Good Girl (Love Unexpectedly #2)

by Lauren Layne

He spreads his arms to the side and glances down. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Yes, but you swirl and sniff your wine.

  “Siblings?”

  He sucks in his cheeks as though the answer is complicated. “A brother. Died before I met him.”

  I blink. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  I try to figure out how that would work, to have a sibling and never have met them. Older brother who died in infancy, perhaps? Before Noah was born?

  Noah shrugs. “I’m sorry he’s dead, but it’s hard to miss someone you’ve never met.”

  “Parents?”

  “Also dead.”

  His voice is cold and hard, but I suppose that’s not surprising.

  Noah’s not that old, which means either that his parents were much older than average when they had him or there’s more to the story. Judging from the lines around his eyes, I’m guessing it’s the latter.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “Recent?”

  “My dad passed a few months back. Aneurysm. My mom…” He looks away, his eyes going sort of vacant and sad, but somehow angry at the same time.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” I say, not wanting to push him too hard and too fast and freak him out.

  His eyes come back to mine. “She had a bad boyfriend. A string of them, actually. But the last one killed her before killing himself.”

  It’s a good thing I’ve still got one hand on the post and that I’m sitting down, because that is so not what I was expecting him—or anyone—to say.

  “Noah…” My voice is soft.

  He shakes his head and swallows. “It was a couple years ago. I’m over it.”

  “Nobody ever gets over something like that.”

  He rubs at his eyes. “She had cancer. Stage four ovarian, so while I’m not glad she had a violent death, I am glad she had a quick one. But him…he deserved worse than a bullet to the brain.”

  “Agreed,” I say vehemently.

  He looks at me in surprise before turning away. “You hungry? I was going to put the steaks on.”

  A frantic yapping noise comes from within the house, and he looks over his shoulder. “Cotton ball?”

  “You said steak,” I say, starting to get off the railing to retrieve my dog. “She and I had an understanding about the second steak before I knew you were going to attempt to redeem yourself.”

  “Stay,” he says, pointing at me. “I’ll get the dog.”

  “I can practically hear the air quotes when you say ‘dog,’ ” I call after him.

  A second later I hear the quick, happy tap of Dolly’s claws on the deck before she rounds the corner. Ranger gives a happy bark, immediately coming to greet her, and I can’t help but smile when I see that she wags her tail back, their noses nearly touching as he bends down to sniff her little head.

  “They’ve come a long way,” Noah says, resuming his spot by the grill.

  “Meaning she no longer wants to kill him, and he no longer wants to hump her silly?”

  He’s about to put the steaks on the grill, but he turns back to me, barbecue tongs in hand. “Oh, I’m pretty sure he still wants to hump her silly.”

  His eyes are dark, and I know immediately he’s not talking about Ranger. Or at least not just Ranger.

  I swallow and say softly, “Well, I’m pretty sure she no longer wants to kill him.”

  “Good to hear,” he says, giving me a little wink before he turns back and puts the steaks on.

  I love the way they instantly sizzle. It reminds me of summer evenings growing up when my parents would sip pinot grigio on our deck while my dad cooked steaks and my sister and I ran around the backyard. Or maybe it was mostly me who ran around the yard, while Kelly read.

  “What did you do before this?” I ask, watching the way the muscles of Noah’s sculpted back ripple and bunch as he rotates the vegetables. “Before you were a caretaker, I mean.”

  “Odd jobs.”

  I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t, and as I sip my wine I realize I’m doing a heck of a lot more questioning than he is.

  I wonder if he’s simply more polite or if he doesn’t care to know more beyond the fact that I have a sister.

  Noah flips the steaks before giving me a glance over his shoulder. “What, no more questions? Don’t want to know my birthday or social security number or favorite brand of condoms?”

  “Somehow you don’t strike me as the type of guy who’s all that picky about his condoms,” I say.

  “Did you just imply I’m promiscuous, princess?” he asks, turning around.

  “No,” I say, taking a sip of wine. “I lack your particular knack for that sort of shaming.”

  To his credit, he winces, but then he turns around, flipping the vegetables once more. He removes one of the steaks and covers it with foil, leaving the other one on for a few more minutes.

  I watch as he removes the second steak as well as the vegetables, adding them all to the plate before covering it once more with foil, then tosses the tongs down on the little shelf attached to the grill.

  When he turns back, his expression is angry, but there’s a sort of agony to it, as though he’s more pissed at himself than me.

  He walks toward me slowly and my breath catches a little at his nearness—even more so when he uses his hips to nudge my knees open so he can step between my spread thighs. The dress rides up, awfully close to displaying the lady parts, but he doesn’t even glance down. He’s too focused on my face.

  He shoves a hand into my hair, his fingers fisting just a little roughly, the other hand resting on my hip.

  For a second I think he might kiss me, but instead he rests his forehead on mine, his eyes dark as they look into mine. “I’ve treated you badly, said things I shouldn’t, and for that I’m sorry. Really,” he says, his voice rough. “But I don’t think I’m off base in thinking it’s not just me who’s messed with your head. It’s the fucking paparazzi and all that comes with your private life being public, and you need to shake that off. You need to not give a fuck what anyone says or thinks about you, me included. You get me?”

  “I’m working on it,” I whisper.

  “Work harder,” he says, his fingers tightening slightly as he eases back and lets his eyes roam over my face. “Because you’re good, Jenny Dawson.”

  I wince, and his hand tightens on my hip. “No, I don’t mean it like that. I don’t mean that you’re supposed to be virginal and sugar-sweet and not make mistakes. I mean you’re good in that you’re kind and patient and only moderately annoying.”

  “High praise,” I say with a little smile.

  He leans again, his forehead resting on mine once more as his eyes go even darker. “You’re also sexy as hell and give great head.”

  I let out a nervous laugh. “Last night was—”

  “If you say it was a mistake, I’m giving your steak to the dogs.”

  “I was going to say last night was an experiment.”

  His hand slides down, his thumb trailing over my lip. “I’d say it was a successful one.”

  “I thought for sure you were going to push me away today,” I whisper, the hand that’s not still holding my wine coming up to fiddle with the button of his polo shirt. “Give me all the reasons that this can’t happen.”

  “It shouldn’t happen,” he says, his eyes watching the way his thumb drifts over my mouth. “I’m not the guy for you.”

  “Why not?” I challenge.

  “Because I’m the guy building the porch swing while you’re working on your next Grammy-winning album. I’m the guy drinking PBR while you sip champagne. I’m a redneck, you’re red carpet.”

  “But—”

  “You know as well as I do that you’re leaving sometime soon, and I’m sure as hell not coming with you.”

  I want to tell him about my plan to buy the place, but I don’t. Because what would that even mean? It’s not as though I plan to live here full-time. Or even part-time. It’s not remotely
practical, and it’s not as if he even wants me to stay.

  “I am not for you, princess.”

  My hand drifts lower on his chest, my nails raking lightly over his abs. “You didn’t seem to feel that way the other night when you snuck into my bed.”

  “Sweetheart, if I married every girl I’ve ever finger-banged…”

  I choke out a horrified laugh and put my hand over his mouth. “Maybe don’t finish that sentence.”

  His eyes relax a little, maybe even reflect a smile, and he surprises me by kissing the palm of my hand before gently pulling my wrist away from his face. “What is it you’re looking for?”

  “More of what I felt last night. And the night before that.”

  Noah’s eyes narrow. “And that’s all? Just a quick fuck with the hired help before you go back to real life?”

  My lips part. “Hey, that’s not—”

  “I’m not complaining,” he interrupts. “Because if that’s what you’re looking for, and all you’re looking for, I’m happy to oblige.”

  “You’re telling me not to get the wrong idea,” I say with a little smile.

  Noah jerks his head in the direction of the grill. “You have to admit, the cozy dinner scene doesn’t exactly scream no-strings-attached.”

  “I’ll take full responsibility for planning the dinner, but you’re the one who saw it through,” I remind him.

  He plucks the wineglass out of my hand, setting it aside before his hands find my hips. He presses closer, his hips spreading my thighs wider as he slowly lowers his face to my neck, nuzzling the sensitive skin there. “My motives were impure. I was trying to get you into bed.”

  I gasp as he licks my neck. “I hate to tell you this, but a big juicy rib eye isn’t exactly known for being an aphrodisiac.”

  “Then why are you wet right now?” he asks, his teeth scraping along the column of my throat.

  “I’m not.”

  I feel him smile. “Liar.”

  My hands lift to the back of his head, my legs spreading wider to pull him close. “Okay, maybe I am. But I’d still like to point out that you’re the one that cooked dinner.”

  “Maybe I made you the food because I wanted you to get your strength up for what I plan to do to you.”

  I bite my lip to keep from asking for details. To stop myself from begging him to talk dirty to me. It’s criminal how much I want this guy.

  I don’t understand it.

  But neither do I want to fight it.

  “I had a snack,” I whisper.

  He pulls back to look at me. “Is that Jenny Dawson’s way of telling me she’s ready for me to fuck her?”

  My core throbs at the rough words. What is he doing to me? How?

  I nod, and his eyes turn molten before he eases closer once more. This time when his hands wrap around my hips it’s to yank me forward, pulling me off the railing until my bare feet touch the porch.

  “Not going to ravish me out here?” I ask, unsure if I’m relieved or disappointed.

  “Ever have a mosquito bite on your ass, princess?”

  An excellent point.

  Noah takes my hand and pulls me toward the back door, giving a sharp single whistle for the dogs to follow.

  They beat us inside, immediately heading for the stairs in a clatter of claws on hardwood.

  Noah halts. “They’re going to your room?”

  I shrug. “They’re smart enough to know where the AC is. We could kick them out.”

  “We could,” he says, turning toward me, his expression speculative. “Or…”

  Noah moves closer to me, crowding my space until I’m forced to walk backward. “What are you—”

  My butt hits the back of the kitchen table, a huge, ancient thing that I’ve been mostly using to store spare dishes.

  Dishes that go crashing to the floor when he roughly shoves me onto the table.

  Our hands are everywhere. I tear at his shirt as he roughly kneads my ass, dropping his mouth to my neck, sucking my skin into his mouth and tugging.

  I cry out in pleasure and the realization that I’ll most definitely have a hickey tomorrow. I practically purr at the thought of being marked by him.

  Noah slams his palms on the table on either side of my hips, pulling back to glance down my body, lingering on the fullness of my bra-less breasts, then lower to where the dress is bunched up around my crotch.

  I reach out, boldly stroking the bulge beneath his shorts, and his breathing gets even more harsh.

  “Why do you smell so good?” he murmurs, pulling my hand away and leaning forward to drag his mouth along my exposed collarbone.

  “My bath bubbles?”

  “No. It’s you.”

  His hands are sliding over my upper thighs, his thumbs ever closer to where I’m hot with want for him.

  I gasp a little as his thumbs find the edge of my panties, slipping just barely under before sliding away again. “You remembering the other night? How much you liked my hand here?”

  He drags his fingers over me, lightly enough to tease, but there enough to torment, and I whimper. “Noah.”

  “Jenny.”

  His voice is husky.

  “Please,” I whisper.

  “Like this?”

  I hiss, my hands lifting to his shoulders, nails clawing into his firm flesh as he slides his finger over me, slow and sexy.

  My hips tilt toward his hand and he roughly hikes my skirt up all the way, resting his forehead on my shoulder as he watches his hand against me.

  I’m panting now, so close, and we’ve barely gotten started.

  He hooks his fingers into the sides of my panties, pulling them over my bare legs before tossing them aside.

  His eyes flick up to mine as he slowly rubs his hands along the backs of my calves, slowly, teasingly, until his hands find the backs of my knees, lifting until my heels rest on the table.

  Noah’s eyes never leave mine as he slowly eases my dress up again, his palms on my inner thighs, slowly spreading me open.

  A little bit of reality trickles in around the need, and I instinctively reach down to cover myself, but he catches my hand gently lowering it to the table by my hip, holding it down with his bigger hand as his eyes slide down my body to where I’m wet and open for him.

  “Fuuuuuck,” he rasps.

  With his free hand, he rubs a finger along my seam, and I arch.

  “Jesus, princess. Why can’t I get enough of this? Of you?”

  “You’ve only had it once,” I manage, my voice sounding nothing like what I’m used to.

  He smiles at that. “Excellent point. A problem I intend to remedy.”

  His fingers play over me as he dips his head and presses his mouth to the inside of my knee.

  Panic seizes me as I realize where he’s headed. I tug my hand free, tangling my fingers in his hair as I try to sit up.

  He settles me with a hand against my belly, but his gaze is questioning.

  I shake my head, a little frantic. “Please don’t do…that.”

  His eyes narrow slightly as his tongue touches his lower lip. “I want to taste you.”

  My thighs tighten, but I shake my head even more frantically. “I don’t want that.”

  “Bullshit,” he whispers, his thumb nudging my clit and rotating it in a slow circle.

  I cry out, but I don’t release my grip on his hair. I’m not about to tell him that no one’s ever gone down on me before, and though I’m intrigued, to say the least…I’m just not ready.

  I can’t explain it, and it’s not rational, but there it is.

  I move my feet, hooking my legs around his waist and pulling him to me as I sit up, reaching for his shirt.

  He studies me for a moment, as though trying to figure out what I’m about, but then he cooperates, reaching one hand around to grab a fistful of shirt at his back, pulling the garment over his head and tossing it aside.

  I bite my lip as I run my hands over him, intrigued at the way his eyes clos
e when my nails rake over his nipples.

  I rain kisses over his chest, pausing only long enough to let him pull my dress off me, moaning as his hands cup my breasts, lifting their weight before capturing my nipples between thumb and finger, twisting them with just the right amount of pressure.

  I can barely think. My brain is nothing but static.

  It’s never been like this. Not even close. Granted, I’m not experienced, but I know enough to know that this sort of frantic breathlessness isn’t the norm.

  My hands grapple awkwardly with the button of his shorts. He helps, opening them with one hand, and I shove both shorts and boxers over his hips before wrapping a greedy hand around him and pumping once.

  I pull him closer as I scoot toward the edge of the table, spreading my legs and rubbing him against me.

  “Jesus,” he breathes. “Slow down—”

  I guide him lower, my intention unmistakable, even though I don’t know where this is coming from. It’s the same as it was last night, as though this hidden sexy part of me has been drawn out. By him.

  Only him.

  “I need a condom,” he growls.

  “Pill,” I counter.

  Noah groans but pulls back slightly. “Honey, you didn’t even ask if I’ve been tested.”

  Shit. STD risk and all that. Told you I was bad at this.

  “Oh,” I say, feeling embarrassed. “Are you—”

  “Tested. Clean,” he says.

  “Same,” I whisper.

  His hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back slightly as his mouth claims my throat and I realize abruptly that I’m no longer in control. I also realize that I’m just fine with that.

  Noah nudges forward, the tip of him sliding in, and it’s so deliciously tight, so good that I cry out.

  “You’re so small,” he whispers, teeth scraping my neck. “So tight.”

  He nudges forward again, just a little, his breath harsh and ragged. I’m wet, but the movement isn’t easy and he pulls back, his gaze slightly panicked. “Are you—”

  “Not a virgin,” I say in a rush, knowing what he’s fearing. “It’s just been a while. More than a year.”

  And only twice in my life.

  His eyes widen slightly, and I realize what I’ve just revealed. I didn’t sleep with Shawn Bates. Didn’t sleep with any of the guys who’ve come forward and claimed to be my bedmates.