“No, that was just kinky fun.”
It was everything she could do not to purr.
Kinky...her?
Oh, that was a first. One she’d savor.
“What was hot...” his voice dropped lower as he leaned closer toward her ear “...were the soft, throaty little moans you made and the way you gave your whole body over to me when I pulled you close.”
Her mouth went dry and even the nervous butterflies batting about her stomach stilled...waited. “You’re whispering me again.”
Those eyes.
“Maybe I am.”
His mouth.
“I thought we were friends. I thought we agreed.”
The heat.
He nodded. “We did.”
“Then why?”
Her jeans were snug with the tightening of Garrett’s fists at her sides, adding to the sensation of his touch, his hold, extending beyond just his fingers to everywhere the fabric touched her. Around her hips, her bottom, between her legs and down her thighs.
“The strings are already there, Nichole. The lines have already been crossed. And if you really want to know, I cross them more every damn time I look at you. I can’t stop thinking about hearing you make those sounds again. Only this time I want to hear them when you’re saying my name.”
“Garrett—”
“Hell, yes.”
And then the space between them that was all potential and unmet need and why and why not was gone. Replaced by contact. Hot and concentrated. The mind-blowing sensation of Garrett’s chest moving up against her own as he took that final step. Hard-packed muscle and cotton created a teasing friction against her nipples that left her breathless, lips still parted on a broken gasp when his head bowed to hers.
“Just like that.” His words were a kiss against her lips. The soft brush before the bruising crush. The taste that warned it would never be enough.
Garrett.
His mouth moved against hers like an unspoken demand, rubbing slowly, telling her what he wanted, what she wanted to give him. He parted her lips beneath the insistent pressure of his own, working back and forth without giving her the “more” she ached for, stroking her need until it surpassed his own and she was wordlessly begging: with her hands—one clutching and releasing and then clutching again at the fabric of his shirt, the other flexed against all that contained strength, riding the peaks and valleys of a musculature she’d only believed existed in the land of airbrush and fiction. Begging with her body—bowed forward in an arch that was needy and shameless; with the same throaty whimper that had brought them to this point in the first place. The one that apparently did the trick, because in the next second she had what she wanted—Garrett’s tongue thrusting past her parted lips, rolling against her own, delivering a deeper, more potent version of the moan he’d been talking about in the process, ensuring they were in fact together in this desperation.
And that was the most intoxicating part of it all. They were together.
Another thrust and the hands gripping her hips tightened. And then she was sucking lightly over his tongue, gasping at the flick of it against her bottom lip, getting lost in all the places only this man had been able to take her—in the physical sensations unique to being with him, in the slide of his arms around her back so one hand came to rest across her bottom and thigh and the other wound into her hair and tightened there so she felt his hold against a thousand points of contact within her skin.
Oh, and she knew what he was going to do next—whimpered in anticipation of a repeat of the move that had haunted her nights so relentlessly.
Garrett’s lips curled against her own. “Say it.”
“Garrett.”
The tension at her scalp tightened incrementally as he used her hair to guide her head back, extending her neck further, opening her mouth to him so the kiss that came next was one he took. One he controlled. One he gave. One that made her groan and melt beneath it.
Made her ache through every point of contact yet to be made.
The hand across her bottom pulled her closer. Held her firm against the straining ridge of his erection.
Another whimper. Another reckless pant of his name.
Another thrust of his tongue into her waiting mouth.
All that mattered was this. More. Easing the almost painful clench of need so deep inside her.
And then the hand in her hair slipped free. Her head came up and in a daze she met the blue flame of Garrett’s eyes...tried to close the distance between them he had opened. She reached for his shoulder, his hair. Leaned in to his kiss, getting less than a taste before he broke away again.
Too much. She’d gone too far again. Gotten carried away—
Except he had her hand in his. The muscle in his jaw was jumping as he raked his other hand through the hair that was standing up in a guilty mess. “There’s got to be a back way out of here. Let’s go. I think I can make it to my car.”
The haze of arousal cleared further and Nichole looked around, stunned to find herself in this state of reckless abandon in the back hall of a coffee house. Oh, God. Mistake!
“Garrett, I can’t.”
He nodded, shoved his hand through his hair again and then grabbed her hips and lifted her up against him in a move so swift and deft she had her legs wrapped around his waist before she’d even realized what was happening.
No, this she had to stop—and fast. Because Garrett was carrying her up the last stairs, groaning some kind of agreement that neither could he. And then her back was against the wall and his hips were rocking against the needy spot between her legs that made her stupid in ways she could never have imagined prior to meeting him.
“Garrett,” she gasped when his mouth closed over her neck.
And that totally hadn’t come out the way it had been supposed to. But before she could even think about where she’d gone wrong with that one single critical word, the sensual, disorienting fog was descending again. Rolling in thicker with each flick of his tongue, every rock of his hips and brush of his thumb against the straining peak of her nipple.
Because, yes, this guy was plenty strong enough to hold her against the wall with one hand. And, God, wasn’t that the hottest thing? Next to all the other billion hot things about him. She was a little ashamed to admit his being so worked up enough to do her against the back wall of a public place was one of them.
But it had to stop.
She needed to check her libido and her ego and—
“Garrrrett...”
What...how...that was...would he do it again?
Then his mouth was back at her ear. His breath a hot rush against the tender tissue. His low growl a rough stroke against all the places where she ached for him. “Are you wet, Nichole?”
She opened her mouth, trying to form words—only her mind had blanked of coherent thought. And apparently Garrett didn’t need an answer anyway, because somewhere along the way he’d gotten her fly undone, loosened the denim enough to skim his hand down the back.
“Aww, baby, you’re so—”
“Stop.”
She didn’t know where she’d found the resolve to say it, or how Garrett had even heard, the word was so small. So not at all what she wanted. But there it was. And he had heard, because that marauding hand of his was working a steady retreat back to her hip, where he continued to hold her against him.
So maybe unlocking her ankles from the small of his back and letting go of his shirt and hair should be her next step.
Reluctantly, she did so. And, sure enough, Garrett eased her down to her feet from there. Let his forehead rest against hers and, with a pained groan, refastened her jeans. Because he was just that kind of guy.
Which made her want him all the more.
And that was a problem. Because Ni
chole wasn’t ready for this.
Thanks to her deadbeat dad’s underwhelming commitment to fatherhood she’d always been skittish about getting involved. The two guys she’d risked her heart with in the past had been more about building relationships than scoring bases. She’d known them for years, trusted them and made plans with them. With Paul...they’d been so young. When he’d ended things, she’d understood and recovered with only a few scars. But with Joel she’d been so hurt. So humiliated by what had happened it had taken her three years to brave up enough to dip just her toe back in.
Okay, fine. She’d done the full-on skinny-dip. But still... What she’d done she’d done believing it would be a one-time isolated incident with a guy who wouldn’t be around twenty-four-seven, tempting her to invest more of her heart than she should.
Garrett murmured, “Nichole, this thing between us isn’t going away.”
No, it wasn’t. “I’m not sure we’re giving it much of a chance to.”
“Maybe not.” Pulling back, Garrett looked around them, as if just realizing exactly where they were, and swore. “I’m sorry about this. I don’t know what I was—”
“Yeah, neither do I.” With a quiet laugh, Nichole added, “You are really going to get the wrong idea about what kind of girl I am.”
Garrett caught her chin with his finger and brought her gaze to his. “No, I won’t.”
Then, leading her down the flight, he stopped at the bottom stair and pulled her down to sit beside him. The guitarist had moved on to a new piece—something slow and soulful. Each pluck of the strings seemed weighted with a melancholy that resonated inside her.
Forearms resting over his widespread knees, Garrett scrubbed a palm over his face. “I know I’m the one who said this wouldn’t work. That I didn’t want it. But it sort of feels like we already have it, whether we meant to or not... Nichole, I can handle the part about Maeve.”
“But I’m not sure I can.” Maeve was her best friend. Her rock. The person she couldn’t live without. The person she’d need to turn to if her heart ever got trampled again. “Let’s just say you aren’t the only one with a protective streak when it comes to your family.”
Garrett’s brows shot skyward, as though the thought had never occurred to him. “Are you worried you’re going to break my heart and Maeve’s going to hold it against you?”
“Well, no.” While something told her Garrett’s heart was immune to breaking, there were no guarantees when it came to hard feelings. “But she didn’t take too kindly to an off-the-cuff remark I made last month. And that was before I’d actually even met you.”
His expression closed down as he asked, “What kind of remark?”
Why had she brought it up? She didn’t want to tell him what she’d said. Didn’t want to risk his feelings or insult him. But he was staring at her, waiting. “Something about antibiotics. It was stupid and totally off-base and I apologize.”
A nod. “The Panty Whisperer garbage. I get it. I’ve earned it.”
Something about those last words and the weary resignation in them cut at her.
“Garrett, I didn’t know anything about you. But I do now—”
At that, his mouth curved into a wry smile. “Yeah, and I’m betting what just happened at the top of these stairs pretty well backs up every rumor you’ve ever heard.”
It might have if this connection she’d somehow formed with Garrett hadn’t given her a deeper insight into who he was. Into what he valued. But he seemed as genuinely undone by the attraction between them as she was. Fighting it and trying to push it aside so they could enjoy a friendship regardless.
She didn’t want her careless words to hurt him or undermine all there was to respect.
If ever she needed a lifeline it was now. She wanted Maeve to tell her what to say. Although now that she thought about it...
“I do have to admit I’m pretty impressed. I always sort of assumed the rumors were exaggerated. But, damn, Garrett.”
He was a Carter, after all. And teasing was their foremost means of affection.
His sudden stunned bark of laughter was everything she’d wanted to hear. And then he leaned back and studied her, his gaze tracking from her eyes to her mouth and back. “Okay, Red. Tell me again why this isn’t going to work.”
“Because neither of us wants to risk jeopardizing our relationship with Maeve over...anything. We both know better than to think we could keep our relationship with each other separate from our relationship with her. And I’ve lost people after relationships ended before—people I really cared about.”
She’d never forget what it had been like to go from being embraced as the daughter Paul’s mother never had, to realizing the same woman was walking out of the market without her groceries to avoid having to talk to her. The friends who suddenly hadn’t seen her when they passed. That feeling of being cast adrift from everything she’d thought was safe and secure.
When she’d transferred to Chicago for a fresh start Maeve had been the one to give it to her. Maeve’s had been the open heart she’d so desperately needed after having so many others shut against her.
When it looked like Garrett might be ready to argue Nichole held up a staying finger. “And because I think you’re a very good guy. I know too much about the part of you that has nothing to do with whispering panties and everything to do with the care and protection of your family. I know about the guy who drives around Chicago at five in the morning after a big snow to dig out his sisters’ cars so they can drive to work. The guy who puts his own needs last every time. And the guy who knows the value of a simple sunset.”
“Are you whispering me right now?”
Nichole shook her head, half wishing she was. “No, I’m telling you why this won’t work. It’s because you’re too good of a guy for me not to fall for. I’m not ready for something serious and I don’t know how to do casual. Believe it or not, that’s actually how your name came up with Maeve. She’d been joking around about you giving me lessons on keeping it light. She even threatened to set us up. Ironic, huh?”
When Nichole looked up from the neat stack of her hands on her knees Garrett was watching her, his brows drawn down so his shadowed eyes left her guessing at his reaction.
“So what are we going to do about this...thing between us?”
“What we planned from the start. Ignore it.” She let out a soft laugh. “Find a distraction until it goes away. Because us getting together would be a mistake and I think we both know it.”
“Okay, Nichole. I get it.” Garrett pushed to his feet and, taking her hand, pulled her to her own.
Looking down at where their fingers had intertwined, she asked, “No more whispering?”
One last rough stroke of his thumb across her knuckles and he let her go. “Not tonight.”
EIGHT
Garrett gripped the wheel, ten and two, his knuckles going white as his most beloved baby sister rambled on, heedless of how close she was to being dumped by the side of a road and left to hoof it the rest of the way to Carla’s in the next burb over.
“...all I’m saying is you don’t have to be such a hard-ass about everything all the time—sorry, Aunt Gloria.”
Their great-aunt waved a papery hand, her focus on the passing houses more than on the fight Maeve had picked with him the moment she’d slid into the backseat.
“You think I like this? That I enjoy always being the heavy? Come on, Maeve. If I don’t tell Erin to turn her head on and open her eyes about this guy then who the hell will? You? Beth? Carla? I don’t think so. You girls are so caught up in all the romance B.S. you don’t even register the impracticality of a guy who literally weaves baskets for a living.”
“He’s an artist,” she sniped back.
“Oh, he is. Everyone was talking about how beautiful his work was at the
Acres.”
The seniors’ living facility where his latest works were on sale.
Maeve’s eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest. “It doesn’t matter what he does, Garrett. Erin loves him.”
At his scoff, she grumbled from the back, “And to think I’d been looking forward to seeing you. Where have you been anyway?”
He made some noise about work and scowled at the road ahead, not wanting to get into it. But Maeve was...Maeve.
“Cripes, it’s either feast or famine with you. Years of you only pulling your head out of your business and books long enough to bitch about whatever we’re doing wrong, and then suddenly you’re like a plague. Everywhere.” Her eyes rolled as she let out a dramatic huff. “And just when I start thinking it was kind of fun having you around, you drop off the face of the earth again.”
Teeth gritting down, he glanced in the mirror at her. “You’ve managed fine in the past.”
“Yeah, but I always had Nichole around. And she’s been suspiciously absent these last couple weeks. Tired. Busy. Working late.”
Garrett’s hands tightened on the wheel as the implication hung in the air.
Damn it.
“Anything you want to own up to?”
Not even close. “No.”
The silence stretched between them until finally he shot a demanding look into the rearview mirror. “What?”
“I thought you liked her.”
“I do.” More than he should, considering what he had to offer.
“You know, Garrett, I’ve always wanted a sister.”
Wonderful. And now she was playing with him for sport. Because that was what demon sisters did.
Breathe. Don’t start looking for a ditch. “You have three.”
“But not a little sister. You know Nikki is two months younger than I am?”
“It’s not like that, Maeve.”
Gloria’s frail hand reached up through the seats to pinch his cheek. “It’s wonderful, dear. All your wild-oat sowing has to stop sometime. Nikki’s a darling girl.”
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