Fall

by Callihan, Kristen

  Everyone laughs. And I do too, grudgingly. It had sucked, but it was funny. “Fucking gnat had it out for me. It was stalking me the entire interview.”

  Snickering, Stella rests a hand on my forearm, her smile bright even though it’s clear she’s fighting not to laugh. “Poor baby.”

  Everything in me warms, my attention homing in on where she’s touching me. Two hours ago, I thought she wouldn’t want to see me again. I’d been sucked down in a vortex of dark, taunting thoughts. She’d yanked me right back into the light.

  I want to bend down, fit her lips to mine. I want to haul her into the bedroom and learn the topography of her curvy body. I want my friends to get the hell out of here. I want a lot. Want, want, want.

  Not that my loudmouth friends notice.

  Rye is still talking. “The reporter looks at him like she thinks he’s trying to be funny and is failing miserably. But she clearly wants to give him a chance. And she says, ‘Was that an Overboard quote? It’s my favorite movie!’”

  Stella bursts out laughing. “She did not.”

  Rye nods. “Jax goes blank for a second and then nods, all solemn and serious, and tells her it’s his favorite movie as well. That’s all it took. Coolness restored.”

  “Such is the power of Jax,” Brenna deadpans, rolling her eyes.

  I lay a hand to my chest. “What can I say? My bullshit fu is strong.”

  Thankfully, my friends don’t mention that I did hook up with the reporter. And the entire time, she kept asking me to do Overboard quotes. Which was really unfortunate since I never saw the movie. Awkward as hell.

  I don’t regret my past. I don’t regret playing fast and loose with sex when I was younger. Overall, I’d enjoyed myself. A lot. I’m never going to be Saint John, but I now understand why Whip has said goodbye to casual sex. I’d never been myself. Never had anything real.

  Unfortunately, therein lies the crux of my problem. I want sex with Stella. I want her and only her. But there are dangers with getting attached. Becoming dependent on someone is a big fucking no-no. I can’t rely on her to bring me out of my dark moods; I’ve got to do that for myself.

  And it isn’t an even exchange. Stella can offer me so much. What can I offer in return? Orgasms? Sure, that’s great, but I’m realistic enough to know she can get that elsewhere—not that it wouldn’t kill me if she did. I have very little privacy, and any woman who takes up with me will have hers invaded just as badly. Maybe worse, since far too many shitheads enjoy tearing down the women famous men love.

  Love. My throat goes dry and tight.

  “Mate, you’re about to curdle the gravy,” Scottie points out at my elbow.

  “Right.” I turn down the heat, add some more stock, and try to focus.

  He gives me a sidelong look, his lips quirking, and I’m tempted to kick him. But I don’t. I finish up with a dogged determination. Despite my best effort, one ear remains attuned to Stella laughing with Sophie and Brenna as they set the table. While Rye and Whip talk my ear off about new beats, I watch her smile and flush with simple enjoyment. I drink my beer and pretend everything is business as usual.

  But when we sit down for Sunday roast, I seek her out, picking the chair next to hers. My hand finds its way to the soft, smooth nape of her neck. I talk to my friends and play with the silky strands of her red-gold hair. Happily, Stella lets me, keeping very still, like she’s afraid I’ll stop.

  Not bloody likely. Not when I finally get to touch her the way I’ve been dying to all along.

  “Right then …” Scottie sets his silverware on his empty plate, “Brenna and I have been thinking.”

  “Oh, hell,” Whip mutters.

  Rye’s mouth twists in silent agreement. I don’t know if they’re bemoaning the horror that is Scottie and Brenna’s plotting in general. Or if it is something more specific. Because I’m the one Scottie is staring at.

  “I thought we banned you two from using your Wonder Twin powers,” I say, resting my arm along the back of Stella’s chair.

  Brenna’s little nose lifts with a sniff. “Only when used for evil.”

  Rye snorts. “When you’re scheming, it’s all evil.”

  “Quick, Scottie,” she says, while glaring at Rye, “I need to form into a giant water gun.”

  Scottie lets out a long-suffering sigh before turning his laser eyes on me again. “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings—”

  “No, you don’t,” Whip says with cheek.

  “But there’s a horde of press camped outside my office,” Scottie goes on.

  “I think they should be called a murder,” Sophie says, as she bobs little Felix on her arm. “You know, like a murder of crows?”

  Scottie’s lips twitch. “Apt comparison, Darling.” His expression settles back into sternness. “A murder of press has settled on Kill John’s proverbial doorstep. Brenna’s office is getting hammered with calls.”

  I resist the urge to squirm, and I really don’t fucking appreciate that he’s bringing this up in front of Stella. But all I show them is a bland smile. “Then say ‘no comment’ and move on.”

  Brenna blows a raspberry. “Not gonna fly, Jaxy-bear. This is one of those we need to spin it and fast type deals.”

  Scottie rests his forearm on the table in an attempt to appear casual, when everything about his posture is crisp efficiency. “Just this morning, I had a woman call to say you slept with her last week, and she’s afraid she’ll be infected.”

  “Bullshit. I haven’t touched anyone in months—” The words die in the air as I snap my mouth shut. Didn’t mean to admit all that.

  But it’s out there, and everyone is looking at me like I have two heads.

  “Well,” Brenna says, struggling, “that’s …”

  “Unexpected,” Whip says before coughing “manwhore” under his breath.

  I flip him off, then pin Scottie with a look. “The last woman I touched was …” I grimace.

  “Ms. STD Panties?” Rye supplies.

  Both Sophie and Brenna flick his ears.

  “Hey!”

  “Don’t shame her like that,” Sophie says. “Not with the way you go carousing.”

  “Amen,” Brenna says.

  Rye scowls and rubs his ears. “Can we stick to Jax’s problem?”

  Brenna shoots him a repressive look but then turns serious. “We were thinking that if you were in a relationship …” Her gaze darts to Stella. “Something serious that conveys you’ve settled down.”

  I jerk upright, my hand sliding from Stella’s chair. “Brenna …”

  She ignores my warning. “Stella, I know this is a lot to ask—”

  Alarm races up my spine. “Hold on one—”

  “But would you consider posing as Jax’s girlfriend for a couple of weeks? We’d pay well.”

  “Are you off your fucking nut?” I shout, pushing back from the table. The chair teeters behind me. “I just got Stella to forgive me for calling her an escort, and here you are asking her to play girlfriend for hire?”

  I’m so pissed I can barely see straight. “Bloody, fucking … I am not some broken pot you need to glue back together. You don’t fix me. You had no right to trample in here and—”

  “John.” Stella grabs my hand and squeezes it. From the way she says my name, I’m thinking she’s called it a few times.

  The entire table is silent, my mates staring up at me with varying expressions of discomfort or shock. All but Stella, who gives me a wane smile. “It’s okay,” she says. “I know this wasn’t your idea.”

  “You bet your sweet arse it wasn’t,” I snap, still shaken, then let out a breath. “Button, I’m sorry.”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t be. They’re only trying to help.” She’s still holding my hand, and I thread my fingers through hers as I sit back down. Stella glances at a grim-faced Scottie and a pissy Brenna. “I can do it.”

  “No,” I cut in, barely keeping my voice level. “Absolutely not.”

  “Why
not?” Stella’s eyes narrow. “You need a girlfriend. I am a professional. We both know that.”

  It’s a kick to the cods, honestly. Though part of me wants to laugh—after all, I’d tried to hire her less than a week ago. Only I don’t particularly find this funny. It hurts.

  “Excuse us for a moment,” I say to my friends, my eyes on Stella. I hold onto her hand firmly and lead her out to the terrace. She stomps along behind me, obviously expecting a fight. Just as well, since she’s going to get one.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Stella

  John in a true temper is a sight. From what I know of him, he’s either the easygoing “you do you” rocker or, if he’s in a mood, a smarmy ass. But this is different. His lean body is practically vibrating, all those ropy muscles pulled tight and standing out against his golden skin as he strides out onto the terrace and rounds on me.

  Green fire lights his eyes. “What the hell, Stella?”

  The lack of a nickname feels like a punishment. And how messed up is that? I slide the glass door shut because I’m not having this conversation with his friends listening on. “Why are you opposed to this? Not a week ago, you wanted the same thing they’re asking of me.”

  High color works over his cheeks. “I admitted that it was a stupid, dickhead thing to suggest.” He takes an agitated step in my direction. “What I can’t understand is why you’d agree now when it clearly upset you before.”

  I shrug. “You didn’t need me before. Now you do.”

  “You’re wrong if you think I didn’t need you before.”

  The look in his eyes has my pulse kicking up. “But you don’t now? Now, when you need to be seen with a girlfriend. I don’t understand you.”

  How can he not get that I want to help him? Out of all the people in my life, I want to help him most of all. And he won’t let me.

  John rakes a hand over his hair. “I don’t want to be another asshole who employs your services.”

  “They aren’t assholes, John. It’s my job. One that I like.” Or used to. Now, I’m not so sure.

  He frowns off into the distance. “Maybe they’re not at first. But the ones who want to keep the friendship and the payment?” His gaze collides with mine. “You were right, you deserve more. Don’t you forget that.”

  “I’m not forgetting it,” I say, throwing up a hand in frustration. “You need to be seen steadily with someone. I can do that for you.”

  “Can you?” he snaps, his nostrils flaring.

  “Yes,” I snap back. “Again, what the hell is your problem?”

  He takes another step. “Two hours ago, I had your tits in my hand and my tongue down your throat—”

  “Classy, John,” I cut in, flushing hot.

  “And it was fucking perfect,” he lobs back. “The best feeling I’ve had in so long, I can’t remember anything better.”

  My knees go weak, a breath leaving me in a soft, “Oh.”

  “Yeah, ‘oh,’” he says dryly, his brows lowering over angry eyes. “And there I was thinking, finally. I finally got to taste and touch the girl I can’t stop thinking about, and then what happens? She and my well-meaning but pain-in-the-ass friends agree that she should be my fake girlfriend.”

  He levels me with a look, and I realize this isn’t rage he’s been showing, it’s hurt. Instantly, I feel small and horrible. “Shit,” I whisper, staring up at him.

  His mouth quirks bitterly, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “John.” I swallow hard. “I’m sorry.”

  I take a step toward him but he evades me, giving me his shoulder as he stares out at the city. “Forget it. It isn’t a big deal.”

  “Yes, it fucking is.”

  John whips around. “Yes, it fucking is,” he agrees, striding toward me.

  Before I can move, he’s picking me up with shocking ease, his big hands cupping my butt. Automatically, my legs wrap around his waist, my hands grasping his shoulders. With two steps, he has me up against a wall, his long, firm body pressing against mine.

  “Was it not real enough for you?” he says against my mouth, our lips barely brushing. My lids flutter. His breath is warm and scented with the wine he drank. “Did you not feel how much I wanted you?”

  I feel it now, a hard, thick presence nudging my sex. My thighs clench, and he feels that too. A rough sound escapes him, and there’s no more talking. His kiss is swift, brutal, desperate, greedy. Our lips press against each other’s, shaping, nipping, sucking. His tongue is a smooth, slick glide over mine. A sweep and a plunge, deeper, stroking, taking. It ignites me, makes me groan and whimper, wanting more of it, of him.

  John rocks against me as our mouths fuck, his hands gripping my ass tighter. And I’m light-headed yet too damn heavy with need that I feel weak. When he pulls away, my mouth chases his, my lips swollen and wet. But he ducks his head and sucks my neck, tugging at that sensitive skin.

  “I don’t want fake, Stella.” His mouth touches the crest of my ear. “I don’t want to pay for it. I don’t want to pretend.”

  My hands are in his silky, messy hair. My hips grind into that lovely hard cock of his. “You can have whatever you want.” I’m panting now, my nipples tight and sore. “Anything.”

  John stills. The tip of his tongue flicks a spot on my neck that has me bucking. He presses a soft chaser kiss there before lifting his head. In the shadows, his eyes gleam. “Be with me. Let’s fall together, Button.”

  Fall. Really fall. I can feel myself doing it, that swift plummet with nothing to hold onto. Nothing to save me. It’s scary as hell. From the look in John’s eyes, he knows it, fears it too. But he wants it anyway.

  “You said you weren’t going to fall in love.”

  His gaze moves over my face before meeting my eyes. “I walked out on you that night because I knew that if I could fall for anyone, it would be for you.” John rests his forehead against mine, and his lids lower. “I’ve never been in love. The idea of it scares the shit out of me, and I keep telling myself all the reasons we shouldn’t be together. But when I’m actually faced with walking away? After what we did on the couch? No.” He shakes his head. “Fuck no. I can’t do it. I want to try with you.”

  I’m already over that ledge. “Okay.”

  His body stiffens for a second, and then he smiles. It’s like the sun melting through ice, brilliant and hot and lighting me up. In that moment, he is incandescent, and I catch my breath. He steals it from me with a swift, deep kiss I feel in my toes. I whimper, opening my mouth for more.

  John gives it to me, kissing and kissing like I’m his drug of choice. Then he pulls away with a pained groan. “Shit, you tempt me.”

  “Good,” I pant against his neck, nuzzling there. “Take me to bed.”

  He leans his cheek on mine, his body shuddering. “Can’t.”

  My fingers drift down to his chest. God, he has a nice chest. Firm, defined. I want to lick it. “Tell your friends to go home and you can.”

  John chuckles, and the vibrations tickle my oversensitive skin. “No, babe.” With a sigh, he takes a step back and carefully sets me on my feet. I’m wobbly and weak-kneed. But he holds onto my arms, giving me a smile that is part pure, satisfied male heat, and part pained regret. “We’re going to do this right. I’m going to woo you.”

  My fingers curl over his hard biceps. “Consider me wooed.”

  He utters a shaky laugh. “I meant dates. Taking things slow.”

  Given that my sex is wet and throbbing, the thought of “slow” sounds like torture. “Why?”

  His hand comes up to cup my cheek, and the rough edge of his thumb caresses my swollen bottom lip. “Call it selfish, but I want the experience of dating, that anticipation of working up to sex while getting to know you better. Because you are too important to turn into something as simple as casual sex. I don’t want to lose you to that.”

  My heartbeat is in my throat, my chest a hollow ache. He looks at me as if he sees it all. As if he knows exactly how it fe
els to be alone when surrounded by people. I guess he knows that better than I do. His voice is like warm honey in the dark. “It’s always been people wanting you to please them. Let me give you something more. Something true.”

  “John …” I don’t know who moves first. Maybe we both do.

  He wraps me in his arms, his hand holding my head to his chest where his heart beats strong. “I don’t know where this will go, or if I’ll be any good at it, but I want to be on this road with you.”

  I let out a soft laugh. “Oh, you’ll be good at it. You already are.”

  We stand there in silence, holding onto each other. My hands find their way under his shirt to his warm skin, and he trembles. Smiling, I press further against him. “Okay, but no sex at all?” I tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “My brain can accept that this is a good idea, but my vag is a little hussy. She’s gonna be pouting if she’s ignored.”

  John bursts out laughing, his chest brushing mine. “God, I like you.”

  The awe in his voice has me nudging his side. “You don’t have to sound so surprised by this.”

  “But I am,” he says with candor. He rests his chin lightly on my head. “The last girl I truly liked was Pippa Hicks in sixth year. Sweet girl. She let me look up her skirt.”

  I snort. “Typical.”

  Laughter laces his voice. “She also gave me the answers for our maths primer.”

  My smile presses into the wall of his chest as I hide my flaming cheeks. “Oh, well, that’s a different story entirely.” His skin is smooth and warm beneath my fingertips. “I like you too.”

  “Good.” He peers down at me and a grin spreads over his mouth. “Don’t you worry. I’ll pay proper attention to your sweet little kitty.” With a yelp, he backs away, evading my pinches and laughing. “She may not get the full-service meal at first, but I’ll keep her content.”

  I pinch him again, and he keeps laughing, wrapping me up so my arms are trapped between us. His laughter dies down. “And we kiss.” His gaze lowers to my mouth, all hot and covetous. “A lot.”