by Kaitlyn Rice
He entered, closed the heavy door behind him and stopped, two feet inside.
“You here for a reason?” she asked.
“I expected you last night at Mom’s party.”
“I told you I had other plans.”
“And the lady insists that she isn’t avoiding me.”
She turned toward her tree, ignoring the comment as she pretended she simply had to adjust Luke’s popcorn strands a week after the holiday’s passing.
Yes, she had been avoiding Gabe. And it hadn’t worked. She still thought about him all the time.
She could still feel his hands on her body.
His kisses everywhere.
Almost everywhere.
Honestly? She longed to feel them everywhere.
“How was Callie and Ethan’s shindig?” Gabe asked.
She was tempted to say something noncommittal and let his assumption pass, but as she plucked a Mickey Mouse ornament from its spot and moved it two inches, she decided she was too tired to fib. “I didn’t go,” she muttered.
He heard her. “What’d you do?”
“I stayed here, okay?” She faced Gabe. Tall, sexy Gabe, with his black leather coat and too-blue eyes. “I listened to CDs and had a great time right here at home. You always said I should learn to spend time alone.”
His expression didn’t change into one of great surprise. He shifted his weight. “Mom and my sisters asked about you.”
“How was their party?”
“Fine, until about eleven, when I left. I was in bed by midnight.”
“Alone?” she asked, though she shouldn’t have. It’d slipped out.
“Alone.” He grinned now, and she couldn’t help but respond.
“What’re you doing today?” she asked.
“I usually sleep late and watch the games, but you know that. Do you have plans?”
“No, but I have an idea.”
“Uh-oh.”
She chuckled, enjoying the teasing. “I’d like to spend time with Joe today, but not at his house, where he can miss all his bad habits. I want to bring him here.”
Gabe nodded, and she felt as if her old buddy was back, listening to her plan and supporting her efforts.
“I could pull together a dinner. I bought some ham slices and canned black-eyed peas that I could fancy up.”
“Sounds good. Joe’s lucky to have you in his corner.”
“Would you mind picking him up? I’ll call to warn him, and you could be back here at, say, two.”
“I’m invited?”
Of course he was. Now that he was here, teasing her and supporting another spur-of-the-moment plan, she couldn’t imagine this day without him. “That’s what I meant.”
“I just thought—”
“Don’t, Gabe,” Josie interrupted. “Just…be…normal. Okay?”
He gave a slow nod. “I could bring some cranberry muffins my mother sent home with me, and I have some beer.”
“No. No alcohol.”
Gabe faked a shocked expression and Josie laughed. “I can’t believe I just said that, either, but Joe doesn’t limit amounts when he drinks. I worry about him.”
“Cranberry and beer aren’t a good mix, anyway,” Gabe said. “…Muffins and sodas it is.”
Gabe left, and Josie went back to her bedroom to strip, shower and re-dress.
Joe couldn’t be more than what he was, but Josie saw something her mother must not have had time to recognize: a sweet soul who had welcomed his unknown daughter immediately and who’d hung a wreath on his door despite the many years he must have spent the holiday alone.
Did all these feelings add up to a sense of loving him?
She wasn’t certain.
But she yearned to love him. That was enough.
She shouldn’t love Gabe, either. Not in this new way. Being near him was risky now, and would require more willpower than she’d ever had cause to exercise.
She’d have to get better at resisting impulses.
However, inviting him to dinner was a considered choice, and surely more natural than the past few weeks of avoiding him. Perhaps today could be a new start for all of them: for herself with Gabe. For Joe.
Chapter Thirteen
“He’s asleep?”
At Josie’s whisper, Gabe yanked his attention from the bowl game on television and glanced beside him, realizing that Joe had drifted off.
“I don’t think he’s a huge football fan,” Gabe muttered, then frowned when he saw the uncomfortable droop to the old man’s head. “His neck’s going to get sore.”
“We’d better move him.” Josie guided her dad’s head on down to the armrest while Gabe lifted his legs onto the cushions. After Josie had located a crocheted afghan in a wicker container and placed it over her father, she and Gabe stood watching Joe, who was snoring softly.
“Want me to take off his shoes?” Gabe asked.
“No,” Josie murmured. Then, with a jerk of her head, she summoned Gabe to follow her.
He started worrying when he realized she was leading him back to her bedroom. Once inside, she closed the door behind him and smiled at his expression. “Chill, Gabe. Weren’t you following that game?”
“Sure. The Wildcats were up by sixteen.”
“Okay, then.” She turned to click on the small television on her dresser, then kicked off her shoes and flopped belly-up on her double bed.
Gabe remained near the doorway.
“Oh, relax,” she said. “I was into the game, too. And we’ve done this before. Remember the time when Luke was really little and fell asleep on my living-room floor? We snuck in here and watched TV for hours. It was some Carol Burnett marathon, if I recall correctly.”
Right. And it had been Lucille Ball, not Carol Burnett. But Gabe hadn’t been on this bed with Josie since he’d fallen for her.
They were pretending that hadn’t happened, though. Because Josie needed a friend rather than a lover.
Gabe lay down beside her, rested his hands behind his head and directed his eyes toward the television set.
He certainly couldn’t lose himself in the game and forget who was next to him. The football wives of the world should rejoice.
When the Wildcats’ running back ran thirty-two yards and Josie didn’t react, Gabe realized she wasn’t paying much attention to the game, either. Usually, she’d be up on her feet, jumping around, hooting and hollering.
Maybe he’d conduct a teeny little test.
Slowly, he inched his calf closer to hers and touched her leg. Then he wriggled around some, as if repositioning himself to get comfortable. He managed to connect the two of them from thigh to foot.
She didn’t jerk away, but she did sit up to grab the remote from the bedside stand and turn up the volume.
Maybe she was watching the game.
When she lay back down, he caught a whiff of her scented bath soap. She smelled clean.
She’d be warm and soft. Scrumptious.
Gabe thought about lace. And voluptuous boobs. He’d never known how erotic it was to catch a glimpse of pale-pink lace beneath the clothes of a self-professed tomboy. How it made a man hanker to peel off the outer layers to find the wicked and delightful creature beneath.
He was getting an erection. He’d have a tough time ridding himself of it with Josie here beside him.
He certainly couldn’t hide it.
He couldn’t even check to see if it was obvious.
This just-friends-even-though-we-are-both-attracted plan was impossible. Didn’t she understand that?
“Josie.”
“Gabe…”
They’d spoken at the same time. Josie lifted onto her elbows and made the peaks beneath her shirt even more enticing.
Gabe forgot what he’d been about to say.
“You go first,” she said.
He snorted, then searched for a phrase. What would convince her that she’d be okay, that they would be okay? That little could be worse than this repetitive stop
ping and starting?
“I think we ought to—”
“Shhh,” she soothed, staring at his mouth. “No promises. That’s a rule I have to hang on to, okay? No promises. If we do this, it’s only because we haven’t been able to avoid it.”
Do this. She made that sound so hot.
“You think not?” he asked.
“I know not.”
Groaning, he rolled over on top of her, meeting her mouth at the same time his full body met the length of hers. And he kissed the doubt out of her, or tried to, letting her feel everything he hadn’t said.
That he wanted her too much to resist her.
That her wanting him was okay. It was great, in fact.
That they were surely made for each other.
Couldn’t she sense that? They were a perfect fit.
He’d bet his new car they were a perfect fit in every way. But he wasn’t sure if she was agreeing to anything beyond kisses. Maybe a touch. A glimpse of lace.
The kisses were fine, though.
Theirs lingered and changed and heated with every second.
Before Gabe went any further with his mouth or hands, he backed up to gauge Josie’s reaction again. This wouldn’t be a good time to get slugged.
Her eyes were huge, her lips parted. She didn’t utter a single refusal. In fact, she reached out to grab his shirt and yank him back down to her.
Gabe spent long moments just lying on top of Josie, kissing her. She was willing, even though his arousal throbbed, thick and needy between them.
Had she moved the line?
How far?
Gabe felt her hands crawl beneath his shirt in back, then she smoothed them along his muscles as they kissed.
Apparently, hands against skin were okay.
Gabe slid his beneath her shirt to find that lace. Her breasts felt so full, her nipples so reactive. They’d hardened at his slightest touch.
He nudged the cloth of her shirt aside. “Mmmm. Red today.”
She raised her head a fraction. “What?”
“Red lace. Last time you wore pink.”
“Gabe!” That name shout was surely a reprimand, but her bright face sent a different message.
Did a woman wear a sexy bra if she didn’t hope someone would notice it? Gabe tugged the lace down slightly to expose her perfect rose-brown nipples, relishing the way the fabric pushed at her hard nubs.
Finally, he bent down, kissing and tasting her until she was squirming beneath him.
They’d been here before.
Gabe rocked his hips, nudging against Josie’s heat and she moaned, rocking with him. Accepting the new closeness. Adjusting her legs for hotter access.
The line had moved quite a bit.
Gabe closed his eyes and concentrated. He wouldn’t allow anything to happen on this bed until Josie communicated that she was okay with it. He could go slow.
She put her hand on Gabe’s chest and coasted it slowly downward, until she was caressing his arousal through his pants.
This was slow?
Opening his eyes, he caught her “gotcha” smile.
He nearly came unhinged when she fingered the fastener to his pants. His heart pounding fast, he kissed her, his tongue surging deep against her panting breaths.
Mimicking the act of sex.
Aching for it.
This fire between them burned so hot. Did she not realize this was rare? That some people couldn’t combine a true liking with total passion?
He swooped down to nibble on her neck, at the same time undoing her jeans. Then he slid his fingers beneath more lace to touch her curls for the first time.
“You’re so beautiful.”
“Hey! Z’anyone there!”
“Oh, no. He’s awake.” Josie scrambled off the bed to yank her bra up over her breasts, pull down her shirt and fasten her pants.
By the time Gabe had simply gathered his wits, she was starting for the door.
And by the time he’d walked into Josie’s living room, she was helping her father into his coat. “He wants to go home,” she murmured, glancing at Gabe. “He’s insisting.”
“I’ll take you, Joe. Hang on a sec.” Gabe strode into the kitchen and grabbed a Tupperware container from the fridge. Josie had made her father a plate of leftovers.
When Gabe returned to the living room, Josie gave him that soft-eyed look he recognized as a thanks. He handed the plate to Joe, donned his coat and pressed a kiss against Josie’s forehead on his way out.
He didn’t say he’d be back. He wasn’t sure he’d be welcome. Would Josie ignore what had happened this afternoon? Or, worse, retreat again? All he could think about as he drove the quiet old man home was that he had to get back to Josie’s before she’d had time to move her damn line again.
“You two going to get married?” Joe asked, breaking into Gabe’s visions of red lace and brown nipples.
He glanced at Joe, wondering if the old man had heard them in the bedroom.
But Joe faced forward, sleepy-eyed and serious. He appeared to be making conversation.
“Josie and I? We’re still just friends, really.”
“That’s what Josie-girl says, too.”
Josie would call these interludes beyond friend status as slip-ups, probably. Gabe would call them brief forays into greater living.
The old man stared out the windshield. “Mother knew I’d been with Ella in that way. She said I was a fool.”
“Did she ask about the pregnancy?”
“No. No one ever said anything to me. I believe Mom had suspicions, though.”
Gabe nodded, remembering his own mother’s speculations.
They’d all behaved badly, hadn’t they?
“I want to be good to Josie.” The old guy paused, then added, “It’s hard to change at my age.”
Perhaps. Sometimes the war could be won with a succession of smaller battles. As far as Gabe could tell, Joe hadn’t tried very hard to curb his habits.
Gabe managed to walk Joe to his door and wish him a nice evening, but then he jumped in his car and raced to Josie’s house with a speed that might turn even her knuckles white. To hell with his vow to be a friend. He wanted more, and he was willing to make a valiant effort to convince her that he was right.
She opened the door in the nude.
Laughing at his expression, she ran down the hallway and barely beat him to the bed. He didn’t have any lace to peel, any lines to test, any resistance to collapse.
In moments, Gabe lay atop Josie, his hands framing her face and his erection braced at her sex. When he might have asked if she was ready, she brought her face to his, lifted her body.
Pulled him inside, even while he pushed.
And when he was fully inside her, Gabe had to stop for a moment. Josie felt so right. So good. His feeling for her was stronger than it had ever been.
Josie looked as intense as he felt. Her eyes were dark, her face sober.
Gorgeous.
Soon, she was helping him love her. Moving and kissing and making him laugh and growl and lose his breath.
Gabe couldn’t count the times he made love to Josie that afternoon and evening. The experience was a marathon mixture of sensual surprises that left him satiated.
Yet wanting more.
If he tried, however, he might be able to count the words between them. When he’d whispered his affections to her, she’d informed him that it was boring to talk about love during sex.
That was okay. Knowing Josie, when the conversation did happen it would start and stop in bursts. In the meantime, Gabe could be happy just learning all the ways he could get her hot.
He’d keep her hot, too.
He’d been dating a lot longer than Josie, and he understood how to keep the zing in a good romance.
She’d kill him if she was aware that he was thinking that way. She’d always claimed that romance and love were myths maintained by woman’s desire to nurture and man’s longing to recreate himself.
Since they didn’t plan to have children, she’d say, they didn’t need to fall for those old tales. She must be telling herself that this was just a fling of another color.
But Josie was about to be wooed by a master.
“YOU WANT TO DO something tonight?” Gabe called from his bathroom, where the sound of his electric shaver had ceased just seconds earlier.
Wet-headed and shower-fresh, Josie stood near his closet and perused a small selection of her work clothes that had somehow migrated there. Her own closet was similarly integrated.
Already. After seventeen days.
Worse than that, one of their mutual work colleagues had asked her yesterday if she and Gabe had plans for Valentine’s Day. They were recognized as a couple. She couldn’t imagine how that had happened so fast. The thought perturbed her enough that she jammed her hands on her hips and said, “No. I don’t want to do something tonight.”
Gabe poked his head around the door frame. “Why not?”
She buttoned into a crisp white blouse. “We can’t keep being together every minute we aren’t at work. We have lives. Active lives. I’m not the kind of person who neglects her friends and family for a man.”
“Oh.” He returned to the bathroom while she slipped into a navy suit. Soon, she heard the sound of him brushing his teeth. He’d brush for a minute, spit, gargle and then brush again.
Good heavens. She’d committed his personal habits to memory. When he appeared at her side to pull a black-striped shirt from a hanger, she turned to stare at him. “This will cool down. Flings do.”
She repeated the gist of that statement nearly every time they were together, just to see how Gabe reacted. And maybe because a part of her wished he’d convince her that the opposite was true.
She couldn’t believe she was thinking that way.
Gabe left his shirt hanging open and grabbed a pair of jeans from the back of a chair. He pulled them on, and as he zipped and buttoned the fly he gave her a wry look. “You and I can’t be a fling by definition, Josie. We’ve been friends for too long.”
“Then this is a…”
How could she think with that tanned, muscular chest right in front of her? Why did Gabe have to be so hunky?