by Roni Loren
“You’re serious about this,” he said carefully.
“I am.”
He couldn’t stop himself. He reached out and cupped her chin with his hand, examining her expression, trying to read her. “You’re telling me all this even when I said no, that I wouldn’t help you?”
Her lips kicked up at the corners. “Oh, I’m not worried. You’re going to change your mind about that whether we kiss or not.”
He cocked his head, amused at her confidence. “Oh, is that right, professor?”
She stepped close enough that her breasts grazed his chest, which sent a zip of awareness straight downward. “Yes. Because you watched a boring school-board video, which means you care about what happens to this program.”
He traced his thumb along her cheekbone, marveling at the fact that he was allowed to touch her again. “Maybe I just cared about what happened to you.”
She leaned into his hand, a warm look crossing her face. “That works, too.”
He stared down at her, his heart beating in his throat and much lower. Damn. This woman. How could he ever say no to her? He let out a breath, a white flag zooming up the flagpole. He closed his eyes briefly. “No one can know who I am. I can’t be on camera or present for any press. And I won’t be here for the day of the event.”
When he opened his eyes again, her lips were curved into a sexy, triumphant smile, one that made her whole face glow, and she looped her arms around his neck. “You’ve got my word. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, his gaze searching hers. “‘Depraved’ didn’t scare you off, huh?”
She laughed under her breath. “When you’ve been celibate for a long time, I think depraved thoughts are par for the course. Did I mention all the bad dates?”
He lifted a brow. “Oh, so the professor has her own mental file. How depraved are we talking?”
She gave him a saucy grin. “You worried?”
“Terrified.”
“I can tell.”
He pushed her hair away from her face. “I think I need to kiss you now. You know, to see if this agreement is a good idea. Gotta make sure the chemistry wasn’t a fluke.”
“Good plan.” She lifted her face to him, dark lashes at half-mast. “Kiss me, Shaw Miller.”
Shaw Miller. Hearing his real name on her lips did more than it should to him. He couldn’t wait any longer. He brought his other hand to her neck, feeling the heat of her skin, the flutter of her pulse. The second their lips touched, all the anxiety about agreeing to the event dissolved into the background. He couldn’t worry about such things when Taryn’s mouth was so soft and pliant against his, when her body was so warm and lush. She melted into the kiss as if she wanted to be nowhere else, as if she was relieved it was finally now. He knew the feeling.
He also knew this was fucked up. He was kissing one of his brother’s victims. There was no way around that. And he couldn’t offer Taryn more than this. His time here was limited. There was no future for this to grow into something. She wouldn’t even be able to call him by his name around anyone else. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve a clean slate with anyone, much less this amazing woman, but right now, he didn’t care. Right now, for the first time in years, he was kissing a woman as Shaw Miller.
And she was kissing him back.
She knew who he was and she wanted him anyway.
Chapter
Sixteen
Taryn stood in front of the curved wall, eyeing the thing as if it were a hated ex-boyfriend. She didn’t know how a wall could be laughing at her, but it totally was. She felt its silent mocking. She should’ve gone out to the lobby to wait for Shaw while he showered and changed clothes, but her mind had been racing and restless energy had been coursing through her. After the heavy conversation they’d had, the agreement they’d made, and then that kiss, she needed distraction. So she’d decided to walk around the gym to shake off the nervous energy and to get ideas for the event. However, after one lap around the place, she found herself staring at that beast of a wall instead.
Even though she was in skinny jeans and not workout clothes, she unzipped her boots and took off her socks. Just one try. Her jeans had good stretch in them—as all respectable jeans should. She’d be fine. Probably.
She backed up on the runway and braced one leg in front of her. One, two, three…
She shot forward, using every ounce of power she had, and her feet hit the surface of the wall with a slap. She got three steps up, felt the lift, got excited, and then gravity smacked her right in the face again. Not today, lady. She stumbled backward awkwardly, but at least managed to stay on her feet this time and not land on her butt.
A grunt of frustration escaped her, and she hit her fist against the wall. “Ugh, you big, ugly piece of junk.”
A chuckle echoed behind her. “You’re going to hurt Wally’s feelings.”
Taryn peered over her shoulder. Shaw was heading her way, dressed in jeans and a dark-blue Henley that brought out his eyes. His hair was loose with a little wave to it, the ends still damp above his shoulders. Good God. A hard kick of arousal hit her low and fast. She loved a good man bun but had thought of tugging Shaw’s hair free more than once. Seeing Shaw fresh from a shower with his hair down and his skin a little flushed from the heat of the water? Not fair.
She cleared her throat and tried to look unaffected at the sheer male beauty of him. She smiled to convey See, totally handling this. Don’t I look chill? “Wally doesn’t have feelings. He’s inherently evil.”
Shaw nodded toward the wall. “So he’s still pissing you off, huh?”
She reached down for her socks. “No,” she said haughtily. “I was just killing time.”
“Uh-huh.” He watched as she sat on the edge of the platform and pulled her sock on. “I think we should add to this agreement of ours that you’ll still come for your workouts.”
She gave him a look of warning as she zipped up her boot. “Shaw, if you’re telling a girl on your very first date with her that she needs to work out, you really need some lessons on Things Not to Say to a Woman.”
His smile went sly. “Oh, don’t give me that, professor. I’ve made it perfectly clear how I feel about your body. I’m literally doing everything I can right now not to ogle you.”
“I’m putting on a boot.”
“The collar of your sweater is gaping.” He nodded toward her. “I can see the lacy edge of your bra and the curves of your breasts. If I don’t stop looking, I’m gonna embarrass myself with an obvious sign of how much of a fan I am.”
A curl of need moved through her at the heat in his voice, at the reference that she could make him hard with one little peek. That made her feel sexy…and powerful…and really hot under her light sweater. This Shaw was different. She didn’t know exactly what to pinpoint, but she felt it. He wasn’t the closed-off, tense man she’d talked with earlier tonight. A new confidence was there. He looked comfortable in his skin for the first time since she’d laid eyes on him at the bar. He could be himself. “Oh…well…”
He crouched down in front of her and took her other boot. He flicked his fingers, indicating she should give him her foot. “Here, sit up. I’ll save myself the temptation of looking.”
She sat up and lifted her foot to him.
“All I’m saying is that you came here to work out for a reason.” He took her ankle in his big hand and gently slid her boot on. She had no idea why the simple move was so erotic, but her pulse had turned into a hammer at the base of her throat. “Obviously, the challenge of it is still calling to you. You should keep trying. I can train you and make sure you conquer Wally. Plus, it would be helpful to be familiar with all the obstacles for your fund-raising event.”
“Right,” she said distractedly as he took his time zipping up the long zipper, her skin electric with tingles even through her jeans.
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He set her foot down and rocked back on his heels, still crouched in front of her. “Maybe you should participate in the event. Show those teenagers that us old folks can do it, too?”
That snapped her back into reality. “Ha. Correction: You can still do this stuff. I proved the other night that I definitely cannot.”
“Yet.”
She groaned. “Why are you pushing my challenge buttons? I’m that girl who could never turn down a dare. This is why I can’t accept the school board’s no. I don’t like no. I have enough on my plate without worrying about if I can get up this damn wall.”
His lips curled into a wicked smile as he reached out and took her hands to pull her to her feet. He leaned down close to her ear. “Taryn Landry, I dare you.”
A hot shiver ran down her neck, his breath ghosting against her skin. “Mean trainer. Mean, hateful trainer.”
He laughed softly. “I’ll put you on the schedule. I’m a very good trainer. Very hands-on. You’ll get up that wall.”
He was still holding her hands, and she guided them around her waist, dragging him closer. “Hands-on, huh?”
He hooked his arms around her and tucked his fingers in her back pockets, the heat of his palms against her ass making a flash of arousal go through her. “Very.”
She could feel him, the hint of hardness growing against her making promises. She swallowed past her dry throat. “Well, that’s all you had to say.”
He held her there for a moment, his freshly showered scent surrounding her. She absorbed the feeling of simply being against him, feeling the whispers of arousal and his steady heartbeat, relishing the tease they were both giving each other. They’d agreed to take things slowly tonight and go on a date, but the delicious anticipation of what could happen in the near future was pushing all of her buttons.
After a few seconds, he lowered his head, touching his forehead to hers. “If I haven’t said it yet, thank you.”
She let her hands slide to his waist below his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin, holding him there. “For what?”
“For the chance to just…be how I want to be with you. I know a clean slate can’t exist, but it feels really good to know that tonight, I can take you to dinner and not have to watch that I don’t slip up and reveal my past, not have to worry that I’m lying to you. I can just…be myself for better or worse. That feels like a special kind of freedom.”
Her heart broke a little for him. She wished he could be that way in the world and not just with her, but she didn’t let it show on her face. She pushed up on her toes and brushed her lips over his. “I’m looking forward to getting to know the real you.”
He kissed her back gently and then smiled. “Let’s see if I remember who that even is.”
“I bet it will come back to you quicker than you think.” She stepped back and took his hand, forcing herself not to look at the fly of his jeans, not to move too fast despite her galloping libido. “How about you start by telling me what you feel like eating? And if you tell me salad and a protein shake, I’m kicking your trainer ass to the curb right now. I have no time for that nonsense.”
He laughed and pulled her by the hand toward the front door. “Never. How about pasta?”
She nodded. “Mmm-hmm. I like.”
He walked backward, leading her along and somehow maneuvering around the equipment behind him without looking. “And a little wine?”
“For sure.”
They reached the main lobby, and he grabbed keys from a drawer behind the counter. “And maybe something with whipped cream at the end?”
She smiled, picturing him as the something with whipped cream on it, but they’d decided before he’d hit the showers that they needed to get to know each other a little better before getting carried away like they had that night in the foam pit. They had time.
Even though a big part of her wanted to just drag him home now. She’d waited this long to get in bed with a guy. She could wait longer. It was better to make sure they were both comfortable with this agreement before they took things to another level.
The naked level.
Shaw, naked.
She rubbed her lips together. “Whipped cream is good.”
His gaze went hot for a moment, and she knew his mind had gone exactly to where hers had. She smiled. “Take me to dinner, Shaw.”
He swept an arm in front of her. “As you wish.”
* * *
Taryn was full and a little buzzed after a leisurely meal at a quaint little Italian restaurant not too far from the gym. She and Shaw had fallen into easy conversation about everything that didn’t involve the past. Why Shaw and Rivers had chosen that type of gym to open. What kind of event she could plan to raise money. What books they liked to read. What bands. Favorite movies.
At first, she was acutely aware of all the things they were avoiding—talk of family, of careers, of college—but after a while and two glasses of wine, they fell into a comfortable rhythm. Also, she realized this meant she wasn’t talking about the things that usually infiltrated her dates—details about her research or that she was a Long Acre survivor. In a lot of ways, it was a relief. No heavy talk. No sympathetic looks or darkly fascinated ones. No glazed-over eyes.
On the other hand, it was disconcerting. She felt a bit unmoored, a ship that had drifted away from the dock. Who was she if not the research professor and Long Acre survivor? What made her interesting to someone else besides that? Shaw didn’t seem to be bored, but the thought stuck with her like a little thorn in her foot, sticking, sticking.
Shaw paid the check after they shared a few bites of tiramisu, and then he asked her if she wanted to take a walk. Taryn wasn’t ready for the night to end, and after the wine, she needed to walk off the buzz a little. “Yeah, sure. It’s nice out.”
He smiled, his face warm in the glow of the candlelight coming from the little red votive jar at the center of the table, and she got the distinct impression that he’d thought she was going to say no and was pleased she hadn’t. That gave her a whole other kind of buzz that had nothing on the wine.
“Great.” He pushed his chair back and offered his hand to help her up. “We can get our heart rates up and burn off some of these calories.”
She made an affronted noise and hit him on the arm with her purse.
He laughed, the flickering light dancing in his eyes. “Depraved she doesn’t hit me for. I mention calories and I’m getting abused. I’m kidding, professor.”
He led her outside, the night air cool but almost a relief after the heavy, garlic-scented air inside, and let go of her hand. She missed the connection as soon as it was gone. “I can’t believe you brought up calories after tiramisu. That’s just cruel to do to a curvy girl.”
“Curvy?” He gave her a raised-eyebrow look as they started to amble down the quiet street. “Is that what we’re calling hot as fuck these days? Because that’s really the only thing you could mean right now.”
She gave him a look, though his blunt words sent a little shiver through her. “Well, for some, it can mean a good thing, but I’m a little more self-conscious when you’re, you know”—she flicked her hand between them—“you.”
He stopped on the sidewalk. “Me?”
She cocked a brow. “Yes. An athlete with probably less body fat than a carton of yogurt.”
He frowned and stepped in front of her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You’re beautiful. Not because I say so. It just is. If I stopped ten people on this sidewalk, nine out of ten would agree and the other one would just be drunk.”
She bit her lip, charmed by his vehemence.
“My body is my job,” he said simply. “It’s not some big accomplishment. It’s just the only thing I know how to do well. Don’t be too impressed. One-trick pony.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”
“Believe it.” He took her hand and they continued walking. “And to be honest, I’m not all that strict about what I eat. All those years of Olympic training and watching every calorie, focusing on food only as fuel, kind of killed my desire to ever go back to that. I try to be healthy, but I also let myself enjoy food. It’s one of life’s few pleasures.”
Taryn kept walking alongside him, but when he said Olympic, her breath caught. He’d gone there, to the past. She didn’t know if that was a slipup or if he actually felt comfortable enough to talk to her more openly. Maybe it was the wine. “I can’t imagine the pressure that must’ve involved.”
“If you’d asked me back then, I would’ve told you there’s nothing tougher than being an athlete at that level.” He glanced over at her before focusing back on the sidewalk in front of them. “But I learned pretty quickly that I had no idea what I was talking about. That was a cakewalk compared to what came after.”
She nodded, their steps echoing along an empty alley on their right. “I know what you mean on some level. I thought things were so hard in high school. No one realized I was so angsty because I was a good student and ran track and looked to be doing everything right. But man, inside, I was kind of a disaster. Everything felt so huge at the time. Then once everything happened…I realized they were just the little problems of a little girl.”
He squeezed her hand “What were you angsting about? Typical teenage stuff? Not that I’d know what that is, really. I spent most of high school with private tutors.”
She peeked over at him, finding him watching her, and she gave him an embarrassed smile. “It’s going to sound silly now, but I thought I was destined to be a singer-songwriter. That was my life. I was an artiste, thank you very much.” She laughed under her breath. “I was very internally dramatic.”
Shaw didn’t laugh with her. “Why couldn’t you be a songwriter?”
She gave him a come-on-now look. “Because only, like, the tiniest percentage of people can actually make that their job and because my parents were not going to be on board with something so flighty. My mom was a journalism professor and came from a family of doctors and lawyers. My dad is military and very old school about getting a job with a steady paycheck and benefits. I was supposed to get a scholarship, go to a good school, and get a well-respected, well-paying job. End of story.”