Call to Engage

by Tawny Weber

  Okay. Worst-case scenario cleared. Her virtue, such as it was, was intact. So now, since she knew what she hadn’t done, it was time to figure out what she had done.

  Ava took a deep breath and rolled into a sitting position. The blanket dropped into her lap, then lifted again as she anchored her elbows onto her knees so she could use her hands to hold her head in place.

  Never again.

  No more tequila.

  It took her a few minutes to realize the sounds she heard were her own whimpers. Where the hell was she?

  Ava carefully lifted her head off her hands until she could look around. She peered through eyes that felt like fire, trying to see through the dark and the pain. Big purple chair. Glossy statues of well-hung naked men. The scent of—she sniffed, gagged, then breathed through her teeth—eucalyptus and citrus.

  Mack’s.

  Her breath came in a relieved sigh this time.

  She was safe.

  His uncomfortably slick couch, the scent of that useless muscle therapy cream he’d taken to using after a match, Mack’s art. She squinted across the murky darkness of the room.

  Was that statue missing a head?

  Foggy with confusion, Ava rubbed her fingers over her eyes. Mack must have come by the bar. To join in the copious drinking? Or simply to fetch his drunken massage therapist?

  She couldn’t remember much past the third tequila shot. She had a bed here. She always used Mack’s spare room when she needed a place to crash. Why wasn’t she in that? There was probably a reason. It was right there on the tip of her brain, but her head was spinning too fast to think.

  Knowing Mack would rise with the sun, Ava pushed to her feet. A pillow over her head wouldn’t save her from his morning routine, but a closed door might. As slow as an infirm ninety-year-old with a bum hip wearing too-tight stilettos, she made her way toward the bathroom.

  She spent a few minutes debating getting sick, but she finally settled for the aspirin and water, pouring some down her throat and more over her face.

  It felt so good, she stripped down to step into the shower. One hand holding her hair back, she let the water pour over her, hoping that if it wouldn’t wash away the drunken fog, it would at least rinse off the bar stench.

  She wasn’t sure how long she stood there. It might have been minutes, could have been hours. Eventually, finally, she slapped off the water.

  She didn’t bother drying off. Just wrapped herself in one of Mack’s blanket-size bath towels. The ends of her damp hair sticking to her wet shoulders, she remembered to scoop up her clothes before padding to the bedroom.

  The water and meds had worked their magic, so the miserable pain was down to a dull throb. Time to sleep off the rest. Oh yeah, sleep.

  Three steps down the dark hallway and a slow, oh so slow, twist of the doorknob and she was almost there. The haven of bed.

  She eased the door shut in case the sound would trigger the now-dull pain in her head and let her clothes drop as she crossed the room.

  The faint, filmy light drifting in from the window like slender moonbeams glinted off a large, man-size lump in the bed.

  Whoa.

  She froze, then grimaced as her stomach churned. She slammed her hand over her mouth. She felt like one of the three bears when they discovered Goldilocks. There was someone sleeping in her bed.

  And that someone was moaning.

  Ava squinted but still couldn’t make out who was in the bed. Risking her stomach, she leaned forward just a little.

  Not enough moonlight. But the moans were groans now. Her squint turned into a scowl. Who was that?

  Ava stepped forward. Her bare toes caught the edge of—was that a boot? Boot? Dammit.

  That was her last thought before she pitched forward, face-first onto the bed.

  And the man sleeping in it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  NOT EVEN A thick coating of alcohol could keep her brain from recognizing who she’d landed on. She’d know his body morning, noon or night. Sober or wasted, it mattered not.

  She knew Elijah’s body as well as she knew her own.

  Now two people were moaning.

  But one of them was moaning with pain because she’d rammed into a body with the texture of cement. The other was moaning over having a woman dive onto his belly, waking him from a deep sleep with her knee in his gut.

  Better than a nightmare, Ava supposed. But given the plethora of other reactions shimmying through her—everything from needy curiosity to heated desire—she knew she’d better move before she did something she’d regret come the morning light.

  But her body was pressed against his, and he felt so good. Hard, so hard and warm. Her fingers dug into the rigid silk of Elijah’s bicep, marveling at how firm he was, even when relaxed. She swallowed with a click as she felt something much more interesting than a bicep hardening beneath her belly.

  Knowing that only a blanket separated her from heaven sent a wave of edgy passion washing over her. God, she wanted him. Wanted, so badly, to feel the ecstasy that she knew Elijah could inspire. Memories of the intensity of the orgasms she’d felt with him filled her mind, made her body tremble.

  It was the idea of coming before morning light that finally spurred her to roll away. But she couldn’t move. His hands were gripping too tight, holding her in place.

  “Ava?”

  “Let me go,” she ordered through clenched teeth. But no matter how she twisted and turned, she couldn’t get loose of the hold he had on her arms.

  The strength in his hold was a vivid reminder of how powerful he was. In bed, and everywhere else. Like in the shower. Or on the kitchen table. Or against a wall. Or under her in the back seat of her car. Or...

  Stop, Ava ordered herself.

  Quit obsessing over something you aren’t ever going to have again, will never do again. Otherwise, she knew, she just might forget all the reasons they were horrible for each other and try to seduce him.

  It worked once, the little voice in her mind whispered. The same voice that seemed to be controlling her body as it pressed tighter to the hardness of his.

  “Let go, Elijah,” she snapped.

  “Babe, you’re the one that climbed into bed with me.” His voice was rough, his words impatient. “I’m not sure what you’re here for, but if it’s not sex, you might want to quit wiggling like that.”

  Ava froze. She didn’t wiggle this time. She shoved.

  As hard as she could, pushing against his shoulder, her knee digging into his leg as she tried to gain traction enough to put distance between them.

  It was only when he winced—an infinitesimal move that she felt more than saw—that she stopped. Worry slipped, unwelcome, through the shimmering need. Was it his leg? Was it hurting him? Or was it something else?

  She’d heard the groans. It had sounded like he was in pain. He still was, she realized, able to see him better now that her eyes had adjusted. A sheen of sweat covered him like a fine mist, glowing in the moonlight. Deep lines creased his face.

  “Are you okay?” she couldn’t help but ask.

  “Hard to be okay when a hot woman climbs into your bed, stirs you up, then knees you in the groin—don’t you think?”

  As her body hummed at the compliment, and at the idea of stirring a little more, Ava forced herself to focus. “You were upset.”

  “I was asleep,” he pointed out with a scowl visible even in the dim light. But even as he growled the words, his hands were sliding over her hips where the towel had gaped open, drawing her back against him. Nestling her tighter between his thighs.

  Her pulse danced as the heat raced through her system, bringing to life feelings she’d long believed gone. More to the point, feelings she’d wanted gone.

  Her skin tingled at his touch
. She breathed him in, the scent that always made her think of fresh ocean air and midnight. Her body wanted to snuggle into Elijah’s. To slide her thigh between his, wrap her legs around his hard muscles and press herself to the length of him. As familiar as breath, as natural as a sigh, she could slide against him. She could either press her lips to his and turn the smoldering flames into an inferno, or nuzzle her head under his chin and cuddle into the haven she’d once called love.

  “So what’s the deal? You just realized that you missed me?” he asked, his gaze roaming over her face in a caress as gentle as the slide of his fingers on her waist.

  She didn’t need light to see the heat kindling in his eyes. She knew it was there. She knew exactly what it looked like, exactly how it used to make her feel. It didn’t make her feel anything now, she promised herself. But, just in case, she shifted. Angled her hips away so they weren’t actually nestled against the growing length of his erection.

  If she didn’t feel it, she could pretend she was ignoring it.

  Distract and distance, she thought. Get away before you do something stupid.

  “What’s the matter with you? You were...” “Moaning” didn’t sound right. At least not when she was snuggled up so tight against him. “Upset. You sounded like you were having a bad dream or something.”

  His expression didn’t change but she felt his minuscule flinch.

  “So you, what? Came in here and threw yourself on me to stop a supposed nightmare?” His smile spread, the image of sleepy sex, over a face that she saw in her own dreams. One hand still clamped to her hip, he pulled her against him again as he slid the other up her side. His fingers were like brands as they rested just below her breast, sinking into her skin. Reminding her where she belonged. “Worried about me, babe?”

  “No. I didn’t. I don’t.” Ava cringed, closing her eyes as if she could pretend this away. Wait, that was how she used to act. Not anymore, dammit. She forced her eyes open, lifted her chin and, wishing like crazy that her head wasn’t still swimming in tequila, started again. “I didn’t know you were even here.”

  “You just happened to climb, naked, into bed with me?”

  “I fell into bed wearing a towel,” she corrected him coldly. But a snippy tone was a lousy shield. Especially as she realized that he, too, was naked beneath the flimsy sheet.

  “A towel and a lot of damp skin,” Elijah noted, his voice husky as he skimmed his free hand up her arm until he reached her throat; then his fingers twisted and twined through her hair.

  Warning bells clanged, loud and strong. Her body tightened, her muscles bunching in preparation for action. Which type of action was debatable since her body desperately wanted to toss the towel and sheet to the floor and explore the spark, damp and needy, between them. Her mind, so much smarter than her body, screamed for flight.

  “You’d better go,” Elijah suggested. His words were quiet, his eyes intent on her face. “And you’d better do it in the next thirty seconds. Or you’re liable to regret what happens next.”

  “What’s going to happen?” And what, her body wondered, was one more regret?

  “Go,” he said tightly. “Get out of here before it’s too late.”

  Maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was years of pent-up frustration. Or maybe it was simply the shock of having Elijah in her life again, of having him back in her life in any form at all.

  Whatever it was, Ava snapped. She couldn’t even logically connect his words to her outburst. But burst out she did.

  “I hate it when you do that. I’m not some fragile innocent in need of protection. I don’t need special handling, dammit.” As if her head wasn’t about to spin right off her shoulders, she slapped her hand between them to push away from his chest. “I run my own life. I make my own decisions. I’m an independent, intelligent adult woman, dammit. Treat me like one.”

  “Is that what you want? To be treated like a woman? An independent, adult woman?”

  Before she could blink, Ava found herself on her back, sandwiched between the warm mattress and Elijah’s body. His hard, muscled, so-so-tempting body.

  Uh-oh.

  Ava felt like a woman. A very adult, very passionate, very independent woman. Needs, long dormant, so carefully ignored for years, screamed. Her fingers dug into the hard flesh of Elijah’s shoulders, and she reveled in the strength there. She breathed in his scent, her eyes tracing the need etched on his face. She recognized the narrow intensity of his gaze, knew he wanted her.

  God, she wanted to be wanted by him again.

  Knowing she was playing with fire, not caring, Ava held that gaze as she ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip.

  His eyes darkened, holding hers prisoner as he lowered his head. His mouth brushed hers. Soft. Sweet. A gentle rub of lips over lips.

  Her heart melting a little, Ava sighed. Mmm, so good.

  Then Elijah changed the angle. Just the slightest shift. A suggestion of teeth scraping the sensitive flesh of her lower lip. The teasing sweep of his tongue along the seam of her lips.

  Ava’s sigh turned to a moan. As if seeing that as a signal, Elijah shifted again.

  His mouth took hers.

  Teeth nipping her bottom lip then sucking hard before his tongue thrust. Hot, intense, demanding. For a second—an infinitesimal second—Ava froze. What was she doing? This was insane. The man was her ex-husband. Ex. Over. Past and done.

  He was the best lover she’d ever had. A lover every woman dreamed of. Generous. Demanding. Delicious and tempting.

  His tongue slid over hers.

  God.

  Oh, oh, God.

  Ava moaned again at the intense pleasure coursing through her body. It shouldn’t be new. She’d had Elijah before. She’d had him hundreds of times, dozens of ways.

  But she’d never felt like this before. Never experienced anything so intense, so powerful.

  She wanted to know what it was. She wanted more. She needed—desperately—to dive all the way in and dive deep.

  Before she could, Elijah pulled away.

  While Ava blinked in shock, he rolled away, dropping onto the mattress with a groan as he threw his arm over his eyes. His fist was clenched so tightly that the knuckles were white, as if he were holding every iota of control there between his fingers and was desperate not to let it go.

  She was tempted to reach out and, one by one, pull those fingers free.

  “Sorry,” he muttered into the dark.

  Ava’s breath came in ragged pants, her pulse racing so fast she could barely think over the pounding in her head.

  Sorry? Had he apologized? No way. She must have heard him wrong.

  “You should go. Now.”

  Ava tried to find the strength to move, but all she could manage was a sweep of her eyelashes as she slid her gaze toward the man lying next to her.

  “Fine,” he finally ground out when she didn’t say anything. “I’ll go.”

  Go? He’d leave her? He’d walk out while she lay here panting and aching and desperate for satisfaction? She wished she could believe otherwise.

  But he’d left her before. She didn’t have a single doubt that he’d leave her now. He’d get out of this bed and walk away. Leaving her wanting.

  Leaving her alone.

  Ava knew she’d regret it. With full, shining clarity she had not a single doubt that this was a huge mistake. But she didn’t care.

  “Take me,” she ordered.

  Some things were worth regretting.

  * * *

  ELIJAH WAS A man with a strong sense of right and wrong. He was a man with exquisite control. He’d learned long ago that the best way to meet and overcome any obstacle was to stay flexible.

  But waking to Ava’s body pressed against his, the feel of her hair sliding like silk ove
r his skin, the sweet citrus scent of her skin had pushed that control to the edge.

  Being pulled out of dreams—or wherever he’d been in sleep—to the face he so often saw and craved when he closed his eyes at night, when he dropped his guard and gave over to his subconscious rule?

  And then being ordered to treat her as a woman?

  His control had snapped like a brittle rubber band.

  He did what he’d denied wanting to do since seeing her yesterday. He crushed his mouth over hers.

  Damn, she tasted good. Heat and spice and sweetness, all blended together on a frothy wave of passion. His tongue swept over those full lips, revisiting the delight he’d once taken for granted.

  As if the touch of his tongue was the trigger she’d been waiting for, Ava exploded. Her fingers dug into his flesh with erotic demand. Her body pressed against his, passion sparking between them everywhere they touched. Her mouth devoured, tongue tangling with his in a demanding dance of power.

  He gave over to it, letting her call this first volley. Her hands were hot as they skimmed his shoulders, down his arms, over his back. When they fisted into his lower back, he arched against her, pressing the rock-hard length of his throbbing erection against her hips.

  She dug her heels into the bed, knees high as she ground herself against him. Elijah shifted. If he was doing this, he was doing it right. He tossed the towel aside, and he angled himself higher so he could study her body.

  Hello, baby.

  He knew it was her. He recognized the shape of her nipples, the rich berry color. He’d memorized the birthmark, a tiny crescent of gold, on the curve of her hip.

  But her body was different.

  Hard, strong, muscled and sleek.

  Gentle as a whisper, his fingers slid over her skin. She felt like warm silk. He leaned closer, sipping at the budding tip of her nipple, sliding his tongue around the hard, round nub.

  Mmm, yeah. Delicious.

  He kept his moves delicate, worshipful, even. But he could feel the demand in her body. The need building, spiraling, tightening.

  Good.