Naughty Neighbor: Falling for a Libra (Falling for the Stars)

by Lauren Runow

  Taking a seat across from him, I marvel at the glass enclosure that gives a panoramic view of the lake ahead and the skyline behind me. The ride slides forward just enough to let other passengers on in the gondolas following us.

  The car starts to move, and my belly swims with anticipation. I’m all for trying new things, but heights aren’t my favorite. Looking down, I see the Tilt-A-Whirl ride and wonder if we should have tried that instead.

  “You okay over there?” he asks when he sees my wary expression.

  “Yeah. Just a little anxious. Not the biggest fan of heights. I was hoping the enclosure would make me feel more protected.”

  “Not doing the trick?” he asks as the car jolts, rising to the top.

  “No. But I’ll be good. I might be nervous, but I don’t back down from fear easily.”

  He flashes a smile. “That might be what I like most about you.”

  “Mmhmm,” I utter as I look down. Wow, this is high. I keep my sight set on Jake and the dark abyss behind him. “Have you ever seen the movie Fear? The one with Reese Witherspoon and Mark Wahlberg?”

  He gives me a questioning expression. “They did a movie together?”

  “Yeah.” I laugh. “We were pretty young when it came out, but I remember seeing it on TV when I was in junior high. It was right when I was in those impressionable years with boys.”

  “I’m all ears when it comes to the impressionable years.”

  I kick his ankle. “Yes, and I’m about to tell you the first time I remember wanting to feel that rush with a boy.”

  He leans back in his seat and tilts his head with a smirk. “I’m listening.”

  I roll my eyes. “In the movie, Mark Wahlberg plays a bad boy.”

  “Before Hardy, was he your muse for the bad boys in your books?”

  A sharp laugh escapes my lips. “No way. I’ve never written a bad boy like Wahlberg in that film. He was psychotic actually, but that’s beside the point. There’s this scene where they ride a roller coaster together.”

  Just then, the ride stops with a jolt, and the car rocks back and forth. We’re dangling high in the air—way too high from the ground.

  I grip the edge of my seat as I continue with a swallow, “So, Reese’s character is this good girl who starts dating the bad boy, who her dad doesn’t approve of.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “Of course. But when they’re on the roller coaster, they get a little close together, and some things start to happen.”

  “What kind of things?” His thighs widen, his teeth skimming his lower lip.

  “While the ride is going up the track, he sticks his hand up her skirt and starts to finger her right there. He gives her a mind-blowing orgasm with the wind in her hair and the movement floating in her body. I remember thinking how fun that would be.”

  “That does sound fun. Have you ever tried it?” The deep baritone of his voice makes my chest tighten. He’s staring at me, daring me to tell him more. To want more.

  The ride starts to move again.

  I lick my lips as I turn to stare out at the pier below with its bright lights and people scattered about as the ride swings by the people standing, waiting their turn, and starts its ascent back up.

  When I don’t answer, he leans all the way forward, and I find myself doing the same. Our mouths are close as he places a hand on my leg, moving upward until his thumb is rubbing the inside of my thigh ever so gently.

  “Has that fantasy ever been fulfilled, Lacey?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve never had an orgasm while on a roller coaster.”

  “What about a Ferris wheel?”

  In the reflection of the glass walls, I see my cheeks redden, not with embarrassment, but with heat. I’m flush and so very tempted.

  “Would you really touch me like that?”

  “Would you want me to?” he asks, his hand inching higher.

  I nod but don’t say a word. His smile rises on the side as he slowly removes his hand and sits back, making my chest ache with desire.

  “If Marky Mark was your ultimate bad boy, why don’t you write him?”

  “Because I like Richard Gere better,” I state with a grin, holding my fingers up. “Two classics. Pretty Woman and An Officer and a Gentleman.”

  “Classics? Those movies are ancient. I’m intrigued though, so do tell.”

  “The scene in Pretty Woman where he climbs her fire escape and rescues her? It’s the reason I love romantic heroes. I think all of mine have a little Gere in them.”

  “Good to know,” he says with a slight grin.

  “Sorry, that’s how my mind works. I just think these random thoughts sometimes. Being on this ride reminded me of the movie and I tend to speak what I’m thinking which catches people off guard.”

  His mouth parts as his eyes darken. “Sometimes, I think random things too.”

  The ride twirls us up, over the top, and back down. My stomach flips for reasons I’m not sure of. I hold on to the edge of the seat, thinking I just lost my equilibrium since I was staring at Jake and not at the world around us.

  “Like how I really want to kiss you right now.”

  “Why don’t you?” I say, almost as a dare.

  He shakes his head. “I can’t figure you out, Lacey.”

  My heart sinks right before it slides up to my throat again as we climb back up to the top.

  “For years now, you’ve been this gorgeous girl who lives next door, never giving me the slightest inclination that you wanted me. I know you don’t need a relationship and you distrust men. And yet you come and ask me to go places with you. To kiss you.”

  “I can leave you alone.”

  “Fuck no. Don’t do that.”

  “But you just said—”

  “What I didn’t get to say is that it’s a good thing you’re wearing jeans tonight or else I’d be tempted to slip a hand under your skirt and make your fantasy a reality.”

  I grip the seat, trying to steady my breath, which is very ragged all of a sudden.

  He leans back as he adjusts his own pants. My eyes widen, and I’m not sure if I want to laugh or swoon or even breathe. My mouth waters as I stare at those soulful eyes.

  And now, I wish I knew why I hadn’t worn a damn dress.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The moon is large tonight, bright white and casting a glow over the street as we enter our building. We’re pretty quiet as we make our way up the elevator and down the hall. The doors to our apartments are calling to us like a dare.

  I don’t want to be forward and assume he wants to come in or that he’ll invite me into his place. He hasn’t even tried to kiss me tonight, and it leaves me feeling confused.

  “Lace,” he starts as we reach my door.

  I smile up at him, but his face is stoic. It makes my own fall as I wait for him to ask what is on his mind.

  “The guy you dated when you moved to Chicago, the one who kept you from believing in real-life romance, do you still think about him?”

  I’m startled by his question, and it must show because he adds, “I can’t imagine why someone as spectacular as you, who writes about romance so beautifully, has denied it for herself for so long.”

  My gut instinct is to ignore his question. Play it off with a witty retort and ask him to come in. But that wouldn’t appease him. Jake is a soulful creature, the kind of man who listens and amends the situation. Problem is, there’s no fixing me or my past.

  I inhale as I try to find the right words. There aren’t any, so I just start speaking, “It’s not just Michael. That’s his name, by the way. We moved to Chicago together after college, and I tried to make it as a writer, but I couldn’t sell my work to a publisher. He told me I was foolish for dreaming, that I wasn’t very well rounded at my craft, and I needed to get a job using the degree I’d earned. So, I did. I went to work at a production company as a broadcast assistant. That’s where I met my best friend, Charisse.

  “She’s the o
nly good thing that came out of that job because, within a year, Michael left me for another woman, and I was so angry. Not with him, but with myself for letting a man dictate how I should live my life. I finally took the leap of faith and self-published a book that I had given up on two years prior when I couldn’t find an agent to work with me. That book turned into another and then another until I was able to quit my job, and then I started writing the novel that hit the best sellers list. In that book, the hero was greater than any man, greater than Michael, and better than my father who had abandoned my mother when I was a little kid. He was superior to the jerk who had taken my virginity in high school and broken up with me the very next day. Yeah, I don’t have the best track record when it comes to men. It’s not that I don’t believe there are better ones out there. I just don’t believe there are any for me.”

  I don’t realize I’m crying until Jake lifts a knuckle and wipes a tear from my cheek. I turn away, embarrassed, but he pulls my face back to his.

  “Not only are there good men out there, Lacey Rivers, but there is also a man who wants nothing more than to be the best one for you.”

  His words are like candy for my aching heart, yet I deny it, turning my cheek because I’m afraid. Not by what he’s saying. No, I’m absolutely petrified by the way he makes me feel deep down.

  I feel like he might be good.

  Too good.

  My heart just can’t handle that kind of hope.

  I close my eyes and smile slightly. “I had a really great time tonight, Jake. Just let me hold on to that. For one more night.” Stepping back, away from his hold on my cheek and toward my door, I bid him good-bye. “Try not to knock too early tomorrow. I have a deadline.”

  He grins, but it seems sad. “You know I don’t believe in your office hours.”

  I roll my eyes and open the door. “Night, Jake.”

  Closing my door behind me, I lean against it and sigh, wondering how I managed to ruin a perfect good-bye. We had a fantastic date, and up until ten minutes ago, I was convinced he was coming back to my place.

  Then, I went and shared my past with him.

  Way to ruin the mood, Lacey.

  I never, ever share myself like that with anyone, and there I was, shoveling my past from the grave and tossing it at his feet, burying him in it. No wonder I don’t go out. There’s a reason I’m only with fictional men. I can delete the words on the page. I can’t delete my mouth.

  No. Who am I kidding? I might not share myself that often, but I certainly won’t delete my words. I’m not ashamed to be me. I just want to meet a man who isn’t the kind of man my mother raised me to be cautious of, and what the men of my past led me to accept as normal.

  I want a man who is honest and sweet. Someone who keeps his promises and isn’t afraid to have the uncomfortable conversations. A man who will stick around.

  A man like Jake.

  I’ve been keeping him at arm’s length, for fear that he’s bad. He might not turn out to be the man for me, but if that happens, it’s not because he’s cruel or unjust. A man like Jake Moreau dates with the end in mind. He’s looking for his forever, and I won’t even give him a decent chance.

  Does he want one?

  He must. He’s been so patient with me. A neighbor, a friend, a date. The man comes off as an enigma, but that’s only because it’s so hard to believe he is exactly what he appears to be.

  A good man.

  “What is wrong with me?” I say out loud as I run my hands through my hair.

  I need to go next door and talk to him and … say what? For a woman who writes dramatic love scenes, I am certainly at a loss for what to say.

  I’m chewing on my thumb and wondering what to do when I hear a clicking sound.

  No, it’s a tapping sound.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  I rush over to the source of the sound that’s coming from my living room and turn toward the window, where it sounds like a small object was thrown. I look out and down to the street three flights below. Jake is standing on the sidewalk, staring up at me. I open the window and stick my head out.

  “Did you lock yourself out?” I call down to him.

  “Go to your bedroom.”

  He walks away, and I close my window, utterly confused. Like a good girl, I follow his instructions and run over to my bedroom and open that window. There’s a fire escape back here, so I climb onto it and search for him.

  Jake is on the ground, jumping up to the ladder on the bottom of the second-floor fire escape and pulling it down. The sound of metal sliding across metal screeches in the night. In the same clothes from our trip to the Pier, he climbs up the ladder to the second-floor landing and then climbs the steep incline of the staircase that leads to mine. When he gets up here, I step back to the railing of my landing and look back at him.

  His skin is flush, his chest is heaving like he ran a marathon, and his gaze is absolutely searing.

  “What are you doing?” I ask despite my own racing heart. I’m pretty damn excited to see him standing out here even though I’m confused as to why.

  “I think I’m supposed to make a speech about rescuing you or you rescuing me or something like that.” His lips tilt up in a smirk.

  I narrow my eyes at his comment until I realize exactly what he’s talking about. He’s reenacting the final scene in Pretty Woman.

  The smile wipes away from my face.

  I’m not mad, nor am I upset. No, my lack of a smile is because I’m so touched, shocked, and beyond speechless.

  Jake wasn’t climbing up here on a whim.

  He’s here on a mission.

  “ ‘So, what happens after he climbs up and rescues her?’ ” I recite the line from the film.

  Jake grins that damn gorgeous smile that makes me weak in the knees. “Well? What is it?” His chest is still heaving, but it’s not from exertion. He’s staring at me in anticipation. In want and need and lust.

  He’s here to save me.

  I take a step forward and place a hand on his chest. His head rises with a quick inhale at my touch.

  His heart pounds wildly against my palm as I lean closer and say, “ ‘She rescues him right back.’ ”

  I rise on my toes and kiss him in that slow, deep way that awakens every dormant, lust-filled cell in my body. His hands grip my waist and pull me in as his tongue glides along mine, stroking me tenderly.

  Through his jeans, I can feel the hard length of him, so I lift my arms around his neck and push myself against him, wanting every inch. His mouth moves down my neck and up to my earlobe, biting lightly as I grip his shirt while tingles run down to my core.

  I lift my head, and he claims the kiss again, hungrier than before.

  His hand fists my hair as I run mine up the back of his shirt, anxious to touch his skin. We struggle as we move toward the window and have to break apart to crawl inside. I go first and watch as he bends his large frame through the open window and stands before me in the dark. The kitchen light is the only one on in the apartment, and its faint glow casts a heavenly brightness on his face.

  His sharp jaw, smooth skin, and that perfect angle of his face in the shadows, plus those sinful chocolate eyes melt the clothes right off of me.

  I lift my sweater and remove it, dropping it to the ground. Next, my jeans are unbuttoned. He steps forward and has his hands on my cheek and in my hair, pulling me close. His mouth crashes into mine. Kissing and loving on me, he lifts me in his arms and walks me to the bed.

  I’m lying down, propped on my elbows as I watch him remove his henley. His ripped chest is on display. It’s even better than when I got to paint it and when he was wearing that damn seafoam-green towel. This time, I get to touch it however I want.

  So, I do.

  Placing my palms on his pecs, I glide my fingers over his skin and let my thumbs graze his nipples. He sighs at the feeling of my hands on him and leans down to climb onto the bed, joining me.

  “You know, if you wanted to get me in
bed, you could have just come in through the front door,” I tease, continuing my exploration.

  He stops his kisses and looks down at me. “Lace, I didn’t do that to get you in bed. I climbed up here to show you that you’re worth more than three bad memories. You deserve to be romanced. I want to show you what a real man can be.”

  “And what’s that?” I ask breathlessly.

  “Yours.”

  He takes his time in savoring my body. Starting at my clavicle, his tongue caresses my skin, moving down my chest, my stomach, and along the edge of my panties, eliciting a hiss through my teeth.

  “Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he says.

  “Not fast enough,” I respond impatiently.

  He moves his head between my legs and kisses my core first on the outside of my underwear, making me squirm in anticipation. Then, he removes them from my legs, flinging them to the floor before placing his mouth and tongue over my throbbing clit.

  “Jake,” I gasp as he flicks the bud and runs his fingers up and down the inside of my thighs.

  The sight is pretty damn spectacular as he kneels before me, lapping up my sex and gazing up at me with a loving expression, asking if I’m okay with what he’s doing.

  I nod, looking him square in the eye as my orgasm swarms low in my core. He’s soft and gentle yet rough and dangerous. Even his shoulders are beautiful, and they flex as he wraps his arms around my thighs and pulls my core closer to his mouth. He’s sucking on my clit and then pushing his tongue inside of me. When he licks me with long motions, I clench my duvet and grab hold for dear life as the orgasm builds inside me.

  My head falls back as my back arches.

  “Oh God,” I cry.

  He growls against me and sucks harder before gently licking with his tongue, causing my body to tremble from the inside out. Ripples of pleasure throb between my legs. I yank on Jake’s hair as intense waves of ecstasy hit me hard. I cry out again and again, chanting his name as I fall back to the bed.