Stirring Attraction

by Sara Jane Stone

  “I’m not ready.” The words carried the first tinge of fear in Caroline’s voice. “If that’s why you’re still coming around, after all this time . . . you need to move on. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. I haven’t had sex because I wanted to in years.”

  Ah hell, no wonder everyone in Forever believed Noah hired strays. First he’d taken in Josie. And Dominic now knew about the loss she’d suffered even if she’d tried to hide it from everyone. Then, Caroline—­

  “There’s no timeline,” Josh said. “After what your commanding officer did to you, I don’t expect you to start trusting strange men you meet in the forest overnight. I’d be in trouble if you did. This is timber country. You’re bound to come across loggers in these woods.”

  “There’s a big difference between overnight and a year, Josh.”

  She’s military. The pieces fell into place. And he’d be willing to guess, this was the woman his best friend hadn’t been able to save. Noah had mentioned that he’d been serving alongside a woman that he hadn’t been able to help. Dominic had assumed she’d been hit. Flying shrapnel. IED. Not rape. His best friend had never mentioned rape by a fellow soldier.

  “Plus, I’m still hiding,” Caroline said.

  “No one knows you’re here,” Josh said firmly. “And we’re going to keep it that way.”

  Fuck. And he thought he had issues. This woman had run from her duty to serve.

  “I’m not worried about Duncan finding me and blaming me for ruining his career,” Caroline said. “I’m AWOL. I shouldn’t be here. I should be serving . . .”

  The pie-­throwing dishwasher was running from the military. And Dominic knew that unauthorized absences came with serious consequences. If she was caught, she could end up behind bars. Probably a worst-­case scenario, but still.

  “Caroline.”

  Dominic had a feeling Josh now stood pretty damn close to her. He stole a glance through the cracked door. And yeah, Josh was within arm’s reach of the woman with the long black hair. The dishwasher was petite. Her oversized Big Buck’s T-­shirt, cargo shorts, and black combat boots didn’t help.

  “I bring the pies because I like you,” Josh said.

  And Dominic had bad feeling this moment was about to get a little too intimate for comfort—­his and possibly Caroline’s as well. In which case, he’d be forced to storm out of the bathroom and tackle a man he hadn’t seen in half a dozen years.

  “I like the way you fight to keep going,” Josh said, his voice just loud enough to reach the bathroom. “That’s not easy. I like the way you lick your lips after a bite of pie. And the way you listen to me talk about my brothers and their families.”

  “There are plenty of women who would listen to you talk while eating homemade baked goods,” she challenged. “Are you sure Noah didn’t ask you to drop by? Look out for me?”

  “Noah wants me to stay the hell away from you because he’s afraid one day, I’ll do this.”

  Dominic had a pretty good idea what “this” was, but he watched through the crack in the door just in case the man he’d played ball with once or twice growing up tried to take advantage of his close proximity to Caroline.

  And yeah, Josh did. But as soon as his lips touched Caroline’s, the heels of her combat boots lifted off the ground. From where Dominic stood it looked like she was deepening the kiss. But then she drew back, her fingers lifted to her lips.

  “I’ve waited over a year for that kiss,” Josh said, slipping his hands into his pocket as he moved out of Dominic’s line of sight. “I don’t care how long I have to wait for the next one. Take all the time you need, Caroline. Your kisses are worth waiting for.”

  He heard the door slam and knew that Josh had left. But Caroline stood rooted to the floor, staring straight ahead with her fingers still raised to her mouth.

  “Caroline?” Dominic could hear Noah’s voice, but couldn’t see him. “Are you all right?”

  Caroline turned and faced the door leading to the bar. “How much did you overhear?”

  “Not a damn thing. We have Isabelle out here demanding to practice her crawling skills on the floor.”

  “Liar,” Caroline said.

  And Dominic had to bite back a laugh. As far as he knew, Ryan, himself, and now he’d guess Josie, were the only ones who ever called Noah out. His friend had always been the town golden boy, above reproach except to his closest friends.

  “It’s none of my business either way,” Noah said. “You asked me to stay out of it and I have.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I also know that if you didn’t want him to kiss you, he’d be on the floor howling in pain,” Noah added. “Now come on out when you’re ready.”

  Caroline marched forward as if following an order, not a request from her friend and boss. He heard the door swing shut, and finally, they were alone again.

  He turned to the woman he’d nearly kissed in that room not long before the interruption. Years ago, she’d given him a kiss that promised to bring him back desperate for another. The memory of that moment in his truck had pushed him to achieve more and more. So that when he came back, he’d have something to offer her. A hero for a husband if she still wanted him. A solid foundation that would allow her to follow her heart’s desire after so many years of caring for her mother.

  He formed a fist with his right hand. He couldn’t give her those things now. But she hadn’t asked for a hero. Before they’d been interrupted, she’d demanded a kiss. And he didn’t want to wait another year, another month, or another day for that offer to come around again.

  “Lily.”

  She lifted her chin. Her grip had relaxed, but she kept her fingers wrapped around the sink’s edge. The position left her chest thrust out and her full breasts pressed against her shirt. Years ago, he’d known how to kiss her, how to touch her, and how to love her. Now, he didn’t have a clue. But he suspected one kiss wouldn’t be enough.

  “You can call me whatever you want. Boyfriend. Bodyguard. I don’t care as long as you kiss me. Now. And, honey, I’m not—­”

  Lily’s body fell against his and it no longer mattered that he hadn’t added “waiting a year” to the end of his declaration. She’d moved so fast that he hadn’t seen her push off from the counter surrounding the sink.

  Her hands ran over his chest, up to his shoulders, and down his arms. Her fingers linked with his as her body pressed close. He groaned as she rose to her tiptoes and her breasts brushed his chest.

  We should have gotten naked first.

  But then her lips pressed against his and he forgot all about T-­shirts. Sure, her breasts remained front and center in his mind as she drew closer . . . until her lips parted and her tongue touched his.

  Lily.

  His body responded as if hopeful she might kiss him lower. But they weren’t there yet. Not even close.

  He pulled his hands free from hers. He had to touch her. Now. His palms glided up her arms, over her long-­sleeve T-­shirt to her shoulders, and down her back. Her left leg lifted and wrapped around his waist.

  Be a gentleman and help her.

  He placed a palm under her thigh, guiding it higher and higher. Maybe he couldn’t fire a gun. But his damaged hand had no trouble slipping under the seam of her panties. She’d left her thong at home today. And though he was tempted to check and see if her underwear matched her dark red nails, he couldn’t tear his lips away from hers.

  He wanted to stay right here, lost in her mouth and the familiar feel of her body rocking against him. Let the outside world fade away. To hell with what he should or shouldn’t do.

  Like coming home to stay.

  She moaned against his mouth as his fingers explored the blond curls between her legs. And the last hold on his control slipped away.

  Without breaking their kiss, he guided her back until the
sink was at her back. Then he lifted her up and pressed her legs wide. She, in turn, released him and rested her hands on the vanity’s edge. She was open, ready, and kissing him like she never wanted to let him go. The desire to take her, claim her, make her his again threatened to overwhelm.

  Not in a fucking bathroom.

  Hell, if he took her right here against the sink or with her back to the walls, the sheetrock beneath would probably give out. But he didn’t need to take out a wall to end their visit to the bathroom with a bang.

  He held her waist with one hand as his right drew small circles over her inner thigh. His fingers slipped back under her panties. With her lips parted, his thumb found the spot that would drive her straight into the kind of bliss that would leave her screaming—­

  “More!” she cried, pulling back from his kiss.

  He ran his thumb back and forth, paying attention to the way her hips rocked against his fingers. He ignored the cramping in his hand. He didn’t need all of his fingers for this. He just needed to pay attention. A good orgasm was in the details. If he listened to her response, the soft moans, the familiar words, altered his delivery . . .

  “Oh . . . my . . . ”

  He stole a glance at her face. Lips parted, eyes closed, head thrown back, she looked as if she was lost in pleasure. And I put her there. Satisfaction swelled along with another part of his body that would require attention later. After. Right now . . .

  Her long ponytail teased the faucet as her back arched and her breasts thrust higher in the air. One of these days, he was going to strip off her long-­sleeve top and touch every damn inch of her.

  “Now! Now!” she screamed.

  His gaze dropped lower as her bottom lifted off the vanity’s edge. Her skirt was bunched around her waist, her legs splayed and open to his touch. He felt her tighten around the fingers he’d slipped inside her as the climax took hold.

  “Yes,” she hissed.

  Her bottom rose up as her body rode out the pleasure. And her hips reached higher, her feet pressing into the vanity’s door. He ran his thumb over her again.

  Bang.

  Crash.

  In one orgasm-­fueled moment, her head hit the mirror hanging over the sink and her feet pushed through the vanity’s door. Both came apart under the force of her pleasure. The mirror fell from the wall, hit the edge of the sink, and then crashed to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw broken glass decorating the toilet seat.

  The door to the cabinet below the sink hadn’t fared much better. She’d kicked it off its hinges. And yeah, he should probably feel something other than pride that he’d driven her to destruction with a single climax. But . . .

  Maybe later when Noah gave him hell for tearing up his bar.

  Lily lifted her head and opened her eyes as her hips rested down on the edge of the sink again. He withdrew his fingers and stepped back. His hand had blown past aching to outright pain. And he didn’t give a damn.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “That was an amazing kiss,” she murmured.

  “Yeah, well, I think they heard it all the way in the bar.”

  She laughed, her eyes bright and her face relaxed. Looking at her now, her fear felt like a distant memory. He knew it would return. And when it did . . . he’d bury his face between her legs.

  As if she’d followed his thought process down the path marked “oral sex” and realized that one orgasm in the break-­room bathroom was probably enough, she slid off the sink’s edge and drew her skirt down her legs.

  “The mirror,” she gasped as if she’d just realized the mess they’d made. She looked back at him and laughed. “At least now I know you haven’t lost your touch for destructive orgasms.”

  “That was all you, honey.” And my aching dick can back up that fact.

  Her gaze swept down his front and lingered on the bulge in his cargo shorts. He didn’t move or try to adjust himself. She’d felt his hard-­on when she’d rested her head in his lap last night, and again while they’d kissed. At this point, an erection felt like part of greeting her.

  “We’ll get to your turn. But right now, I should get back to work. I don’t think Noah meant ‘take an hour off and wreck the bathroom’ when he offered me a break.”

  “If Noah gives you trouble, send him back here. He can help me fix that cabinet.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And how are you going to account for the damage?”

  “I wasn’t planning on offering him an explanation.”

  She laughed as she walked out of the bathroom. The sound faded along with her footsteps. Then the swinging door creaked and she was gone.

  He rested his hands on the vanity’s edge still warm from her naked skin and stared at the place on the wall where the mirror had hung when they’d first rushed into the room, hoping to hide. The ache in his hand pushed hard against his triumph. He’d asked his damaged hand to do too much and now he was paying for it. But it had been worth it. For a few minutes, he’d given them both a brief reprieve from fear and pain.

  But it was just that—­a break. Nothing more. If he wanted to help her, if he loved her, he needed to focus on making Lily feel safe. He needed to help her get her life back—­one that was rooted here and didn’t include a fucked-­up former ranger. He needed . . .

  “To play bodyguard, not boyfriend.”

  Chapter Ten

  “EVERYTHING OK, LILY?”

  Noah tossed out the question as he held up the ser­vice side to the bar. The room had filled since she’d left for her “break.” After the first week at Big Buck’s, she’d learned that the university crowd viewed four to five on Sunday afternoon as Bloody Mary and mimosa time. And they were halfway through that magical hour.

  She’d heard that question over and over since the attack. But this time, her friend turned boss wasn’t referencing her recent trauma.

  “How much did you overhear?” she asked.

  “Enough to know I should send Caroline out to take drink orders and have Josie leave through the front with the baby.” He glanced at the back door. “Dominic still ‘reviewing the case file’ back there? Or is it safe to send the dishwasher to her station to keep up with this rush?”

  “It’s safe. Though she might need to bring a broom. The mirror in the bathroom broke.”

  “That must be some case file. But I’m glad he’s helping you.” Noah smiled as he handed her a printed list of drink orders. “I’ll tackle the Bloody Marys”—­which she didn’t have a clue how to mix—­“if you handle the mimosas.”

  She turned and reached for three white-­wine glasses.

  “Lily.”

  The first glass slipped through her fingers, but she caught it before it shattered on the floor. Then she turned to her new customer. “Ted. What a surprise.”

  The man, who’d dumped her before their relationship fully launched into boyfriend/girlfriend territory, claimed a barstool across from her. His long, narrow face offered a concerned expression. She had a feeling he used the same carefully planned look at parent-­teacher conferences.

  “How are you, Lily?” he asked. “Are you OK?”

  She’d received the same question minutes ago. But Ted delivered his with a boatload of pity versus sarcasm. Of course, the man sitting across the bar hadn’t heard her scream “Yes! Yes! Yes!” through the walls. She’d caught a few of the customers looking at her with a question in their eyes—­what’s in the back room? And can I visit?—­when she’d first walked out, but not Ted.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Can I get you anything?”

  Please say no. Please leave and stop raining on my orgasm parade.

  Not that one climax constituted a parade. But she had hope for later tonight, after Dominic searched her home for potential threats . . .

  Wow, her idea of foreplay needed work. After they
caught this guy, after things returned to normal in her life, then . . . but no, Dominic would be gone again by then.

  “A cup of coffee if you have it,” Ted said, and she could practically feel the rain clouds moving in. “I might have a beer later. I thought I would stick around and keep you company.”

  But you broke up with me and my “fears.”

  “Sure, but I have to keep up with the drink orders.” She turned her back to him and reached for mimosa glasses. Ted could wait for his coffee.

  “If you’re pouring coffee, I’ll have a cup too.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw Dominic sliding onto the stool beside Ted. He held out his left hand. “Dominic. I don’t think we’ve met before. I’ve been away for a while and you’re new to the area.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Ted gave his hand an awkward shake.

  She turned her focus back to pouring not-­so-­equal parts champagne and orange juice into glasses. After keeping these customers waiting, they deserved a little extra booze.

  “Sorry, I’d offer my right hand, but it’s not a pretty sight right now,” Dominic said.

  Her brow furrowed as she added the OJ. She’d seen his hand up close. The skin was damaged from where the bullet had gone through, but she’d been under the impression that he was more concerned with the loss of his fine motor skills.

  “I cut it on a broken piece of mirror,” Dominic continued.

  Her grip tightened on the juice bottle. And she waited for him to add the mirror our mutual friend over there broke while she came against my hand. . .

  “Hey, Noah,” Dominic called. “Do you have a Band-­Aid?”

  “First-­aid kit is in the back by the dishwasher,” Noah shot back. A side glance at her boss and fellow bartender for the night told her that Noah was moving fast to pick up her slack.

  She turned her attention back to the drink ticket. Three mimosas—­check. Two bottles of light beer—­

  “You know, I’m not sure a Band-­Aid will work,” Dominic said. “Would you look at how much blood has already seeped through this rag?”