Stirring Up Trouble

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “You know what I think?” she asked, and her voice was such a sensual purr that he could barely keep himself from pushing back to regain his original position.

  He groaned, all pleasure. “What?”

  Sloane seated herself right in the heat of his lap, and he was certain he’d lose his mind. Christ, he wasn’t going to make it like this.

  “I think it’s about time someone turned the tables on you.” She slid the seam of her jeans up the length of his aching cock, and his gruff laugh popped out without warning.

  “We’re not going to be here long if you do that again.” But Gavin gripped her hips, guiding her roughly over him again anyway because she felt that fucking good, even through their clothes.

  Bracketing his shoulders with her palms, Sloane leaned seductively over his chest, brushing his skin with just the sheer suggestion of lace and hard nipples. “I don’t care. For once, I want to see you get a little reckless.”

  Between the slow, hard thrust of her hips and the silky, sweet brush of her breasts on his chest, Gavin’s resolve disappeared as if it had never existed. He answered every thrust in turn, pushing against her with dwindling control. When she dipped a hand between them to release the button on his pants, he reached out to return the favor, only to be denied.

  “Uh-uh.” Sloane shifted to her knees beside him, removing his pants with one economical tug but leaving her own in place. She ran her hands down his midsection, curling them around the waistband of his boxers with obvious intent. “Not this time.”

  “Sloane.” He propped himself on his forearms, tracing his eyes over her in the gauzy moonlight just in time to watch as she freed him from his last remaining article of clothing. Nestling on her side right by his hips, she wrapped her fingers around his erection, and he released a tight exhale. “You’re a little overdressed, don’t you think?”

  But her grin became wicked, just a flash of white teeth. A look of sexy longing took over her features, enhanced by the velvety shadows of the room. She peered up between her lashes, meeting his eyes for the briefest of seconds before treating him to an erotic pump of her fist.

  “Not for what I have in mind.”

  And then her mouth was on him, and he couldn’t think, let alone speak to reply.

  Sloane swept her tongue down his length in one unremitting line, and it was all Gavin had not to cant his hips off the bed at the white-hot sensation ripping through him. She stroked him again, first with her tongue, then with her hand, letting one follow the other until they blended together to become a blur of total intensity.

  Sloane alternated the most feather-soft kisses with harder, unyielding friction from deft fingers, and when she took him deeply into the heat of her mouth, a hoarse groan broke free from the darkest part of his chest. Unrepentant need rose from low in his belly, but he buckled down over it even though it took willpower he questioned, absolutely determined not to climax until she did.

  “Sloane.” He ground out her name, but even then it came out like a prayer. “Ah, God, you have to stop.”

  Her movements stilled, and the reprieve from her heated ministrations allowed him just a few seconds of clear thought.

  She looked up at him, her expression laced with sexy abandon. “Go ahead,” she murmured, her grin both wicked and sweet. “Lose control.”

  The irony of it hit him full-on, and he sat up, pulling her close until their eyes were mere inches apart.

  “I haven’t had any control since the minute I walked through the door tonight, Sloane. I want you. I want to make love to you and only you. That’s what will make me completely lose my mind.” He kissed his way from her jaw to her neck, finding that honey-sweet spot below the shell of her ear that made her moan softly when he tasted it.

  All the sexy acrobatics in the world couldn’t shred Gavin’s composure like the sounds this woman made under his hands, his mouth, his lovemaking. There was only one thing he wanted, pure and simple.

  “Just you.”

  With a few well-placed maneuvers, the rest of Sloane’s clothes joined his in the dark shadows of the room. He quickly grabbed a condom from his bedside table and settled back on the bed beside her, but she repeated her earlier move by pushing him flat on his back. Parting her thighs, she rested her core over the lower threshold of his belly, just out of reach of his rock-hard erection.

  Sloane glided over the crest of his hips with friction so utterly hot, he nearly saw stars from how badly he wanted to bury himself inside of her, and she leaned in close to whisper in his ear.

  “If having me is what’s going to send you over the edge,” she said, her breath as ragged as his felt, “then I want you to watch every second of it.”

  She seated herself in his lap in one smooth stroke, and Gavin nearly lost it right there at how her words coupled with the movement. Her body, so tight yet pliant and wanting, surrounded him in a flawless give and take as she lifted herself over him only to lower back down until they were completely joined. He grasped her hips, but immediately wanted more. Encouraging her forward with the bend of his knees, he slid his hands to her backside until she filled his palms, guiding her to a rhythm that had both of them panting.

  He stilled beneath Sloane’s exquisite movement, watching her wanton expression break open further with each thrust. He took in the modest curve of her breasts, the dip of her belly, the velvety curls between her legs, branding it all on his memory just as she’d told him to. This time, when the urge rushed up from within him, he didn’t hold back. With one last push upward, he razored into an orgasm so hard, it blurred the line between pleasure and pain.

  Sloane’s heady gasp and the quickening of her body around him heightened the raw intensity, and Gavin held her tightly as she tumbled apart. Her gasp became a pleasured sigh, which then became his name, repeated over and again in the same honest, dulcet tones of the laugh he loved so much. After a moment of stillness, she unwound her body from his. But rather than moving away or turning to get dressed, she simply settled against him, matching his slowing, awe-filled breaths with her own.

  And as he held her and listened to the rise and fall of her body lulling her to sleep, Gavin knew he could just as soon live without her as he could move the moon.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sloane tugged at the gaping waistband of the plaid pajama pants she’d borrowed from Gavin, retying the drawstring below her belly button in an effort to keep them settled over her hips. She knotted her legs beneath her as she readjusted her position at the kitchen table for conservatively the sixtieth time in ten minutes. Her stare was certainly as blank as the screen in front of her, and she didn’t even try to stop the sigh in her chest from rolling past her lips.

  Of all the things she’d even written, this e-mail to Belinda was proving by far the most difficult. She’d rather take on ten Greece books than pen the missive that might well tank her hard-earned career. Oh, God, how had she not thought of this last night when she’d recklessly said she’d stay?

  The answer was easy enough. She might’ve said it recklessly, but she meant it right down to her marrow. Sloane had said she wouldn’t leave Pine Mountain, and it was because she was head over heels insane for Gavin Carmichael.

  That falling unexpectedly in love would end up being the one thing that kept her from writing a romance novel was so ironic, she had no choice but to laugh, even though the sound emerged as flat as an old party balloon. It wasn’t the decision to stay that was difficult—on the contrary, that had felt as right and natural as taking a deep breath upon waking to a new day.

  It was the fallout that threatened to swallow her whole.

  Eyeing the hallway down which Bree still lay blissfully asleep, Sloane scooped her cell phone into her hand and tiptoed onto the porch.

  “Hey, it’s me,” she whispered after dialing, wishing in hindsight she’d grabbed a sweatshirt to brace herself against the Saturday-morning cold. She paced over the sun-bleached slate of the porch floor. “Do you have a minute?”
<
br />   Carly’s laugh held all the warmth Sloane’s had lacked only a few minutes ago. “I have exactly ten, and then I have to leave for the restaurant. What’s up?”

  Sloane closed her eyes, and her words barged out without apology or grace. “I’m in love with Gavin.”

  Silence buzzed softly over the line for a second, then two before Carly replied, “Well. I’ve got to give you credit, cucciola. When you go swimming, you sure as hell jump in with both feet. Does he know?”

  “You mean have I said it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Sloane hesitated. “He asked me to stay here with him and Bree, and I said yes.”

  “You told him about Greece?” Surprise colored Carly’s words, but whether it was at the notion of Sloane telling him about her intended trip or the fact that she wasn’t taking it, Sloane couldn’t be sure.

  “No, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not going. I don’t want to go,” she corrected, and God, her thoughts couldn’t get any more muddled if she paid them outright to confuse her.

  “Those are two different things,” Carly offered gently, and Sloane pinched the bridge of her nose hard enough to feel the bite of her fingernails there.

  “I know.” She stopped pacing and flicked a glance at the front door. It was closed snug in the frame, but Sloane dropped her voice to a whisper anyway. “I just never expected any of this. I want to stay so much, but what if I screw things up? Then what?”

  But Carly didn’t even pause. “Gavin trusts you, Sloane. Maybe it’s about time you started returning the favor.”

  Sloane could count on exactly two fingers the number of times she’d been shocked speechless in her entire life, and this moment made the list. “What?”

  “Look, I know that sticking around scares the hell out of you, and I also know you have your reasons for that. But when you weed away all the doubt and what-ifs, it’s still totally clear that Gavin trusts you with the most important thing in his life. All I’m saying is that it might not be a bad idea to believe—really believe—that he trusts you for good reasons.”

  “You mean that I’m good at taking care of Bree,” Sloane said, the combination of mutinously bright sunlight and rising emotion making her eyes water.

  “For one thing, yes. But he doesn’t just want you to stick around to take care of his sister, does he?”

  Carly’s words hit a bull’s-eye and broke open in Sloane’s chest. “No,” she whispered.

  “Okay, then. How about maybe you trust that, too?” Carly whispered back.

  The flash of emotion she’d felt when she’d promised to stay last night returned, surging over her in full force.

  “Oh my God, you’re right,” Sloane blurted. “How did I not see this before?”

  All at once, her emotions fell into place with such startling accuracy, she couldn’t believe they’d eluded her in the first place. After all, it had been Gavin’s faith in her that had kicked her desire into motion in the first place. How could she not trust it now, when she needed it the most?

  Carly’s slight chuckle returned Sloane’s attention to the here-and-now. “Because you’re human, and falling in love makes even the best of people prone to total lunacy.”

  Sloane barked out a snap of laughter. “Um, thank you, I think.”

  “My pleasure. You forget, it wasn’t that long ago that I was the Queen Mother of raving lunatics when it came to being in love. But Jackson and I worked things out, and you and Gavin will too.”

  Sloane stuttered to a stop at the corner of the porch, bracing her hand on the weather-beaten white railing. “Do you really think so?”

  “I really do,” Carly confirmed.

  For the first time, Sloane allowed herself a glimmer of hope. “Thanks.” Her impulses booted up, heading directly for right now mode, and she bit her lip before continuing. “Hey, I don’t mean to pull an emotional drive-by on you, but I should probably go get this Greece thing settled.”

  “Any idea how you’re going to spin that?” Carly asked gently.

  Sloane squared her shoulders with absolute surety. “Not a one. But I’ll work at it until I figure it out. You’re right. It’s time I started trusting myself. And the people who care about me.”

  “Hey. What were you doing out on the porch?”

  The sound of Bree’s sleep-laden voice scared Sloane clean out of her skin, and she swung around so fast that she caught her elbow on the doorjamb with a merciless bang.

  “Ow! Mother—” She clamped down on her tongue with all her might so as to not finish her sentence, even though the pain shooting up her arm begged for expression.

  “Are you okay?” Bree asked, genuine concern washing over her sleepy face.

  “Who, me? Sure.” Sloane made a sour face and flexed her elbow a few times, grateful that the throbbing joint cooperated. For the most part, anyway. She looked at Bree, her grimace easing up considerably at the sight of her well-rested face. “You look like you slept pretty well, huh?”

  If Bree had fallen prey to another nightmare after Sloane left her room last night, it had been the silent variety. Sloane had insisted Gavin leave his bedroom door cracked open before they fell asleep though, just in case.

  Bree nodded, gesturing to Sloane’s borrowed sleepwear. “You stayed.”

  “Oh.” Sloane glanced down at the pajamas. It was painfully obvious from the baggy fit and masculine plaid that they were Gavin’s, but she didn’t bat an eye. “Yeah. I was worried about you, and then your brother, ah, asked me to stay. So I did.”

  While the conversation had a dangerous amount of awkward potential, being straight with Bree just made sense. After all, Gavin wasn’t the only person Sloane was staying here for, and dancing around the situation didn’t seem fair. Bree deserved to know the truth.

  Sloane wanted to be part of their lives, plain and simple.

  “Cool.” A smile twitched at the corners of Bree’s mouth, making a liar out of her indifferent shrug. “So do you want breakfast? I don’t know how to make doughnuts like Gavin, but I could make bacon and eggs or something.” Her eyes lit up with a tawny flicker. “I could even teach you how to make it if you want.”

  Sloane thought of her laptop sitting on the kitchen table, and she hesitated. She didn’t want to wait another minute to write that e-mail now that she’d decided to take the plunge, but it wasn’t something she could just rattle off and send. “Well, breakfast sounds great, but . . .”

  Bree’s expression faltered. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I just thought the cooking part might be kind of fun. Sometimes we do it, you know. As a family.”

  The true implication of what Bree wanted knocked into Sloane with all the force of a palpable shove. How could she not have remembered how much the idea of making doughnuts with Bree had meant to Gavin? Or how reverently he’d left her that omelet the first time she’d stayed over, wrapped up nice and neat in the fridge?

  For Gavin, food was an expression of caring, and whether or not he realized it, he’d passed it on to Bree.

  “In that case, you’re on. But I’m telling you now, the best thing I know how to make is reservations.”

  Sloane frowned at the sheer volume of food items and kitchen-type gadgets covering the butcher block island. Simplicity, it seemed, was not the theme of the day.

  “Are you sure we need all this? It’s just bacon and eggs.” She picked up a stainless steel whisk, surprised at its lightness in her hand despite the heavy-looking handle.

  Bree shot a grin over her shoulder from her station in front of the fridge. “This is nothing. You should see Gavin make his home fries casserole.”

  Sloane’s stomach spoke up with a growl. “That sounds good.”

  “It is. But you don’t want to be on cleanup duty afterward. It takes forever to wash all the stuff he uses.” She joined Sloane at the butcher block, plopping a half-gallon of milk on the careworn surface. “Okay. So the first thing you do is get the egg mixture ready.”

  “That doesn’t sound so b
ad.” Sloane popped the top of the Styrofoam carton and passed an egg to Bree. She cracked it easily against the butcher block and emptied the contents into the bowl one-handed.

  “Now you try.”

  Okay, this was going to be a piece of cake. Sloane took an egg between her fingers and mimicked Bree’s movements. Right up until the egg exploded all over the countertop.

  “Shit,” Sloane muttered, her head springing up at the sound of Bree’s giggle. “I mean, uh, darn.” She looked down at the mess and winced.

  “It’s okay.” Bree laughed. “We can just clean it up.” She passed over the paper towels, and Sloane wondered if Bree had them so handy out of luck or because she’d suspected they’d need them.

  Sloane wiped the mess from the counter to the trash can. “So I take it there’s a trick to that.”

  Bree nodded, and showed her. “You learn it by feel. And by crushing a bunch of eggs in practice.”

  By the time they got to the sixth egg, Sloane got the hang of it. “You’re pretty good at this, you know.” She watched Bree add some milk and start whisking.

  “We used to cook a lot, even when I was little.”

  Sloane clamped down on her ironic chuckle, not wanting to discourage Bree from talking. “Ah. Well, no wonder you’re so good then.” She paused, letting the metal on metal rhythm of the whisk against the bowl thread between them. A thought that had taken root as Sloane sat curled in the chair by Bree’s bedside worked back through her brain, and she gave it voice.

  “I’ve been thinking about something you said last night. I’d like to talk to you about it a little, if that’s okay.”

  Bree’s hand stilled over the bowl. “About my nightmare, you mean?”

  “Yes.” Sloane took the bowl from Bree’s hands, her own attempts at whisking horribly clumsy in comparison. “Have you ever talked to Gavin about it? Like right afterward, when it’s scariest?”