by Maria Luis
He slapped playfully at her hand. “Hey, no touching!”
She continued anyway, tracing the line of his cock through the fabric of his jeans. “That’s not at all fair, don’t you think?”
His shuddered breath was all she needed to know that he was all talk and no bite. He lifted her over his shoulder and plunked her down on a sleek mahogany table. With one glance around the room, she realized that he’d opted for the dining room.
“Classy,” she teased as her hands went to the hem of his black T-shirt. She wanted another look at his tattoo.
He helped her with the removal process, his hands going to the back of his shirt and drawing it off in that sexy way only males seemed to know how to do. “Will the dining table do?” he drawled sarcastically. “Or will only throwing the food to the ground and doing it on the kitchen table be sufficient?”
She glanced up at him, noticed the laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, and heaved a long, suffering sigh. “I mean, it certainly lacks spontaneity but . . . ”
She trailed off as his nimble fingers slipped the bronze button from the hole of his jeans, then drew the zipper down ever-so-slowly. He was playing it up for her.
Then he shoved the denim down his legs and, oh, he was blessedly naked. His erection was long and thick—and, yep, memory had served correctly—and Shaelyn wet her lips because it was either that or pass out.
“You’re not wearing boxers,” she said dumbly.
Shamelessly, he gripped his cock and slowly jerked his hand up, twisting at the head. “I don’t wear boxers anymore.”
She watched, shamelessly, as he repeated the motion. “No more SpongeBob?”
His bark of laughter made her smile. “I’ve got that gag gift somewhere in the house.”
Her gaze leapt to his. “You do?”
Those blue-on-blue eyes said it all, and she swallowed the spark of happiness that fluttered through her. He’d kept a stupid gift she’d given him for his sixteenth birthday. His admission shouldn’t have meant anything, except that it did.
She reached out, clasping her hands on his narrow hips, and drew his body close. When he uttered her name in a questioning tone, she only shook her head. She wasn’t ready to delve deep into their past.
“Are you a fan of spontaneity?” she asked him, and then closed her lips over the tip of his cock. He groaned, combing his fingers through her hair as his other hand continued pumping the base of his erection.
She moaned at the eroticism of it all. He didn’t let her continue for long, however, before he stepped away. One look at his face showed that he was on the verge of losing all control.
Now, his expression said.
“Condom?” she asked him.
Brady nodded shortly. As he lifted his jeans off the ground, Shaelyn made quick work of her clothes. She kicked off her nude-colored heels, undid her dress and let it slither down her body, and then removed the new lingerie.
She wasn’t even upset that Brady hadn’t seen the whole package because when he turned his gaze on her naked body, condom package in hand, he looked like he’d been punched in the gut.
“Jesus,” he swore softly, “I could look at you all day.”
He said it, even though she’d put on weight since high school; he said it, even though she was curvy and looked nothing like the beauty standard of fit, willowy, and tall.
She held out her hand and that was all the encouragement he needed. He rolled the condom over his erection and stepped between her legs. Mouth dipping to hers, he teased and nipped until she acquiesced and parted her lips.
“Just so you know, it’s been a while,” she admitted when he lined himself up with her entrance.
Understatement of the century, she thought to herself.
He pulled back to look at her. Something in his gaze warned her that this moment between them wasn’t only about sex. It should have scared her, and it did just a little, but when he brushed a soft kiss to her forehead and whispered, “trust me,” Shaelyn realized that she did.
Brady entered her in one smooth stroke that she felt all the way to the tips of her toes and to the wary corner of her heart. As he rocked against her, Shaelyn couldn’t do anything but wrap her legs around his lean waist and cling to his shoulders. She kissed his chest, and his shoulder where his abstract ink swirled in an endless line that seemed to stretch to infinity.
His lips were everywhere: on the hollow of her neck, the sharp ridge of her clavicle, on the curve of her ear. With each thrust of his cock, Shaelyn felt the ice around her heart chip and splinter. He dipped his hand between their bodies to find her clit, rubbing in tight circles, and Shaelyn broke apart as she cried out his name.
He followed right after, driving into her body with one last hard stroke.
And when she came back into herself, Shaelyn knew only one thing.
Having sex with Brady Taylor was officially the worst mistake of her life.
If only she wasn’t already craving to do it again.
If only her heart didn’t skip a beat when he gave her one of his sexy half-grins and cupped her cheek for a soft, earth-shattering kiss.
If only she knew how to not fall in love with Brady all over again.
20
Two days.
In the scheme of life, two days was a minor blip on the radar. Normally, it wouldn’t be an issue. But considering that it had been two days since Shaelyn had last heard from Brady (and since they’d had sex), two days felt like a lifetime.
For the umpteenth time in the last forty-eight hours, she stared at her cell phone and willed it to ring, as she and Julian waited on a shipment at the boutique. Since Anna had her son help with unloading shipments twice a week, they were stuck at the boutique until the delivery guy came with the goods.
Meanwhile, if only her phone would just ring . . . . Then again, her cell phone service was shoddy here in Louisiana. Totally possible that she’d stepped into a dead zone just when he’d decided to finally call. On the other hand, it was just as likely that Brady had gotten what he’d wanted, and now he was done with her.
Shaelyn ground her teeth. This was what she’d asked for: one day of hot sex, unencumbered by complications or unnecessary emotions.
She was full of crap.
Shaelyn leaned over the counter at the boutique to reach for her phone when it was abruptly pushed out of reach.
“I might only be thirteen, but it can’t be healthy the way you’re obsessed with that thing.”
Her phone disappeared into Julian’s Loyola University sweatshirt pocket.
“Isn’t the millennial generation supposed to be attached to their phones?” she asked as her butt hit the barstool again.
“I’m too young to be a millennial.” Julian pulled out the barstool next to hers and sat down.
Dropping her chin on to her upturned hands, Shaelyn glanced over at her young cousin. “Yeah?” She drummed her fingers on the marble countertop. “What are you then?”
“I dunno.” He shrugged, and Shaelyn noticed that one of his drawstrings was thrown over his shoulder. She felt the urge to coddle him and fix it. “I refuse to be defined by society’s standards.”
She laughed, good and hard, even when he gently punched her in the arm. “I think you may have just classified yourself, Mr. I-Refused-To-Be-Defined,” she said, pressing one hand to her cheek to ease the cheek cramps.
He grumbled, “You can’t talk, Shae—aren’t you a pescetarian?”
“I am. Except that I stopped eating meat long before it was cool.”
He nodded sagely. “A year ago then?”
It was hard not to laugh again, even though he’d just soundly insulted her. She snuck out a hand and gave him a noogie. “Let’s say I’ve been avoiding meat since the time you were born.”
Disentangling himself from her grasp, he cracked, “You’re aging yourself again.”
“How does your mama put up with you?”
His shoulders rolled in another half-shrug.
“I bribe her with hugs and mother-son time.”
“Makes sense.”
They settled into a comfortable silence, and Shaelyn was left to wonder what it might have been like if she’d never left New Orleans. Would she and Julian have the same camaraderie they shared now or would she have developed more of a maternal-aunt role in his life?
And what about Brady? Would they have figured things out? It was hard to imagine how her life would be now if they’d reconciled at eighteen. Maybe they would have broken up in college like most high school sweethearts. Maybe they would’ve held on tight to their relationship until after college graduation when the world sank its claws into their romance and submerged them beneath all the weight of being an adult.
Shaelyn sighed. It was a moot point anyway. They’d had sex—fantastic, dream-worthy sex, in her opinion. After, she’d carefully gotten dressed, made some awkward comment about having to head back to work, and hightailed it out of his house.
Crazy Shirley had given her a thumbs-up as she’d hastened to her car. Shaelyn should be happy that her years-long dry spell had ended. She should be, but she worried that she’d damned herself in the process.
For twelve years, she’d told herself that she would never fall for Brady’s good looks and charm again. She’d told herself that she was better than a pity fuck, and she was certainly better than a fake relationship, tethered together only by his grandmother’s urgings.
What did it mean that she’d then gone and done the down-and-dirty with him, despite all her prior misgivings and despite the fact that she had given no other man the chance in the last four years?
No man but her ex-boyfriend, Brady Taylor.
It was worrying.
“Hey,” Julian said, snapping her out of her stormy thoughts as he nudged her shoulder. “You got a text.”
If the fact that she’d had sex with Brady scared her, the way she nearly tore her phone from Julian’s hands should have told her that she had no hope of ever regaining her dignity.
Her stupid heart soared at the sight of Brady’s name.
I saw your car out on Chartres. Sign says the boutique is closed. Can I come in?
Could he come in?
Yes. Yes, he most certainly could.
The front linen shades were pulled down over the windows. Shaelyn leapt down from the stool and picked her way through the various racks of lingerie.
“Is this my cue to leave?” Julian called out as her hands went to the front door’s dead bolt. “I like having 20/20 vision.”
Trust Julian to make her grin even when her palms were sweaty and her heart was thundering wildly in her chest.
“Have you forgotten I’m your ride home today?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Should I go sit in the storage room?” he asked pointedly.
“No commentary from the peanut gallery, you.”
Julian made a zipping sound with his lips just as Shaelyn pulled on the thin chrome handle and opened the door.
The sight of Brady hit her straight in the gut. He was dressed in what she was starting to think of as his off-duty uniform: faded blue jeans, a black T-shirt, heavy black combat boots. On his head he wore his black Saints ball cap; the bill was curved and torn along the edge, as if he’d worked it between his hands like a stress reliever.
The upper half of his face was completely obscured by the hat’s bill. Even so, the utter exhaustion radiating off him was nearly tangible, as if the weariness cloaking his body had seeped through his skin. At the sight of his unshaven jawline, Shaelyn felt the sudden need to tug at his arms and pull him into a hug.
Her hands rose up, then dropped back down to her sides. “Are you okay?”
Reaching up to resettle the ball cap on his head, Brady gave one short nod. “Just really fucking tired.” For him to admit even that showed that his nerves were definitely frayed. Then, his chin tipped up and she guessed that he’d spotted Julian. He proved her correct when he asked, “Anna’s son?”
Shaelyn instinctively glanced over her shoulder at her cousin. “Yeah, we’re partners for the night. We’re waiting for a shipment.”
Brady’s chin jerked in her direction. “Yeah?” His voice dropped to a husky timbre. “What sort of shipment? Fuzzy handcuffs? Vibrators with fake rhinestones?”
Laughing, she reached out to swat his chest. How was it that their familiarity now was just as easy as when they’d actually been best friends? “I thought you were tired.”
His broad shoulders lifted as a sexy grin brightened his sullen, full mouth. “I’m sure I could rise to the occasion.”
She didn’t even have the opportunity to deliver a witty response—which she hadn’t thought of yet, but only because the thought of Brady “rising” to anything turned her brain to mush—when Julian unzipped his lips and shouted, “Shae! Do I need to leave?”
Over her shoulder, she said, “No, your 20/20 vision is safe . . . for now.” She sent Brady a mischievous glance and indicated for him to follow her. If she felt the urge to reach out and link her pinky finger with his, just to have contact, she squelched the sensation. Only sex, she reminded herself. Don’t confuse that with anything more.
“Julian, can I introduce you to Brady?”
“Oh!” Julian snapped to attention and stuck out his hand. “Shaelyn’s cop—wait, am I supposed to salute you?”
If Shaelyn could have melted to the ground right then and there, she would have. Gladly. “He’s not my cop, Julian.”
Jules would not be dissuaded. “I thought y’all dated,” he went on, his blue eyes twinkling with pure teenage delight. Had she thought they were friends? She’d been sorely mistaken.
Brady opened his mouth. “We did—”
Shaelyn cut him off. “Back in the day,” she hastily threw in. “Years ago, really.”
A masculine hand cupped her elbow. Then, fingers trailing down her forearm, they skimmed over the sensitive skin of her inner wrist before clasping her hand. Her gaze dropped to their entwined hands, and oh boy, Brady Taylor was holding her hand.
Way better than pinky flirting.
“We’re actually going on a date tonight,” Brady informed Julian.
“We are?” asked Shaelyn at the same time Julian said, “You know she doesn’t eat meat, right?”
Brady’s fingers squeezed hers. “She might have mentioned something about that, yes.”
Julian nodded as if this made complete sense—like she and Brady dating made complete sense. “Did you know she makes an awesome veggie burger?”
With his free hand, Brady grabbed the bill of his Saints ball cap and twisted it to the back, and Shaelyn would have bet big money that if he’d executed that same, masculine move in front of a group of women, panties would have hit the floor. It was so unfair that even a tired, withdrawn Brady had the ability to make her nipples tingle and the apex of her thighs grow wet with desire.
“How good?” Brady asked, and for a moment she thought the question had been intended for her. As in, how was sex with me? To which her only answer would be, Amazing. Let’s do it again.
“Flippin’ great,” Julian answered enthusiastically, dropping his elbows to the counter. His eyes widened with hero worship, and Shaelyn mentally kicked herself. Of course Julian would warm to Brady. After all, Brady was the guy tasked with finding Julian’s father . . . . Though it seemed to be taking Brady a rather long time to track Anthony Mardeaux down.
It was worrying. She couldn’t help that her thoughts leapt to the worst possible outcome.
Had Brady discovered something about Anna’s ex-boyfriend that was better left buried?
When she tried to pull her hand from his, Brady looked down at her with a barely-there frown but let their hands fall apart. “I’ll have to ask her to make a batch for me at some point.”
“Make sure you tell her to dress it with her special sauce.” Julian’s hands flew up in animation. “Have you had Raising Cane’s sauce?” he asked. “It’s just like that but spicier.”
“Julian and I decided to get dinner tonight, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to make our date,” Shaelyn cut in. She tried to ignore the way the light in Brady’s blue eyes dimmed. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to get dinner with Brady. But she needed to protect herself against him. He’d shattered her heart once already; if the last few days were any indication, she was hurtling down a fast-paced track for round two.
Sounding as tired as he had when she’d first let him into the boutique, he asked, “Where at?”
“Julian’s in the mood for BBQ.” Shaelyn suspected that she sounded just as worn out as he did. This push-and-pull thing between them was incredibly tiring. “We’ll probably head down to Magazine Street and hit up one of the restaurants.”
Brady’s fingers dove into the front pocket of his jeans, his thumb curling around the belt loop. His gaze shifted to Julian before coming back to rest on her. “If you don’t mind heading away from your house, there’s this great place in the Bywater. You can smell the food from two blocks away.”
“Maybe you should come with us,” Julian jumped in. “My mom’s got something going on tonight anyway.”
Both guys turned to Shaelyn, expectant expressions appearing eerily similar despite different bloodlines and ages. “We still have to wait for the delivery guy,” she interjected lamely. She wasn’t going to say no to them. She knew it. They knew it.
“Yes!” Julian’s fist-bumped the air. “I’ve got so many questions for you, Brady. First, is that gun on your hip real?”
Brady obviously hadn’t been prepared for the onslaught because he blinked and then glanced down to where his T-shirt slightly billowed out at his hip. His broad fingers pinched the fabric, tugging it up so that the bottom of a leather holster peeked out from under the worn cotton. “You noticed?”
“Kinda, yeah.” Julian idly played with the drawstrings of his sweatshirt. “We had some officers come to school and talk about safety. So, have you fired it before?”