[Be for Me 01.0] Breathe for Me

by Natalie Anderson

  She scooped up her towel, not bothering to wrap it round her. She just needed to get out of there. She wasn’t sure what unnerved her more now—the water, or the man. She heard no noise from the pool as she walked as quickly as she could. She got to the edge of the deck. Thought she’d made it. But an arm reached above her, firmly shutting the door she’d begun to open.

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  He was right behind her. Too close. His hand covered hers and too easily he pried her fingers from the door handle. He tugged gently but firmly, turning her to face him.

  Definitely too close. His other arm was still braced on the door, blocking her exit. His body blocked any escape towards the pool. They were both too naked. He was too hot, too wet.

  Actually, so was she.

  She looked up, aware of how ragged her breathing had become, like she’d been the one doing the underwater marathon. How could this happen? One look and she was liquefying. It was his body, right? The perfection, size, oh-so visible strength. It was just some weird basic instinct reaction.

  Not real.

  He still held her hand. She tried to tug it free but he wouldn’t let go. It wasn’t that he held it too tight. But firm. He was so much stronger than her. Her heart thudded faster.

  Not turned on. I’m not turned on.

  She shifted her weight to her strong leg, but right now it felt as weak as her damaged one. So she leaned back against the door. It was like déjà vu —the two of them in a doorway with so much skin.

  And so much desire.

  He lifted her hand and glanced down at the backs of her fingers, swiftly lifting his lashes to look back at her eyes. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  For a moment she didn’t understand what he meant. Then she realized—her ring.

  “Is everyone saving the date?” His voice sounded low and raspy. Angry.

  She shook her head, unable to answer without betraying the wobble in her own voice.

  “That isn’t an engagement ring?” He pressed.

  She drew in a breath but it wasn’t enough. “It is,” she answered in a low voice.

  “But you’re not engaged?”

  “No.”

  “So it’s not your ring?”

  “It is.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “It’s quite simple really,” she said, her voice going huskier by the second.

  “Explain it to me.”

  She didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want the moment of sympathy. She’d rather see annoyance in his eyes than pity. She’d had so much pity.

  “I was engaged, but now I’m not. I kept the ring.”

  “He didn’t want it back?”

  “No.”

  “And you still want to wear it?”

  She couldn’t bring herself to take it off. But that truth didn’t work well with the tale she was telling. “It’s useful.”

  He took a moment, then leaned closer. “Stops guys trying it on?”

  She swallowed, looking down—away from his piercing gaze. She couldn’t maintain the fiction when he looked at her like that.

  “You want them to think you’re taken?” He pushed it.

  She shrugged, pretending she didn’t care what guys thought.

  “You got hurt?” His voice had dropped to a lethal whisper.

  Startled, she glanced back up at him. It wasn’t pity in his eyes. It was hotter than that—protective. Like he was about to go beat the crap out of who ever it was who’d thrown her over.

  She didn’t want that either. Definitely not.

  “No,” she lied. Even though she sensed he knew it was a lie. “Actually, I keep it as a trophy. In fact, I have a drawer full. I like to change the ring depending on what I’m wearing.”

  Something sparked in his face, a glimmer of amusement. “But you still want to keep men at bay.”

  “Fine.” She lifted her chin. “I don’t want to get involved with a man at this time in my life.” And that was the truth.

  He stepped closer and she instinctively pressed her back against the cool door. It didn’t cool her any.

  He smiled at that. “Are you sure?”

  “Sure about what?”

  “Not wanting to get involved. Seems to me you might want to be a little involved.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The way you look at me.” He let go of her and only to trace the tip of his finger along the strap of her swimsuit—down her shoulder towards her chest.

  “I—”

  His finger was warm, gentle. The lightest of touches. Yet she felt it branding through her flesh to her bones. Melting them.

  “Don’t deny it or I’ll have to prove it.” He angled his head and lowered his gaze, watching the path of his finger and its effect on her body.

  Oh my, the man exuded sensuality, confidence, and warmth. And she’d come over all moth to his flame.

  “How would you try to do that?” She could barely ask she was so breathless.

  His brows did a little flash-dance. “Look at you, your mind whirring overtime, isn’t it?” He chuckled. “You got a good imagination?”

  It seemed she did—because right now her mind was coming up with all kinds of options.

  His finger traced lower, still gently marking the edge of her swimsuit above her breasts. She shivered as a moment of fantasy was realized. Her nipples were so tight. Needy. She wanted him to go lower—to touch them. She wanted him to bend and put his hot mouth on them. To take that one step closer and press his body against hers. It was insane—to want this stranger so badly.

  He noted the heat flooding her cheeks. “You do,” he nodded. “That’s good to know.”

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Couldn’t say no. Or yes. Lust like this hadn’t happened to her before. Sure, she’d had friends tell about meeting a random guy they just had to bang and didn’t really give a damn about otherwise. Where instant chemistry was all it was. And it wasn’t that she was a prude or afraid of sex. It had just never happened to her. Not ‘til now.

  And she wasn’t ready. Not when it was this overwhelming.

  “Isn’t it a good thing Superman isn’t real,” he murmured, his finger slowly sliding back and forth along the uppermost curves of her breasts.

  “Why?” She could hardly concentrate on what he was saying with that gentle, rhythmic, repetitive touch. Each slide grew a little firmer, each slide made her want more. Her internal mercury soared, her muscles softened, yet energy coiled deep and low in her belly. She wanted to move—closer.

  “You can get involved with him and not break your rules.”

  “Because?”

  “He’s not real. Just… fantasy.”

  Her lashes lowered, his torso filled her vision. Fantasy?

  “You sure you don’t want to take a dip?” he asked. “You’re looking like you’re feeling the temperature.”

  “I’m fine.” She swallowed—her throat parched, her limbs heavy, achy, needy.

  “It’s a very hot night.”

  It certainly was. If he kept up with those little touches she was going to get overexcited. Hell, she might actually come. How was that possible?

  “I need to…” she couldn’t finish her sentence. She held her breath, trying to slow the insanely quick build of excitement in her body.

  “Need to what, sweetheart?”

  She wasn’t a sweetheart. And she wasn’t the kind to do this. “I need to—” she broke off.

  “Get wet?” He smiled. “Come swim with me.”

  Oh that was so much more than an innocent invitation. And it hit her like a cool breeze—pulling her back from the brink.

  “There isn’t room in that pool for the both of us.” Her chin lifted as fear enabled her to regain some control.

  “It’s not the biggest pool,” he nodded. “But I think we could make do.”

  “I…” She couldn’t. She wanted to but she couldn’t—it wasn’t the offer but the venue. She couldn’t get in that water.


  She was so stupid. The guy was sex on a stick. He was offering and if she had any kind of spine she’d be taking. Because maybe this could be exactly what she needed? Some fun? Something meaningless to get her back into the social side of life? Because she wasn’t doing meaningful. Not that this guy would ever offer that anyway. She had the feeling he was all about easy. This ought to be easy.

  But her response to him was too intense. The things she was thinking? About letting him do? Wanting him to just go right ahead and—

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  She stared, watching his pupils widen, darken. Potent. But she couldn’t answer his question. Couldn’t reach out and take. Because that buried part of her knew she shouldn’t. He might only offer casual, but he still had that protective thing going. And she really didn’t want that.

  Slowly he leaned forward, still bracing his arm against the door at her back. His marauding finger dipped into her cleavage, the merest inch. Unable to move, breathe, think, she watched him come nearer, until he loomed so large in her vision she was overwhelmed. Her eyelids lowered. His lips caressed her collarbone—the touch setting off sparks under her skin, the flickers zooming along her veins deep inside.

  The last time a guy had kissed her it had been filled with love. This was out and out lust and nothing but. Vastly different. But different was good.

  And this was so, so good.

  Boneless, she sank all her weight back against the door, her head falling to the side, wordlessly allowing him closer. He kissed along her shoulders and then down to the swell of her heavy breasts just above her swimsuit. Both his hands were at her waist now. Big hands. Strong. She shivered as he slid a broad palm over her swimsuit, sweeping around to her butt. A spear of desire shot deep into her womb. She put her hands on his chest to steady herself. To touch. His skin was wet but warm and the muscle beneath so damn hard. Pure strength, power, and masculinity and she could only soften, dampen, heat in instinctive response. Her hand swept—seeking more of that heat, that strength.

  Still he kissed—feather-light, fast brushes of hungry lips swept over her skin. Her breasts tightened. She was achingly aware of his hand now at her upper thigh. His fingers stroked gently, teasing, so nearly breaching her swimsuit. Insane as it was, she wanted to feel skin on skin. To have him stroke and slide where she was wet and aching and empty. Her sex clenched. Wanting him.

  But she couldn’t rock closer into his hand. Couldn’t moan the way she wanted. Couldn’t beg. It was too fast, too crazy. She shivered as his mouth neared her nipple. She struggled to breathe, panting in fast, quick bursts. But as his mouth reached its target she gasped. His fingers slid beneath the leg of her swimsuit.

  Instinctively her hips jerked. She cried out.

  More. She needed more.

  A loud thumping reverberated through the door she was leaning against. Chelsea nearly jumped out of her skin. She pushed out of his suddenly loose arms. She turned to see someone coming through the door. Terry—the night manager.

  Superman was swearing something blue beneath his breath.

  “Sorry Xander, it’s closing time,” Terry said with a smile. “Rules are rules.”

  Chelsea didn’t linger to listen to the banter. She didn’t stop to grab her towel. She just fled.

  Frustrated as hell, Xander watched her go. He glared at Terry, the urge to shove the guy out of the way ripped through him. He held still by sheer force of will.

  “So sorry about that.” Terry backed up a pace and pushed through the door.

  “Sure you are.” Xander stalked after him. He heard the soft hum of the elevator mechanism working. She was gone already.

  “She’s a hottie.” Terry said as he hit the stairs.

  “She’s none of your business.” Xander hesitated, hating having to ask, but necessity bit so hard he had to. “What’s her name?”

  Terry turned in the stairwell, astonishment written all over him. “You don’t know her name? You’re copping a feel and you don’t even know who she is? You’re the fucking master!” The guy almost bowed in admiration.

  Xander was less than an inch from losing it. “Just tell me her name.”

  “If you’re that hot, I’m sure you can find it out yourself.” Terry didn’t wait for a reaction. He sprinted down the stairs three at a time.

  Xander unlocked his apartment and let the door slam behind him.

  Asshole.

  Clearly Terry had liked watching the midnight non-swimmer and he hadn’t appreciated having his perv sessions cut. Jerk.

  But then Xander was a bit of a jerk too, wasn’t he? To be almost fingering her like that without knowing her name wasn’t great. Though at the time, he couldn’t have cared less. All that had mattered was arousing her, teasing her, satisfying her. Hell he’d wanted to see her satisfied. To see that need in her eyes assuaged.

  He sighed and paced around his apartment. So damn relieved the fiancé was out of the picture. But his brain unrelentingly replayed images certain to send him mad.

  Her lush lips had reddened, her eyes widened, the navy deepened. He’d had only a second with that sweet, tight nipple in his mouth, feeling the shivers ripple through her. She’d been holding herself rigid to stop her hips rocking, he knew it. And the way she’d arched against him when he’d sucked her in—swimsuit and all? Damned if he could resist that.

  But for someone who had such heat in her eyes, who could talk it up a little, when it came to the moment she’d been surprisingly passive. She’d clammed up, almost like she was shy. But she hadn’t said no. And when he’d talked fantasy, invoked her imagination with his lame Superman line, that’s when she’d gotten hotter. That had been the key.

  So is that what she needed? Him to make the moves? To instigate? To take control?

  Fine. No problem. At least ‘til she warmed up. Because when he had touched her?

  Ther. Mo. Nuclear.

  He half laughed, half-groaned. She couldn’t have been warmer. Her response hadn’t been virginal. Then again, she’d been engaged. Hell, she’d teased she had more than one ring, like she collected them. Well she hardly did that. The way she’d run away the second she could, showed her true colors. No real vixen there. Though, it had to be said, she had potential.

  Why had she run? Was it just embarrassment at being caught by Terry? Or was it fear? There was no need for fear. Xander never asked for more than a woman was willing to give. In fact, he usually asked for less than they wanted to offer. And he was certain she was willing. So he’d corral her, soothe her skittishness. And then ride her the way he knew she wanted him to. The way he was dying to.

  But he needed to understand what was going on in her head. Because while her body was screaming yes, that verbal reticence bugged him.

  Screw it. He’d go stalker. Just for five minutes. Just to get the answers he needed. Her name. Her business. What had happened with the ex. Thanks be the guy was an ex. Because one thing Xander knew, he was having her lips under his and her succulent body wrapped round him, squeezing on his thrusting cock until they hit oblivion together.

  He grabbed his computer and logged into the hotel system. Pulled up her unit. Accessing a client’s files for personal reasons would cost an employee his job. Good thing he was the boss.

  Chelsea Greene. Temporary tenant. Only here for two months. An intern with the Wroxton Institute of Urban Art & Design. Whatever the hell that was. He re-read her residency dates. His skin tightened as his muscles bunched. A deadline then. Less than eight weeks.

  Chelsea Greene. How many could there be in this world? He logged out of the system and tried Google.

  Turned out there were a few, but it was easy to sort them. She was still a student—had worked on a number of random urban art projects. But there was one headline that stole his attention. Blood chilling he clicked on the link that took him to the online version of the small town newspaper. It was only a brief—an obit. A young guy, Tom Holt had been killed in a car crash when his vehicle le
ft the road. His fiancée, Chelsea Greene had suffered critical injuries but was expected to survive. The article was dated almost two years ago.

  Hell. Of course her fiancé hadn’t wanted the ring back. He was dead.

  Poor guy. Poor Chelsea.

  Xander stared at the screen, absently rubbing his knuckle across his jaw as he absorbed the info. Not good. Awful in fact. Reading this, he knew he should veer away. She was more than bruised. She’d been heartbroken. And he was never going to be the guy to give her what she was going to need now. He didn’t hang with emotionally needy women. Which was why he never stayed with any woman for long, because every woman he’d ever met got needy at some point. But some needs were more intense, more obvious, more immediate. And in every way that was Chelsea.

  She’d been smashed up, body and heart. He guessed she was here to move on with her life. Doing the fight for independence. Good for her. But he’d no intention of helping her out with that. She might not think it yet, but ultimately she’d want a guy who could become a pivotal pillar in her rebuild. She’d said yes once, eventually she’d want to again—going for the picket fence, dog and the whole happy-ever-after.

  Xander didn’t. It’d never happen for him. Hell, the cynic in him didn’t think it truly happened for anyone. He’d witnessed the burning hell that was his parent’s marriage. Then the frigid unhappiness of his aunt and uncle’s. Coupledom was best being a light temporary thing.

  Upshot was, she wasn’t ready to play—not his kind of fast-but-fun game. Too freaking bad, because they’d be damn good at it. The fizz and snap between them was a kind of chemistry he’d never encountered before.

  But learning this was good. It’d stop him from making a mistake that’d only end in a mess.

  Damn.

  Chapter Six

  Xander worked extra long hours, meaning he worked 23 of 24, which was fine given he couldn’t sleep without dreaming of her. In the last four years his security systems company had grown more quickly than he’d hoped it might. He needed to stabilize—fulfil the contracts he had while yet pushing for more. He’d recruited new engineers, extra sales people. The fact he now had so many employees was something of a surprise for a guy who liked to do everything himself. But he could delegate—he’d been careful in recruiting and he was reaping the rewards now of having a team that was loyal and as determined as he. But at the end of the day no one cared about the company like he did—there was always more he could do.