by Maggie Wells
“Sugar, I feel exactly the same way about you.”
“And you’re wrong about tonight’s episode. It’s the boring one about the sea birds.”
“Laney—”
She laid a finger across his lips and took a half-step closer. If she wasn’t watching him so closely, she might have missed the flutter of gold-tipped eyelashes or the slight pursing of those full, soft lips against her fingertip. But she was watching. She caught every one of his tells and was willing to bet she could put her finger on at least a half-dozen more. They both needed to shut up for a while. Stop bickering and baiting, and start...biting. Thought firmly in mind, she lowered her hand and rose up on her toes. One strong hand landed heavy on her hip. The other slid up her back at the very moment she caught his lower lip between her teeth and tugged not-so-gently. He rocked back on his heels when she released him. Taking full advantage, she planted a hand in the center of his chest and propelled him back into his condo.
“You’re absolutely right. Tonight is not a good night to fight.”
“We need to sort some stuff out.” He hooked an arm around her waist, hauled her to him, and kicked the door shut. “But I think I’d rather give you a good tongue-lashing.”
She blinked, letting her lashes swoop down and pausing for effect before opening her eyes again. “Big talk.”
“You said no talk.” Then, he backed up the reminder by fusing himself to her—mouth, chest, hips, and thighs.
Their shoes bumped. So did their noses. But he didn’t back off a millimeter. Laney remedied the awkward angle by stepping up onto the reinforced toes of his boots and parting her lips ever-so-slightly. In her experience that men like Harley rarely waited for invitations, but when one came their way, they grabbed it.
Sure enough, he grabbed her. His hands wrapped around her thighs, he plucked her off his boots as if she weighed no more than a feather. But she knew she did, and she wasn’t stupid enough to let the play of rippling muscles beneath his work shirt escape her clutches. Letting her head fall back so he could get to her neck, she ran greedy hands over biceps, shoulders and pecs. He sucked on the pulse throbbing beneath her ear and she moaned.
“So there’s no misunderstanding,” he murmured as he trailed hot, wet kisses down the side of her neck. “You want this. You came here for this, right?”
Threading her fingers through his too-long hair, she pressed against him in a manner which left little doubt as to her intentions, but answered, knowing he wouldn’t continue until he had the confirmation he needed. “I came here for you.”
Satisfied, Harley pivoted and started crossing the loft with long, purposeful strides. She caught glimpses of exposed ductwork and recessed lighting. Sleek, modern surfaces with clean lines and a modern aesthetic. Not at all what she expected. She was about to say something about the decor when she went sailing through the air. The next thing she knew, she landed in a puff of downy softness. Alone.
Stunned by the swift change in scenery, she stared open-mouthed at the skylights set into the slanted roof. A blanket of stars studded the moonless night sky. She turned to find Harley standing beside the enormous bed, simply watching her acclimate to her surroundings. His stiff-jawed expression was such a mixture of wariness, challenge, and pure, naked longing, she almost laughed aloud. But something made her hold back. A surprising rush of tenderness engulfed her when she caught the flash of vulnerability in his eyes.
“This is lovely,” she said, running her hand over the soft-brushed cotton of the duvet cover. “Not at all what I imagined,” she admitted with a rueful laugh, “But then again, you seldom do what I think you’re gonna do.” She wrinkled her nose as if toying with a thought, and held out a hand to him. “I suppose I should expect the unexpected by now, but that would ruin the fun, wouldn’t it?”
Planting a knee on the edge of the bed, he took her hand and drew it to his mouth. First, he kissed the back of it. Soft and polite, like the most courtly of gentlemen. Then he lifted his gaze to meet hers and turned her hand over. There was nothing genteel or gentlemanly about the hot, open-mouth kiss he placed in her palm. The tip of his tongue traced her lifeline. She shivered when he scraped the base of her thumb with his teeth.
“I like surprising you,” he said, his voice gravelly as a back country road.
Her own came as breathy as a B-movie starlet’s. “I know you do.”
“I plan to keep doing it.”
He took both her hands and pulled her upright. Before she could catch on, her shirt was up over her head and his free hand was working the clasp on her bra.
“Some you’ll like...” he continued as if he hadn’t pulled an abracadabra on her entire upper half.
She had to give credit where credit was due. The man was a magician with women’s clothing, but she refused to think too hard on how he’d acquired such skills. He pushed her down again and started attacking the button and fly of her jeans.
“...Some you won’t,” he added grimly.
In a whoosh, the denim, the pretty pink panties she’d worn because they almost matched the push-up bra he’d barely glanced at, and her shoes were gone. She was completely naked and exposed to him. And he still wore every stitch.
“And some are going to take a little getting used to.”
Laney shook her head, having lost the thread of the conversation along with all her clothing. “What’ll take getting used to?” She started to sit up, fully prepared to rectify the inequity in their situations.
Harley caught her shoulder and gently propelled her back again. “Stop talking.”
Lord, bless a talented man. Boots, shirt, jeans, briefs—he worked from top and bottom to the middle—and when he was done, he stood looking down at her as if she were a buffet laid out for his pleasure. There was no hesitation. No moment of uncertainty. There never was with Harley. He was a man who knew what he wanted and usually got it. It was one of the things she loved most about him.
Love.
The word grabbed her by the throat and squeezed as Harley took her by the ankles and dragged her to the edge of the bed. He didn’t bother with any more kisses, nor did he dole out any of those maddening caresses. He simply dropped to his knees beside the bed, spread her legs wide enough to make her wish she’d gone to one of those stupid yoga classes Brooke was always blathering about, wedged his shoulders between her thighs and buried his face between her legs.
He ran his hot, wet tongue over her, lapping at the smooth lips of her pussy like the cat who got the cream. Tucking her chin to her chest, she stole a peek. Because there was nothing sexier than a man at work.
Long lashes shadowed high cheekbones, but as she suspected, the corners of his wild, wicked mouth turned up. The slight smile combined with the shiver the tip of his talented tongue sent racing through her made her grateful she’d found time to go in for a cleanup.
“Christ, this is hot,” he murmured between long, deliberately lazy licks. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever known who does this. Bare down here.” He used the tip of one finger to trace a delicate line along her slit. “Nearly came in my pants the first time I saw you, but you like gettin’ a rise out of a man, don’t ya? Probably why you do this.”
Her breath hissed from between her teeth when he laid the flat of his tongue against her clit. His words weren’t the sweet talk some women liked to hear, but usually they worked fine for her. But there was an edge to him tonight. One she wasn’t entirely sure she could handle. He hummed his approval into her slick folds, and she pressed her palm to the back of his head, holding him exactly where she wanted him. “I’m not completely bare,” she said, her voice husky.
Much to her chagrin, he took the correction as an invitation to nuzzle the thin strip of dark hair she had the aesthetician leave. “No, not completely,” he conceded. “So fucking hot.”
She almost wept with relief when he shifted his attention back to her clit. She was wet already. Wet and aching and desperate for Harley to
fill her. Maybe a little too desperate if she was thinking she was in love...
One hard swipe of his tongue obliterated her ability to string two words together. Blunt fingertips dug into the tender skin of her inner thighs. He held her open, wholly exposed and utterly at his mercy as he set about driving her straight out of her mind. Lips, teeth, and, oh, his tongue. Licking. Sucking. Circling and thrusting. He drove her up, his lips closed snug around the most sensitive bit of her and a pair of long fingers buried deep inside her.
She gasped his name, her fingers wound tight in his hair as she strained to take more of the delicious onslaught. Every brush of his tongue blew her mind. Those relentlessly thrusting fingers edged her closer to the brink. He curled them inside her, almost as if he could command an orgasm at the crook of his finger. The tightening in her belly told her he might be able to do exactly that. But something was off. She couldn’t quite get there. Which seemed ridiculous, considering the mojo the man had working.
He feasted on her. Devoured her. Consumed her with such single-minded purpose it never occurred to her to miss his usual playfulness. But she did. She wanted more than skill and technique. She wanted Harley. The sweet, if slightly off-color, words. His laughter. He never even tried to hide the unbridled joy he felt when he found himself in her bed.
But this wasn’t her bed. It was his. And the day hadn’t been long on joy in general. Closing her eyes, she surrendered to reality. It wasn’t going to happen for her. At least, not like this. Hooking her hands around his quivering biceps, she gave an insistent tug. Harley grunted a protest, but when she didn’t let go, lifted his head.
“Hey,” she whispered. “Come here.”
A vertical line appeared between his brows, marking his clear disapproval of the change in plan. “You didn’t come yet.”
“Not yet,” she allowed. Hey, hope sprang eternal and all. Maybe once they were eye-to-eye, she could find their connection again. “I want you inside me.”
Oh, the magic words. Had they ever failed? She pondered the possibility as he lunged for the nightstand and yanked open a drawer. Every slow-talking Southern man moved in double-time the minute they were spoken. Add in the heaping helping of Harley’s determination, and she got one hard, hot man suited up and sliding into home before she had a chance to second-guess the decision.
She moaned, tensing only for a moment as her body stretched and yielded to the invasion. He felt so good on top of her. Solid and sure. She loved the way the crisp, curling hairs on his legs and chest tickled her skin. The muscles of his back were smooth and taut. Giving in to the pure decadence of him, she closed her eyes as she ran her hands up and down the thick ridges on either side of his spine. During her time in New York, she’d worked with some of the finest silks, smoothest satins, and most luxurious wools, but none could compare to the texture of Harley’s bare skin. She wanted him to wrap himself around her, warm and secure, and cover her in every way.
He felt so damn good, she nearly lost herself in the pure animal instinct to take him into her, drain him dry, and keep him as part of her forever. But then, there was a condom between them. And something more. She opened her eyes and found him pressed up on his hands, his chest heaving with exertion as he pumped into her, but his gaze fixed somewhere over her head. Her confusion gave way to a small surge of pleasure when she noted the lines of strain creasing his forehead. Figuring he was running baseball numbers or reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, or doing whatever guys did to distract themselves during sex, she smiled and brushed her hand over his scruffy cheek.
“Hey, big guy.”
Harley growled low in his throat but didn’t look down at her. Instead, he raised his hips a bit higher and began to thrust into her from a slightly different angle. It drew the length of his cock over her clit with each stroke. For a second, she thought the change in positioning might work. He slid in and out of her as if they were two parts of a whole. But all she could hear was his ragged breathing and the wet slap of bodies. How was she supposed to get there when he wasn’t driving her crazy with the sexy nonsense that usually rolled off his tongue with such ease?
She had passed the point of diminishing returns and the realization hit her like a bucket of ice water. A sob of frustration rose in her throat. This wasn’t fair. Poor Harley was slick with perspiration. She wanted this. Her hands slid over his sweat-streaked back. She wanted to come. Feeling like a failure, she watched as the proof of his valiant efforts beaded on his lip and forehead. She needed him to look at her. But he wasn’t. Wouldn’t.
A tiny little, “Oh,” slipped out as a giant fist squeezed her heart.
It was enough to make him step up the pace. Wincing, she closed her eyes. This was clearly one of those fake or break moments. She could either put her acting skills to the test, or risk cracking his confidence by telling him outright she was a non-starter. She’d never been a big believer in pretending to get off. Frankly, she’d never cared enough about any man she’d been with to worry overmuch about his feelings in such a situation. But she cared about Harley’s. Cared way too much to be dishonest with him.
Lifting her other hand, she bracketed his cheeks, commanding his attention. “Harley? Cher?”
When his gaze met hers at last, she sucked in a sharp breath. It wasn’t lust or hunger darkening his eyes to the color of the stormy sea. Anger. Anger blazed in those gorgeous eyes. Laney'd grown so used to seeing warmth, desire, or even amusement there. Frustration and irritation, yes, but never outright anger. She stared up at him for a moment, frozen. Harley was angry with her. The realization stole the breath from her body. He was pissed, though God only knew what gave him the right to be ticked off when he was the one who betrayed her, and he had the balls to fuck her anyway?
Oh, hell no.
She forced her muscles to go lax, then met his gaze again. This time, with some fire of her own. But her voice was cool, oh-so-cool, as was the polite smile she graced him with before giving his shoulders a hard shove. “You might as well give it up, sugar.” She took a petty little pleasure in watching his mouth tighten when she used his favorite endearment on him. “This isn’t gonna happen.”
To her shock, he simply nodded and pulled out. “Nope. You’re right, it isn’t.”
And with the same lightning-fast agility she’d admired a few minutes earlier, the man was up, wearing the snug gray boxer briefs she liked too damn much, and tossing the condom into a bedside trash can. One he kept there for that purpose for all she knew. Indignation flared inside her, heating her cheeks and making her heart beat a rumba. Crossing an arm over her breasts, for no real reason other than she didn’t want to give him a smidge more than she already had, she rolled off the massive bed. Her bare feet slapped wide-planked floors polished to a high sheen. She snatched her clothes from their various landing spots and started to dress as quickly as she could. Unfortunately, it could be damn hard to hook a bra clasp while trembling with rage.
“Argh!” Throwing the stretchy lace onto the wrinkled bedspread, she jerked her shirt over her head.
“A good look for you.”
“Go to hell, Harley.” She yanked her panties into place and released the elastic with an angry snap. It wasn’t until she straightened the legs of her jeans and shoved a leg into them that she realized her underwear was inside out. Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered other than the fact that this man had once again made a fool out of her and she was damn sick and tired of his blowing hot and cold. “You know, I don’t know what your deal is, but I can’t take it anymore.”
“My deal?” He dared to sound incredulous. “I’m not the one who goes flying off the handle before anyone can ever get a word in edgewise. I’m not the one who holds everything important back, but isn’t the least bit shy about letting the bullshit fly.”
His voice edged closer to an outright shout on the last, and her hands stilled on the fly of her jeans. “Holding back? Holding back?” She jumped an octave the second time, but told herself
it was only to keep things even. Flipping her hair from the collar of her shirt, she shook her head in disbelief as she crammed her feet into her flats. “I came over here tonight to—”
Laney caught herself in time. She didn’t owe this man anything. Not an apology. Not an orgasm. And certainly not her heart.
Pivoting, she stomped out of his bare bones bedroom, her sights set on the front door. Of course, he followed her. All the man ever did was follow her around, judging her. Mocking her. Challenging her to be whatever it was he thought she ought to be rather than the woman she was. Well, tough nuts for him.
“There she goes again, ladies and gentleman, the queen of the flounce and bounce.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Stop acting like a spoiled brat and come back and talk to me like a grown up,” he called after her.
Laney whirled, her hand closing around the doorknob. “Spoiled brat?”
He planted his hands on his hips, completely oblivious. It almost killed her to note that other than the varying shades of tan that marked the changing seasons on his arms and torso, he looked like a damn underwear model.
“I’m sorry your stud service wasn’t up to snuff tonight.” He held his arms out wide. “I’ve been working all day, dealing with a woman having conniptions on the front lawn, and former owners showing up for after-hours chats. I’m tired, I’m dirty, and all I wanted to do was come home and take a damn shower.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “But I was willing to oblige you.”
“Oblige me?” She gaped at him. “You think I came here for sex?”
Pursing his lips as if he’d given the matter great thought, he had the audacity to try to brush her off with a shrug.
“I did not come here for sex.”