She jabbed a finger in the air. “Then you shouldn’t have played strip pool and made me drink cranber—vodka! And you’re drunk too, so there!”
He chuckled and nuzzled her jaw up to her ear, which he licked. “I’m not. Unlike you, I can hold my liquor. You’re the first person I’ve ever played strip pool with, and I got a little crazy. I’m usually very serious.” He tilted her chin up and kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ve been called boring.”
She gaped at him. “You are not boring! And P.S. whoever said that is an idiot!”
He kissed her softly. “Thank you.”
“Come to my place for dinner tomorrow,” she said for the sole purpose of luring him to her bed. “P.S. I make a mean takeout.”
“I’ve got a family thing.”
She felt like stomping her foot. All this lusty dizzy time only to get the heave-ho. “Whatever!” she sang and headed out the door.
He snagged her elbow and spun her back around. She tipped sideways a bit, and he pulled her against his solid chest. She rested her cheek against him, listening to his steady heartbeat. She closed her eyes, got dizzy, and opened them again.
“Tuesday?” he asked.
“I don’t have the night off again until Friday.”
“Friday, then.”
She beamed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes.”
“Zoe,” he growled, “you make me want so much.”
“Then take—” Her reply was cut off by his kiss. His tongue invaded, and she welcomed it, swept away again as her knees went weak and his hands claimed her, holding her tight against him. She rubbed herself against him like a wanton hussy. She wanted to laugh she felt so giddy, but then he turned her whip fast, and her laughter died in her throat as he pressed her back against the wall, grinding into her. Yes. Like that. She moaned, grabbing his ass, urging him on. His strong hand held her jaw open for an all-consuming kiss that left her breathless, while his other hand grabbed her leg, lifting it, opening her to his powerful grind. Holy…her breath caught as he hit the right spot…omigod.
He lifted his head and spoke against her lips. “When the time is right.” Another drugging kiss and a slow grind that had her eyes rolling back. “When you’re thinking straight.” A long kiss and grind that made her whimper desperately. He pulled back to look in her eyes, his own a glittering direct hit to her insides, which even now clenched as he pressed slowly, rhythmically, watching her.
“Yes,” she said because she knew he liked her yes.
She felt his smile against her lips before he claimed her mouth again, grinding exactly where she needed until an explosion of sensation tore through her. She cried out, the sound swallowed by his kiss.
He pulled away, and when she stayed against the wall like a limp noodle, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “I want a lot from you, sweetheart.”
“Mmm…” was all she could manage.
He peeled her away from the wall, his hand on the small of her back, guiding her on wobbly legs out the door. She wasn’t sure what he meant by what he wanted from her, but her heart warmed like it must be something really good. Something she brought out in him. That “sweetheart” made her feel all warm and gooey inside.
She smiled as she stepped onto the back deck because she loved a good orgasm and hadn’t it been a long time since the last good one? Damn, she couldn’t remember the last time a man had gotten her there that quickly and explosively.
She turned back. “Night!” she called cheerfully, but he was right beside her again, his hand on the small of her back, walking her to her place.
He kissed her on the tip of her nose when they reached her door. “Night, beautiful.”
“Night, shark boy next door.” She pulled the key from her purse and held it up triumphantly.
He chuckled and shook his head. “Lima bean,” he reminded her.
“I don’t think so!” she exclaimed gleefully.
He took the key from her, opened the door, and guided her in. Fred barked twice.
“It’s just me, Freddie!” she sang. He quickly settled down again, tired at the late hour. The door shut quietly behind her. Boy, Gabe was in a hurry to leave. She sighed, leaning back against the door for a moment. A brief flash of worry hit her that she’d started something she shouldn’t, but the reasons why she wasn’t supposed to seemed vague and unimportant. Landlord, shmandlord.
She made her way unsteadily to the bed. Who cared if she was leaving soon when she felt so good right now?
Chapter Eight
Gabe found himself whistling on Friday night while he did a quick check in the mirror, waiting for Zoe to stop by for their night of takeout and hopefully much more. He had to make sure she didn’t drink too much this time. He would only offer wine, none of the hard stuff.
The doorbell rang, and he headed downstairs, reminding himself this was only their third date. He pulled open the door and went instantly hard. She wore a black leather jacket, open, with a purple turtleneck, gray skirt, and black knee-high leather boots. The outfit was both modest and form-fitting enough to get his imagination cranking. He wanted under that skirt, fast, hard, driving into her. The deep thrum of his pulse pounded through him, a damn primal thing, urging him to take.
She smiled cheerfully and took off her coat. “Hey!”
He had to force himself to smile back. His impulse to claim her was shockingly strong and getting stronger every time he saw her. He was usually a laid-back take-his-time kind of guy. Zoe was lush with curves and owned it. He wanted to soak in that fresh openness, that spark she had, and then he wanted to do dirty things to her. He shifted uncomfortably as she turned from him because the rear view with her sweet round curves was killing him. He watched her hang her coat and purse on the nearby coat rack. Cool it. Dinner first.
“We have to eat out,” he barked.
She startled. “Oh, okay.”
Regular Prince Charming here. There was no way he could get through dinner with just the two of them and keep his hands to himself. He flashed to the other night when she came in his arms, and what if he just got a quick taste of her before they left. Just push up that skirt. He wouldn’t even make her get naked. Just push her panties aside enough for his tongue—
“Is this okay?” She did a turn and looked at him over her shoulder. “I can put on a dress.”
“Yes,” he croaked. “It’s casual.”
She frowned and turned to face him. “I can change.” She smoothed out the skirt. “I’ll put on a dress.”
“You don’t have to.” Unless she wanted to change in front of him. Or maybe he could help. “Let’s see the dress.”
“I knew it!” She turned to get her coat when the doorbell rang again.
He wasn’t expecting anyone. Gabe reluctantly went to answer it. Great. His younger brother Vince. Just what he needed when he was trying to move things forward with Zoe. Two words had been used over and over to describe Vince—male model. He’d even been asked to model, but he’d turned them down. Gabe would describe him in one word—hothead.
“Hey, bozo,” Vince said, barging in. His eyes lit up when he saw Zoe. “Hey, gorgeous.”
Gabe made a noise in his throat that sounded surprisingly close to a growl. “Zoe, this is my brother Vince.”
Vince took her hand and held it. “Stepbrother. Nice to meet you, Zoe.” His voice was deep and melodic. Women loved it. From the look on Zoe’s face, she was no exception. “I’m the stepbrother he warned you about.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, he never said—”
“What do you want, Vince?” Gabe snapped.
Vince turned to him and scowled. “Ma wants you at Sunday dinner. Not optional.”
Gabe narrowed his eyes. “You could’ve called for that.”
Vince put him in a headlock and rubbed his knuckles over Gabe’s head. Gabe elbowed him in the kidneys and broke free. Dammit. His brother still hadn’t outgrown stupid roughhousing. Vince had always been bigger than Gabe, even though Vinc
e was a year younger. He glared at his brother.
Vince held up his palms. “I was working nearby.” He turned to Zoe. “My construction company is building the new gym at the elementary school.”
“He means his dad’s construction company,” Gabe said.
“It’ll be mine eventually,” Vince countered.
“You can go now,” Gabe said. “Thank you, messenger boy.”
“You’re an ass,” Vince said. He turned to Zoe. “Pardon my French. Does your boyfriend mind you hanging out with this loser?”
Gabe opened the front door and gestured for Vince to get out. Vince exhaled noisily and headed toward the door. He stopped and turned. “Zoe, would you like to come to Sunday dinner?”
Zoe looked alarmed as she looked from Vince to Gabe. He couldn’t help the hard look he gave her. She would not be choosing his brother.
“Um, I don’t want to intrude,” she said.
“Just you and me, then, for dinner,” Vince said smoothly.
Her cheeks turned pink. Gabe was about to stand between them and put his arm around her to stake his claim when she suddenly blurted, “I’m taking a break from bad boys.”
Vince barked out a laugh. “Let me show you what you’re missing, darling.”
Gabe spoke up. “Tell Mom I’ll be there.”
Vince winked at her and left.
“Sorry about that,” Gabe said.
She stared at the ground and took a few deep breaths, which irritated him. If she was going to get hot and bothered over anyone, he wanted it to be him.
“You like Vince the Italian model?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice.
She frowned. “He’s a model?”
“He could’ve been.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing her against him. “Does he make you hot and bothered?”
She bit her lip.
“Zoe?” he prompted.
She lifted her chin. “He’s too good looking. He knows it too.”
“Would you have gone out with him if I wasn’t in the picture?” He cupped her ass with both hands and squeezed. She sank against him.
“Maybe,” she allowed.
“Maybe?” he growled.
“But he’s a heartbreaker. All the good-looking ones are.”
Now he was really starting to feel insulted. Not enough to stop fondling her ass, but still. “What am I, then?”
She flashed her beaming smile. “You’re my lima bean.”
He kissed her then, staking his claim, intent on making her remember who she was with. She smelled like strawberries again, and he couldn’t get enough. He grabbed her hair and held her in place while he claimed her mouth, his tongue invading and thrusting as he longed to do deep inside her. She met him stroke for stroke, and he found himself backing her up, pushing into her against the wall, needing to press into her softness. He pushed up her skirt, and she moaned in the back of her throat. Fuck, he wanted her too much. Not here. Not like this. He jerked away, breathing hard, and shoved a hand through his hair.
“I told you you’re my lima bean,” she teased, straightening out her skirt. “You’re being good.”
“That won’t last,” he warned. “Come on. I want to see your dresses.”
They went back to her apartment, where Fred was delighted to see them, barking and jumping like crazy. He made him sit before petting him, glad for the distraction.
Zoe emerged from the small closet with a black dress that looked like it would hug her curves yet barely show any skin. Knee-length, no big dip in the cleavage.
“Let me see the back,” he said.
She turned it. No big dip in the back.
“What you’ve got on is fine,” he said.
“Sure? It’s no problem to change.”
“Can I help?” The words were out before he could stop them.
She froze; then she smiled, shaking her finger at him. “That’s why you wanted to see the dress. Bad shark boy.” She laughed and put the dress back. Except he hadn’t been joking.
She tucked Fred into his crate. “He still can’t be trusted when I’m out. Last time I gave him free rein, he ate my pillow.” Gabe grimaced. That was probably an expensive surgery. Zoe peered in at Fred and slipped him a dog biscuit. “Take a nap, lovie.”
She grabbed her purse and stopped in front of him, looking all fresh and young. “Ready!”
He desperately wanted to kiss her again, wanted to find out if she tasted like strawberries everywhere, but he didn’t think they’d ever get out the door if he did. His voice came out harsh. “Let’s go.”
Zoe gave him a strange look, but headed out.
He walked her to his Mercedes, his hand on the small of her back. “You like seafood?” he asked automatically, but he could barely focus on her answer because all he could think about was getting her alone again, stripping her naked, losing himself in her softness. Taking, taking, taking—
“Gabe?”
He forced himself to focus on her eyes. “What?”
“I said yes.”
He liked her “yes,” but he had no idea what she was talking about. Were they on the same page?
He stopped. “Yes what?” he asked to be sure.
She turned to him with a bright smile that hit him in the gut because she was so full of life and he was the harbinger of death. “Yes, I like seafood.”
He grunted and held open the passenger-side door for her, watched her curvy ass slide into the leather seat, felt that overpowering carnal urge, and convinced himself that if he really, really tried, she’d rub off on him, instead of the other way around. Her bright sunshine would keep the dark fingers of death away. Please let that be true. Because ever since that night when they talked all night, being with Zoe was not just…he couldn’t…this would not just be a hookup.
“So what’s Sunday family dinner like at your house?” she asked when he got in the car.
He pulled out of the driveway. “Noisy.”
“Sounds fun,” she said.
“Everyone’s arguing and talking over each other,” he added.
“Go on,” she said with a smile.
He couldn’t help but smile back. “My mom and stepdad have an open-door policy so home was always filled with too many people. Especially when we were teenagers.”
“I think that’s nice. They must be nice people.”
“They are. It helped that we had a game room,” he said.
“Did the game room have a pool table?”
He grinned, remembering strip pool the other night. Normally, he’d persuade the woman to strip in a game of poker, but with Zoe, he’d proceeded cautiously and let her look her fill at him instead over the less obvious game of pool. “Yup, we had a pool table. Same one we used the other night.”
“You just wanted to show off your muscles, you shark! You faked sucking at pool.”
He barked out a laugh. “It worked, didn’t it?” He turned and headed toward Eastman. “I seem to remember you saying you were terrible and even drunk you weren’t half bad.” He glanced over to find her staring straight ahead.
“Is that how you pick up women?” she asked.
“Never played strip pool before.” Strip poker, on the other hand…
“Hmm…why do I have a feeling that your pants are on fire?”
“You’re calling me a liar?” he asked in mock indignation. “I’m hurt.”
“Yeah, yeah. I think this is one of those lies of omission. How do you pick up women?”
“I’m supposed to spill all my secrets? How will I make any progress with you?”
She crossed her arms, looking cute in her indignation. “You’ve made plenty of progress.”
“I take that as a compliment.”
She grinned cheekily. “It is. Let me guess, you play a mean game of strip poker.”
He bit back a smile. She was sharp. He liked that.
“So-o-oo,” she said, “about strip poker…”
“You wanna play? I’m terrible. I’m su
re you’d win.” Which would work out very well for him. Again.
She pursed her lips. “I’m getting the picture here.”
“What?” he asked, working hard on an innocent face.
“I know exactly how that game would end. You’d be naked as a jaybird, and I’d be the wanton hussy. Very smooth.”
“Wanton hussy?” He grinned. “I’ll take that.”
“I bet you would.”
He glanced over and noticed her skirt was riding high, revealing curvy thighs. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and hit the accelerator. Zoe was the first woman he’d wanted, really wanted, since Alyssa died. He’d been deeply in love and realized too late that she’d loved his money more than him. He’d been hurting and angry over the recent loss of his father and scrambling to make his own life mean something. He’d wanted to get back to basics—small-town life, marriage, kids, the whole deal. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do when you weren’t chasing the almighty dollar? He’d thought she’d want to be a big part of that. She’d called him a selfish prick, berated him for quitting, and told him she’d find a new sugar daddy. She’d been so angry, but her eyes had been full of pain, which had confused him at the time. She was the one lashing out, dumping him, so why did she look so pained?
Their fight haunted him. He hadn’t known the doctors had given her six months to live. Hadn’t known him talking about their future was such a slap in the face. The last thing she’d ever remember him saying was go to hell. When all he’d really wanted to say was please, Alyssa, I thought you loved me. He wasn’t at all sure her death had been an accident. He’d felt, deep down, she’d stepped in front of that truck on purpose. And he was at least partly to blame if she had.
Or maybe she couldn’t face her future, slowly withering away. She was strong like that. Decisive. He’d never know the truth. Either way, she would’ve died.
He’d been alone these past four years, not hurting anymore, but sort of numb, drifting through life. He hadn’t asked out any woman, had felt zero interest in dating, so when he finally felt something for Zoe, something so powerful it hit him like a damn hammer, it was like awakening from a long sleep. Now all he wanted to do was give into his primal urges for Zoe and feel alive again.
Restless Harmony Page 10