills?” More nibbles, now to her jaw, her earlobe. This kiss had legs.
“All the time,” she breathed, though that wasn’t true at all. She was usually so tense, wondering what the other person was thinking, was she slanting her mouth correctly, was she enough for him.
His beard tickled. His lips amazed. And his hands … wow.
Her skirt had ridden up, flashing quite the expanse of thigh, and now he was pulling her closer, which only forced her hem higher. More skin, more heat, more—oh, he was so hard beneath her.
Closer. More. Please.
She didn’t have to ask. Wordlessly, he pushed the hem up so she could settle her thighs easily on either side. Wordlessly, she ground against him, yielding groans from them both. No need for anything verbal. Those groans were unmistakable affirmatives.
His erection dug into the sensitive fabric-shielded flesh between her thighs. She used the friction to spiral higher. He slipped his thumbs over her underwear, a light, maddening stroke.
The new, faintly surreal pleasure produced a shiver. Pressing down, she encouraged him to continue, to give her more, to join skin with skin. One thumb slid past the border of her panties, traveling a lustful route through slick heat.
She pushed back, seeking a more deliberate motion, demanding her due. His thumb brushed her clit. A moan ripped from her throat.
“Yes, yes, please,” she whispered, her eyes closed, and when she opened them, he was there, right there, staring at her with those blue, heated suns. He pushed her panties aside, and rubbed a rough palm through all the wetness between her legs. Like he needed to verify the evidence of her desire.
Her entire body shook with sheer, crazy, fucking need, and then she was riding his hand, grinding on it while he watched her so carefully. Kissing had ceased, their focus on the race too important. If his hand didn’t do it, his eyes would. Heat bloomed and pulsed and exploded in a crescendo of body-wracking pleasure. She made an embarrassing noise she would block out in future relived fantasies of this moment. His mouth met hers once more, kissing her through the descent and keeping her centered while her body flew apart.
Wow. Fucking wow.
His hand remained in a possessive grip between her thighs, gently teasing, building a fire once more.
“What about you?” she asked shakily because it was incredibly selfish to let him take her there again without repaying the favor.
He went stiff. A shadow crossed his face, a ghost of remembrance, and she watched in growing horror as each moment hit him in quick succession: knowledge, guilt, sorrow, regret, a soul wrecked. His color rose quickly and his eyes softened with a depth of emotion that knocked her back. This couldn’t possibly be his first time since … no, she refused to believe that.
But if it was, he needed to be reminded that there was no comparison. She wasn’t Kel, the woman of his dreams. Far from it.
“Gunnar, it’s okay.”
He swiped a hand across his mouth, its tremble unmissable. So was the conclusion: he was removing the taste of her from his lips. She stood awkwardly. She preferred to stay seated over his strong thighs, but he was definitely giving off vibes of got-to-get.
Or perhaps not. He didn’t move a muscle. His head was dipped, his stance taut.
Taking a chance, she placed her palms on his broad shoulders and held on as they sank in dejection. She kept her hands loose, giving him every opportunity to slip her grip.
It’s okay.
Leaning in, she kissed the top of his head. His body shuddered, his shoulders heaved. She applied more pressure with her fingers. I’m here. He raised the heel of his hand to his eyes, a motion that could mean only one thing.
He was crying.
She got the orgasm, but he’d fallen apart.
She inched closer until his bent head touched the soft folds beneath her breasts. Never had she been so glad to hav
e a few extra pounds, all the better to pillow his head. His arms circled her waist and pulled her close, absorbing a strength she hadn’t known she possessed.
They stayed like that for a while. She wasn’t sure how long, just that she didn’t regret a single second.
Finally, he leaned back, his hands loosely cupping her hips. He looked up at her with eyes wet and raw.
“That was embarrassing.”
She sat beside him on the chaise. “I can’t help that sound I make. You wouldn’t believe the number of guys it’s sent fleeing into the night.”
A whisper of a smile teased his lips. “I’m sorry for that. I wasn’t expecting this—you—and it took me by surprise.”
She had a million questions but prompting him to explain his reaction might close him down. It seemed easier to take some of the pressure off and apologize for her sins of earlier.
“I’m sorry for not telling you as soon as I figured out who you were. I didn’t do this to trick you. I swear I was just as shocked when I worked it out but I needed time to think about it. So I called you today to make sure. I didn’t expect you to answer. I thought you’d be busy at camp and then I could super-sleuth and work out a plan. I should have hung up—”
“No, you—you did the right thing.”
Surprise took her aback. “I did?”
“Of course. Because the wrong thing would be for you to have hung up and not told me who you were. I was annoyed because you had information I didn’t have and no one likes being kept in the dark. It makes them feel stupid. But I understand why you did it.”
“You do?”
“Just said I did.” He frowned, and grumpy was super hot on him. No surprise there.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been so polite to you, especially when you were trying to help with Lauren. I shouldn’t have snapped, asking if you have kids.”
His eyes froze, the blue the chill of Arctic ice.
She continued digging her grave. “I—I lashed out at you and of all the things to say, that was terribly cruel.”
“You didn’t know,” he said, the words a whip against her skin. She shouldn’t have brought it up. She hated that she could ever have hurt him with such a thoughtless comment. He was obviously still in a bad place.