First Comes Love (New Castle Book 1)

by Lydia Michaels

  “Tyson, stop it. It’s none of your business anyway. You’re my neighbor, that’s it.”

  “I am your neighbor,” he whispered, thigh pressing tight between her own, parting her knees. Her skin tingled as the proof of his arousal nudged her hip. “Because you told me that’s all I could be to you, because your life was too complicated to date anyone. Now which is it, Kat? You either aren’t dating or you are. Or is it that you just don’t want to date me?”

  Her first instinct was to run, but there was nowhere to go. “I don’t know.”

  “You know. You don’t want to say. Is it because our age difference? Is it because I’m black?”

  “No!”

  “Then what is it?” he yelled. “I’ve respected your wishes and given you your space. I figured if I were patient, you’d come around. But you barely even speak to me anymore. I expected us to at least be friends. What I didn’t expect was to see you inviting some guy into your home.”

  “Nothing happened!” Her frustration gave way to panic. She couldn’t take him being mad at her. She didn’t know why his opinion mattered so much, but it did. “My mother fixed us up. She introduced us on Easter and he called a few weeks later, but I blew him off because I wasn’t interested—in dating him or anybody for that matter. Then my mom twisted everything up and we had a huge fight and she made me call him. What was I supposed to do?”

  His head quizzically tilted, their breathing the only sound. A responsive throb to his nearness started low in her belly. She wanted to push him away and at the same time she wanted to pull his gorgeous face down to hers and kiss those full lips like crazy.

  Never before had she known such explosive chemistry could exist between two people. The electricity arcing between them was dangerous and she was the kind of girl who never played with matches.

  Finally, he broke the silence. “If he asks you out again, will you go?”

  “I don’t know,” she honestly replied.

  “Yet, if I ask you out again, you’ll say no. Why is that?”

  “Tyson—”

  “Why?”

  “I…”

  “Answer the question!”

  “Because I like you too much and it scares me!” she yelled. “I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone! When you kiss me I get chills and when you look at me my stomach fills with butterflies. The way you are with Mia, it makes me ache with a sort of happiness I’ve never experienced before. When you touch me—”

  Her words silenced as he growled and fused his mouth to hers. Unlike the soft patient kisses she remembered, this time he devoured her like a man denied too long. His tongue speared into her mouth, searing her own, his entire physical being demanding she kiss him back. He claimed her, marked her.

  Her heart wildly beat behind her ribs like a caged hummingbird. His hands cupped her ass, supporting her, and she crawled up the wall of his chest, gripping the fabric covering his shoulders in her tight fists.

  The slide of her dress tickled her thighs as he tugged at the material. She moaned as he squeezed the soft curve of her bare thigh. The ground gave way as he lifted her to him, his large hands cradling her ass.

  Her body immediately reacted to the contact. Strong arms snaked around her back, pulling her closer against the hard line of his body. His teeth scraped along her lower lip, sensually teasing her mouth as his lips slanted over hers.

  The room blurred as he spun them around, carrying her from the cramped closet. Objects clattered to the floor and the cool, flat wall pressed into her back. Right there in the hall, he ravaged her mouth.

  The complete weight and contact of his body had her arching into him, legs around his waist, and his arousal strained against his jeans. He tilted his head to get a better angle on her mouth. She moved her tongue over his and he groaned in pleasure.

  Her dress rode up over her hips as his large hands slid under the delicate lace of her panties. The skid of his work-roughened fingers was marvelous as they caressed the soft, exposed skin of her ass. He squeezed her bottom almost painfully and firmly pressed himself into the cradle of her thighs. Her hands coasted over every hard muscle and ridge she could reach through his clothing as she clung to his solid form.

  Needing air, she ripped her mouth away and leaned her head against the wall, gasping for breath as he pressed a trail of hot, wet kisses down her neck. They were both breathing heavily.

  In between kisses he mumbled broken words of lust and wasted time. “I tried to stay away—” He bit her earlobe, his mouth kissing a trail along her jaw. She arched her neck, giving him access. “What you do to me—” His lips connected with that magic spot on her collarbone. “God, Kat, I can’t get enough of you.”

  Their hips ground together. Her breasts ached as she slipped her fingers beneath his collar and dug into the smooth, cappuccino skin pulling tight over his broad, muscled shoulders. He breathed her name against her skin. The cool weight of her hair slipped over her shoulders and out of its bun. One shoe fell to the floor with an unceremonious clop. His lips found hers again and she moaned.

  The ache that he kindled slowly suddenly scalded like a white flame, charring every shred of common sense she had left. The last of her good intentions fell away as his hand closed over her breast.

  “My bedroom—” she breathed, as he continued to ravish her. Turning a cheek, she gasped, “Tyson…my bedroom.”

  His palm slid low on the center of her bottom and his fingers pressed over the silk covering her slick sex.

  The strength of his arm banded around her waist. Teeth scraped the sensitive spot on her shoulder, biting, and then soothing the sharp sting. Wet sucking kisses pulled at her tender throat.

  Clawing at the fabric of his shirt, her fists bunched the fabric, longing to feel more of his skin on hers. The material gathered at his upper back and her palm moved low, pressing over his heated flesh. The muscled tension that vibrated under her touch stoked the flame burning deep in her belly.

  She was pinned, pegged, spread out against the wall as he ground his hard body against hers. “Please, Tyson,” she begged as he pressed her more firmly to the wall and stilled.

  His face pushed into the curve of her neck. Labored breathing echoed between them while he held her tight, as if trying to regain his control. At that point she was beyond caring about control.

  “Kat—” he panted. “We have to stop.”

  She whimpered in frustration as she dragged her forehead against his shoulder. Why was he doing this to her? He started this. He should finish it. Damn this man for coming into her life and turning her world upside down. She squeezed her eyes closed, rejected, determined, and weary all at the same time. What was happening to her?

  The fast pounding of his heart rested under her ear as they breathed together. Seconds turned to minutes until she finally gave an unconvincing nod against his shoulder and slowly released her hold on his shirt.

  Her palms flattened over his biceps. There wasn’t a place on him she could touch that didn’t turn her on. His intimate hold on her ass gave way as his hands curved around her back, still supporting her weight and lifting her higher over his hips, but in a less sexual way.

  She turned her face, replacing her forehead with her cheek against his shoulder. He laid his head along her shoulder as well. They stood locked together, him tenderly holding her, heads on each other’s shoulders—yin and yang.

  Eventually, he moved his palm in soothing patterns up and down her back, slowly rocking and lulling her away from the sexual hysteria that had almost swallowed her whole. Gratitude that he knew when to stop even when she didn’t bloomed into tender affection for this man.

  She didn’t understand the way her body reacted to him. Nothing compared to the effect he had on her. It was as if, when he touched her, she forgot who she was and let go of all her idiosyncrasies and insecurities. In the moment, it was liberating and addicting, but once she regained her bearings it scared the ever-loving crap out of her.

  “Tyson,” s
he whispered.

  “Shh, just let me hold you.”

  She nodded and shut her eyes.

  His palm ran soothing patterns over her back for what felt like hours. Everything between them had changed. As he held her in his arms, she realized that she wasn’t strong enough to deny the sexual pull between them any longer.

  Tyson needed to think. All he wanted to do was bury his cock into Kat’s heat—right there, in the hall of her dainty cottage—but he needed to think. God, this place was small. He felt like a giant in a dollhouse.

  Every time he touched her lush, tight body or kissed her timid little mouth he was reminded of how inexperienced she was. He had to slow the fuck down. He couldn’t mess this up. He wouldn’t mess this up.

  Slowly easing his grip, he allowed her slight body to slide down his front—Sweet Jesus—until her feet softly landed on the floor. Sleepy, vulnerable eyes questioningly gazed up at him. His thumb coasted over the crest of her ivory cheek. So smooth.

  She needed to be taken slowly, tenderly. He wanted to get it right the first time. Slowly build that emotional connection, so the experience was more than two bodies writhing against one another, seducing her mind as well as her body. Depth mattered to him and he didn’t want something shallow with her.

  “What do you say, while I go let Trixie out, you make us a pot of coffee? I take it Mia’s away for the night?”

  She nodded. “She’s at Jade’s.”

  “Good. I’m gonna run home for a minute. You need anything?”

  “No. I just want to change my clothes, and then I’ll make coffee.”

  The moment he completely withdrew his touch he thought he caught a flash of disappointment in her eyes.

  Good. Progress.

  “I should only be a minute. I left some food on the counter. God knows what that dog’s been up to since I’ve been gone.”

  She laughed and he fought the urge to stay. She probably needed a few minutes to regroup, regain her bearings. Besides, he needed to have a serious talk with his dick about manners before she noticed how aroused he still was.

  Kissing her temple lightly, he squeezed her shoulder, and turned away. Well, this night sure ended differently than he’d predicted. Adjusting himself, he headed down the sidewalk to his house.

  Barging in and ravishing her was never part of the plan, but when the sleek BMW returned and that guy followed her into the house, it was like having an anvil dropped on his head. He’d stared, dumbfounded, and suddenly his fist was pounding on her door, still holding the flashlight he’d been working with earlier.

  The guy looked to be settling in, but Kat seemed high strung—more than usual—which she rarely was when in her own home. Warning bells clamored when he spotted the bottle of wine he left for her. That was his goddamn wine. He became a territorial animal ready to mark his claim.

  Tyson unlocked his front door and Trixie charged. “Whoa, girl. Easy. Did you get my sandwich?”

  The dog had the grace to look repentant.

  “Wonderful,” he drolly mumbled as he entered the kitchen. He came up short at the yellow Wonder Bread wrapper shredded on the floor next to the spilled trashcan. “Trixie!”

  The dog’s head tilted in curious shock, ear cocked as if she couldn’t understand what she’d done wrong. Slowly, she bowed and spit out the gnarled paintbrush. The wooden handle was chewed to a nub.

  Tyson sighed. “You’re going to doggy charm school.”

  As he used the dustpan to scrape up a mixture of coffee grounds, eggshells, and other garbage, he thought about Kat’s date. The guy was an arrogant douche. He’d seen the kind a million times. All glitz and shine firmly rooted in Mommy and Daddy’s pocket. He’d be shocked if a guy like Dawson Price ever put in a day of hard labor in his pampered, silver spoon life.

  Tyson was different stock. He was clear on the score. He didn’t come from money. His parents were average, hardworking, middle class citizens.

  He fit a new trash bag into the can and shoveled up the pile, sending Trixie a glare. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

  The dumb dog wagged her tail.

  “You’re pathetic.” Bending down, she scratched under her ear, and she rolled onto her back asking for more. The tap, tap, tap of her tail filled the room. “No can do, pup. My other girl needs me right now. You behave.”

  He tied off the bag in case Trixie tipped the canister again. Snatching the ruined paintbrush off the floor, he left a piece of rawhide in its place.

  As he washed his hands he tried to pinpoint what exactly bothered him about Kat’s date. Was it Price or just the fact that Kat had gone out with another man when he wanted to be the one taking her out? The audacious way Price acted like he understood Kat bugged him. He wasn’t the only man that could take her to dinner. If she weren’t so damn stubborn they would have shared many dinners.

  Who did this guy think he was? Katherine enjoyed herself. Men like that were so transparent. Like he deserved some sort of recognition.

  Sure, Kat could settle down with someone upper crust like Price. She’d adapt. It’d be easy for her to fit into the role of suburban wife and mother, fulfilling her husband’s legacy.

  The vision of some spacious cookie cutter home at the end of a cul-de-sac came a little to easily, when thinking of Kat. He could see her driving some fully loaded, five star, child safety SUV, preparing dinners at six each night, acting as classroom mom by day, and running the PTA by night, but he didn’t want to see her doing those things with a man like Price. She could do better. However, doing better might take him out of the equation all together.

  He stood at the edge of her driveway and watched the window. Under the soft glow of light in the kitchen, she carried a pot of coffee to the table and placed it on a potholder like his Gran used to do.

  A smile pulled at the side of his mouth when she neatly positioned two cups, a bowl of sugar, and the creamer before stepping back and examining the arrangement. A soft frown knit across her brow and she leaned forward to tweak the display. Stepping back again her shoulders lifted and fell and she nervously combed a hand over her hair.

  She looked like she could use a few more minutes so he carried her trashcans to the curb. His Momma always told him what matters in a good man is if, after thirty years, he still took out the trash. Kat reminded him of his Momma in some ways—sweet, strong, and nurturing.

  She wasn’t the type of woman to be impressed with name brands and fancy things. She took pride in her small cottage and she didn’t even own the deed. Her determination and attention to detail was a huge turn on. She might be as skittish as a kitten, but she had the determination of a lioness.

  Her quiet grace could easily be mistaken for compliance, but he knew better. A man like Price could destroy the very essence of a woman like Kat. But she was no dummy. She’d realize these things at her own pace, realize this was her life and she was the only one expected to live it. As much as she yearned for her parents’ approval—whether she admitted it or not—her future was hers to decide. Not theirs.

  Kat knew how to love, but he wasn’t sure she knew what it was to be loved—without conditions. All he was asking for was the chance to show her such things were possible. It was a damn shame a girl as sweet and big-hearted as her jaded at twenty-one. Even if he wasn’t the man for her, he had to keep her from settling for men like Price.

  He leisurely stepped onto the porch and knocked at the door. It’d be a mistake to rush her. Slow and steady won the race and sooner or later she’d notice the difference between those that loved her only when their motives were met and those that simply cared with nothing but good intentions.

  He wanted to be the man for the job, wanted to be there for all those firsts she had yet to experience, making love, breakfast in bed, fooling around on a rainy afternoon, having someone pick up the slack so she could take an afternoon off. Seducing her would try his patience, but every minute gained would justify the wait.

  Chapter Nine

  The mom
ent she opened the door her body tightened. How was it this beautiful man kept returning to her? Breathless, she smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  An awkward moment of silence stretched, where all she could picture was their groping bodies in the hall only minutes ago. “The coffee’s ready.”

  “Great. Thank you.” He settled into a seat at the kitchen table. “We need to talk, Kat.”

  Her hands trembled as she reached for the cups and steadily poured the coffee. “Okay.”

  Changing into sweats and a tank had only removed a fraction of the tension. The sensation of his lingering touch still tingled all over her skin and deep inside her body. Things, of course, needed to be discussed, but she had no idea how to go about discussing them or what she should say.

  It was strange serving coffee at midnight. “I made decaf so we can still go to bed.” She winced. “I mean, so we aren’t up all night.” Damn it! “So we can sleep. Me in my bed. You in yours. Apart. Not together.”

  Please stop talking.

  His hand settled over hers and she held her breath. “Kat, relax. It’s okay. We’re gonna talk and then you’ll go to bed and I’ll going home.”

  Sucking in a choppy breath, she nodded.

  He picked up the mug Mia painted and laughed. She loved that soft, deep laugh of his. “This is cute.” He admired the artwork. “I’m wondering what my doghouse is going to look like.”

  She laughed. Mia was a fine painter for a three-year-old, but like any other three-year-old, her strokes were sporadic and patchy. “You knew what you were getting yourself into the day you let her doodle all over your blueprints.”

  His patience and tolerance with Mia was what she found most attractive. And being that he was drop dead gorgeous, that was saying a lot. It meant a lot that he continuously encouraged her daughter’s abilities and accepted her limitations, never once causing Mia to question herself.

  They doctored up their drinks and quietly took a few sips. She waited for him to begin, because, aside from small talk, she had no idea what to say.