A Moment of Madness (Boston Alibi)

by Brooklyn Skye

  Lips brushed hers. Then the tickle of his sweet-smelling beard. “Telling you to shut up.”

  Pfft. “Points for creativity,” she said, fighting the smile pushing at her lips because of how ridiculous she felt. “But I feel like I’m in a B-rated romance movie. You know, the tie-me-up-and-make-me-feel-things-I’ve-never-felt type?”

  Without any warning, he traced the line of her bra and then something warm and wet followed. His tongue? A sound like a whimper escaped her throat when the wetness continued up her neck and swallowed the fleshy part of her ear. “Well, then,” he whispered, “I guess that means you’re really going to hate what I do next.” He reached behind her with his free hand and released the hook on her bra. “And there won’t be any need to tie you up.”

  He groaned, or she did. Whatever.

  The shirt was yanked off, and her knees buckled at the gorgeous sight before her. Crystal-blue eyes devoured every inch of her exposed skin, settling first on her eyes and then her mouth. She didn’t know what was happening—what that ache in her chest was—but all she knew was she wanted Ryan. Now.

  This time, she attacked, bringing herself up to his mouth and sweeping her tongue inside, tasting nothing but the addicting taste of Ryan.

  Lifting her, he carried her to his bed and laid her crossways. Unhurriedly, he worked the zippers on her boots and then the one on her pants, all the while that space just below her belly turned into a friggin’ pinball machine. He peeled the denim down her legs and tossed the pants to the floor.

  “You don’t know how badly I wanted to see this again,” he said to her, stroking his hands up and down the length of her bare legs. At least they were on the same page. He dipped his head and bit into the soft silk of her panties. “How fucking badly I’ve wanted to taste you.” Hot breath flooded the material and heated her from the outside in.

  Dear Jesus, she was on fire.

  “How badly,” he growled, “I’ve wanted to have you.” He slid his hands under her rear and raised her hips. “Every goddamn inch of you.” And then—with his teeth—he dragged her panties down without breaking her gaze.

  Holy.

  Effing.

  Hot.

  He slipped them off her feet and slid his way back up her body, stopping to lick and suck the inside of her thigh. If he kept that up, her breath wouldn’t be able to keep up with her heart.

  Lifting his head, he stared at her for three long seconds, almost as if he was contemplating telling her something. Desire raged through his eyes along with another emotion she was almost too scared to name. Tenderness? Caring? But then the look was gone, and before she could blink, he lowered his head and stroked his tongue over her clit.

  “Ryan!” Lightning streaked through her body, centering where his mouth worked her over. He slipped one finger inside her and caressed in time with the churning movements of his tongue.

  Once.

  Everything built, pooling low, tensing the muscles in her legs as she dug her heels into the bed.

  Twice.

  He slid a second finger in, and she thrashed her head on the sheets, tore her fingers into the blankets, body twisting tighter and tighter.

  Three times.

  Bright stars burst behind her eyelids. Trembling and bucking, her body moved against his mouth as pure ecstasy poured through her, stretching from her head, through her fingers, to her toes.

  Gently, he brought her down, stroking out every aftershock he could with his tongue. When she finally drew a ragged breath, he slid up her body and kissed her deeply. He tasted like him and her, and the combination of the two along with the slow, tender movement of his mouth on hers had everything around her falling away in milliseconds.

  “You are fucking exquisite, Sailor. Addicting.”

  Sailor. Sailor, Sailor, Sailor. She steeled against the knuckles running a soft line across her collarbone and leaned back to look at him. “You said my name.”

  His brow furrowed, like he was straining to keep from smiling. “It is your name.”

  She shook her head, at the same time slipping her hands beneath the hem of his shirt and up the ridges of his abs. Jesus, the man was ripped. “You’ve been calling me Carlson,” she explained. “And now you said my name.” A grin crept across her face as the path of her hands reversed back to the waistband of his jeans where his hardness strained. One flick and the button was open. “I’m growing on you.”

  He held perfectly still, shoulders flexing from the weight of his body hovering over hers, and smirked. “Now you’re just getting cocky.”

  Getting cock-y in my mouth. Ahem.

  “Actually,” she continued, wiggling her way under the denim, caressing his length with the cup of her hand, “you’re the one growing here. But admit it, mister. You’re starting to like me.”

  His gaze locked on to hers.

  His stare deepened.

  Then he slipped his fingers around to her lower back and tightened.

  “Are we done professing our feelings? Because I’d like to be inside you now, and all this talking is testing my patience.”

  “Technically, neither of us professed anyth—” Unexpectedly, he lifted and flipped her, belly flat onto the mattress. She shrieked and then giggled at the sound of his clothes hitting the floor. He reached into the drawer beside his bed for a condom and had it on before she could prepare for the feeling of his tip pressing at her entrance. Jeez, pushy.

  And she loved it.

  Warmth covered her like a blanket. Or maybe that was his body. He peppered kisses from her neck, down along her spine, all the way to her rear. Teeth bit gently into her flesh and strong fingers wrapped from the front and settled along her clit. She gasped and buried her face in the sheets that smelled of him. Musky and sweet. Mouthwatering.

  He nibbled his way back up to her ear, chills diffusing from his touch, followed by streaks of heat that ran straight to her thighs. “I might like you a little bit.”

  She lowered her head, the blankets swallowing her smile as his hands covered her breasts, pulling lightly on her nipples, rolling them until she began to squirm beneath him. She liked him too—more than a little bit, and it was enough to question what the heck she was doing. Here. With him. Listening to him admit that he liked her even though she was the one who’d ruined everything for him. His dreams. His desires. If she let this continue between them—this connection—would he always hold that against her? Resent her in some way or another because she’d been a selfish, bratty, inconsiderate teen?

  He gripped her sides and rolled her onto her back. The look of concern stretched across Ryan’s face and the tenderness of it left her feeling confused and dizzy all at once. Because that was the look of someone who cared, and she was suddenly realizing he shouldn’t be doing that. Caring about her. She didn’t deserve it. Not from him, anyway.

  “What changed?” he asked quietly, his fingertip soft against her skin. “Just now…something changed.”

  Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. No, no, no. She couldn’t cry in front of him. Wouldn’t cry in front of him. Not again.

  She shifted out from under him and rolled to the edge of the bed. Before she could start for her clothes, he clamped his hand around her hand. Her heart clenched. Damn her stupid, stupid heart.

  “I have to go,” she managed between swallowing the ache in the base of her throat and trying to breathe against the panicky fluttering in her chest.

  Fingers pressed into her skin. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

  What was wrong? Yeah, sadly that was too easy. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Because…?”

  “Because it feels too good. And I like it too much. And one of these days—sooner than later if you’re as smart as I think you are—you’re going to realize there’s no way this could work. Not with our history.” Not with the way she’d utterly ruined his life. “So I might as well save us the trouble now.” Without looking at him, she shot off the bed and gathered her clothes int
o her arms.

  “Listen,” he said, not moving from the bed. Giving her space—see, he was a smart man. “I don’t know what this is between us. Or why, ever since you waltzed into the Dirty Bird carrying a dead plant, I can’t stop thinking about you. But it’s not something I’m willing to just let walk away.”

  Then I’ll run. And that’s what she did, her bare behind trailing in the wind.

  …

  Sailor turned again in her bed, trying to relax the muscles in her face as she settled on her back and threw her arm over her closed eyes, which helped nothing at all to slow her thoughts. She knew things were bad when she started talking to her brain.

  Brain, hey, let’s go to sleep.

  Lol, no, let’s stay awake and remember every stupid decision you’ve made in your life.

  What she was doing with Ryan was…confusing. And not at all what she’d been thinking a week ago—get in, acquire the bar, and never speak to the guy again. Of course, things hadn’t gone that way. Karma was a crazy vengeful cow.

  But what confused her even more was the way he’d looked at her with that glittering softness in his eyes. The look that screamed he didn’t loathe her the way he should. Despite the fact that she didn’t deserve it. She knew that look—that feeling—couldn’t ever last. Because it was only a matter of days, or heck, hours, minutes even, before he’d realize disliking her was much easier than befriending her. Or sleeping with her. Tomato, tomahto.

  Beside her the bed dipped with the presence of Drex, and then something long and hard landed in the middle of her chest.

  “I don’t even want to know what that is, Drexie.”

  Hot doggie breath fanned over her cheek, one breath then two followed by a single lick. Apparently, the pooch had conspired with her brain to ensure her beauty sleep was swept out the front door. She fingered Drex’s present. Hard on one end, soft and hair-like on the other. Slowly, she cracked open her eyes and squinted at the dog. “Why did you bring me a paintbrush?”

  Woof!

  Tail wagging, Drex pawed the tool and growled as he started gnawing the handle. Poor guy was probably teething again. “Fine, chew on the brush. But can you do it in the other room? My brain and I were just about to have another mind-blowing conversation.” She ran her hand down his back. “I have a feeling a bad word might slip out, too, and I don’t want your adorable puppy ears to hear.”

  As if he’d actually understood her, Drex snatched up the paintbrush and launched himself off the bed.

  “Good boy.”

  Sailor’s breath came in surges, heart drubbing as Ryan’s strong body pushed her into the bed. Not an inch between them—a tangle of arms and legs, hands and lips, and any resolve she’d had to stop him was long gone. She didn’t care that she should—didn’t care about anything, not with his fingers stroking her skin like a match, trailing heat in their wake.

  Ryan backed away to pull off his shirt. She opened her heavy lids, stealing a quick second to catch her breath and glided her fingers down his beautiful chest, gaze roaming over each and every ripple. He bent to kiss her, breathing until his breath was hers and hers was his. It was fevered, frantic—her fingers buried into the neatly groomed beard, his lips hard, her eyes pinned shut—erasing everything that’d happened between them.

  Ryan broke away to kiss her neck just as Drex jumped onto the bed, and she glanced over with bleary eyes to meet the dog’s. He yipped, teeth like tiny white spikes against the dark gray of his fur.

  The man above her didn’t stop or seem to notice. He slipped his hands up her thighs, tongue brushing her skin, wet lips closing, and her lids fluttered, a sigh slipping out of her.

  Another puppy hopped onto the bed—a lighter version of Drex but with the same teddy bear face—and strutted across to sit on her other side, tail wagging. He blinked at her then barked.

  “What in the world?” she muttered, her face twisting when a third Drex found its way onto her bed, sat next to the first, looked right at her, and yapped like an outright bastard.

  Sailor’s face fell as flat as her hope. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” This was the moment when her eyes flew open, waking against her will, and she gasped.

  Ryan was gone, and so were the trio of pups. Well, two of them anyway. Her clothes were sadly in place, the room chilly and dark, and her phone barking from her nightstand.

  “Really? Who the heck posts pictures this early in the morning?” She huffed, heart still chugging when she rolled over to swipe blindly at the screen to stop the noise. Phone in hand, she flopped back in bed, reminding herself to turn down the volume the next time she decided to have a battle with her brain and fall asleep from exhaustion.

  She cracked one eye to glance at the screen. Six in the morning was way too early to act like an adult and get up, so she spent the next ten minutes snuggling with Drex’s furry body and perusing the variety of photos that’d been posted since last night.

  A golden lab with a sign hanging around his neck. I humped the neighbor’s kid.

  An adorable pug lay over on his side beside a napkin that read: When I don’t want my owner to leave, I pretend I’m paralyzed.

  A tan and white terrier, front paws on the seat of an opened toilet, a sign attached to the top. I put my tennis balls in the toilet when no one will play fetch with me.

  Sailor laughed. Dog shaming was better than coffee in the morning. Sitting up, she swung her feet over the side of the bed when something hard poked at her leg. The paintbrush Drex had brought her. She still had no idea where it’d come from— Hmm, that could be a post-worthy picture. Drex with his teeth clamped around the wooden handle, a sign around his tiny neck. I steal things and bring them to my owner to confuse the heck out of her.

  Tickling her dog’s nose with the brush, she said to him, “Whatever you had in mind when you brought this to me, don’t even think about it, mister. But thank you, because it’s giving me an idea.”

  If the Alibi’s curb appeal was as pleasing as that of the bar she and Ryan had been to last night, it could certainly draw in more customers. Perhaps even become the new happening place on Friday nights. It wouldn’t take much. A little paint. Maybe some lights or plants or both.

  Drex stopped pawing at the brush and cocked his head at Sailor. She tapped his nose.

  “Judging isn’t allowed in here. Besides, it’s not really a good look on you.”

  His eyes narrowed. Sheesh, what was with the disparagement?

  Sailor sighed. “You’re going to make me explain it to you, aren’t you?” Frozen in place, Drex blinked. Fine. “Fine, you little stinker. Sure, I ran out on him last night. And, sure, I told him we couldn’t continue doing, well, ahem, human adult things. But the bar needs help, and therefore Ryan needs help, and if I can do something about it, then I’m going to. I’m not doing it because I like him. Or because he’s a ridiculously amazing kiss—

  “Gah, okay, not going there, especially with you.” She tapped the brush to his nose again. “Just know we came back to Boston to prove Mommy wasn’t a total screwup anymore, and doing this is a step in the right direction.” Good kisser, or not.

  A few hours—plus a large easel, a few cans of paint, a handful of coffee cans, and a quick stop at Above the Stem for a variety of plants and a brief chat with Ms. Trost, her other boss—later, she got to work in front of the Alibi. Transforming the easel into a chalkboard with the special chalkboard paint she’d found was the first and the easiest of the tasks to be done. Pretty nifty, too, considering Ryan would now have a place to advertise his daily specials for free. While the paint dried on the easel, she cleaned out the existing planter boxes alongside the door, bagging the mounds of cigarette butts and trash and replacing them with willowy grass-like plants interspersed with colorful succulents. Ms. Trost had made a good point—choosing plants that needed little attention would increase their chances of survival.

  Sailor strung white lights along the edges of the patio, and then saved the hardest project for last. The do-it-
yourself lanterns hadn’t looked too tricky, but one attempt at poking a series of holes into the coffee can had her thinking otherwise. And she only had—she glanced to the pile in front of her—seven more to go.

  Sweat beading along her brow, she worked to pound screwdriver-sized holes, letting her mind drift along the very vivid memories of her dream, and then the real-life version of Ryan and his hands and lips and…other parts. So caught up in the way her body had turned to mush beneath those lips, she blinked slowly, right at the same time her hand decided to move the hammer without consent.

  “Oh, owie, owie, owie,” she hollered, dropping her tools and squeezing the bejesus out of her thumb with her opposite hand.

  Pain radiated into her wrist and down her arm, and it wasn’t until someone rested a hand on her shoulder and asked quietly from behind her if she was okay that the thought she might literally keel over onto the sidewalk from the intensity of the throbbing diminished. Wait, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t just someone.

  Definition of stupid? It must go something like this:

  Girl knows the truth.

  Girl sees the truth.

  Girl hears the truth.

  Girl still believes the lies.

  Ryan’s voice clung to her like those little strands of hot glue she couldn’t shake. Would she be able to not recognize that voice if she tried?

  Okay, that was another stupid question. Stop with the stupid questions!

  Sailor sucked in a deep breath, readied to make another fool of herself, and turned.

  …

  “You know,” Sailor said through gritted teeth to him, “I kind of liked it better when you were mean to me.” Her voice wavered, a sign that maybe she didn’t fully mean that.

  His gaze flicked from her rounded back to the chalkboard sign propped near the door, the words I don’t want to get technical or anything, but according to chemistry alcohol IS a solution curved in a colorful design. Ryan smiled. Leave it to Sailor to say something no one would expect. But it was perfect, and something he’d never thought of doing before. White lights glowed from the rooftop, and if it weren’t for the sunlight, they would have lit up Sailor’s scrunched-up face.