She pressed against him, signaling her desires, gently gliding her hips against his.
He pulled back, eyes wide and eyebrows raised in question. “Here? Now?” His gaze quickly flicked around the pool deck, to the deserted gymnasium beyond, then back to her face.
Sage giggled. “Where else? Your house?”
Brand tilted his head. “I wish. One day I’ll wake up to your head on my pillow.”
She silenced his fantasy of a future together by reaching for his swim trunks—and what lay beneath them. He gasped as her hand rubbed against him, so she silenced him further by bringing her lips back to his. Back to where they belonged.
Within mere moments, he’d ditched his shorts and her panties rested beside them, somewhere at the bottom of Lorimar High’s swimming pool.
Sage sighed as she pulled into the apartment complex, shaking the memories away. She hadn’t been in a swimming pool in nearly nine years. Wouldn’t, couldn’t—not when the pungent scent of chlorine would assault her with memories of that man and their forbidden love.
He’d paced in front of his television set for the longest hour of his life. He’d cleaned his shitty apartment. He’d paced some more. He’d changed his clothes more than once like a goddamned woman.
He showered. Twice.
And now, Tig paced the floor once more, watching the clock tick down as slowly as if the world stood still, mocking him for thinking Sage would ever forgive him.
She probably wouldn’t even show. She hadn’t said more than two words to him all week, and he honestly wondered if their date was still on or if she’d had second thoughts. He felt so foolish for not confirming their plans—
He almost whooped when the doorbell rang.
Playing it as cool as a guy who’d just changed his clothes multiple times and actually used a loofa for the first time ever could, he tried not to run for the door.
He opened it slowly, thinking he knew what to say.
And then he could barely breathe at the sight of her. Fucking sex on a stick, just like he’d thought the first time he saw Sage in Hall’s office Monday morning. Had it been only five days since she’d waltzed back into his life? He licked his lips as his gaze travelled over her voluptuous frame. He imagined himself pulling that gray sweater over her head, wondered what color bra lay hidden beneath; pictured the tight jeans on the floor of his bedroom—
“Are you going to eye-fuck me all night, or should I come inside?”
“God, I love your mouth.”
Her eyes widened briefly, then she blinked a few times in quick succession. She stepped inside, brushing against him just enough that his dick twitched. Somehow, between Monday and today, she’d reverted back to the spitfire girl he’d fallen in love with halfway through his ninth grade year. That girl could undo him with one brush of her hand, one dirty word from her mouth. With those sexy gray eyes, she’d been able to look at him from across the cafeteria and send blood shooting into his dick like a fucking fire hose. She’d been every wild fantasy he’d ever had combined into the perfect girl.
A girl he’d memorized from head to toe, front to back, by the time they graduated.
A woman he wanted to memorize all over again now.
He pushed his hands into his pockets, unable to trust his fingers if left free.
Sage paused just inside the threshold, scanning the room. Her hair was up again, just like it had been every day at school—her “Nurse Shepard” hairdo. Tig shoved his hands deeper into his pockets to keep from undoing the clip-thing so he could see her long blonde hair cascade down her back.
“Okay. I believe that you live alone”—she glanced back at him over her shoulder, meeting his eyes and making his mouth water—“so, either you do live alone, or you’ve gone to great lengths to make this place filthy enough for a bachelor pad.”
Tig couldn’t help but smile, suddenly feeling sheepish. “I cleaned.”
She grinned back at him. “Oh. My bad. You did a great job.”
Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip, and she smoothed the front of her jeans, the familiar nervous habit causing him to strain against his pants. He was grateful he’d worn his button-up untucked—he felt like a fucking kid again—all wet dreams and hormones and an erection before he’d even touched her.
His furry roommate thumped out of the bedroom, charging toward Sage like a bat out of hell. Tig’s mouth fell open. He remembers her.
She squatted down, catching the dog as he leapt into her arms, nearly knocking her onto her shapely ass in the process. “Oh my God, is this”—she looked up at him—“no way this is actually Fudgesicle, is it?”
Tig grinned. She remembered too. “He goes by Pudge now.”
Sage’s eyebrows just about jumped into her hairline. “Oh? Your dog changed his name?”
Tig shrugged. “It fits him.”
“Are there special forms for that?”
Tig chuckled. “Ha. Ha.”
She looked back at Pudge, setting him down and standing so he could rub against her legs, first one side of his body, then the other, as if she were a scratching post. “He still thinks he’s a cat, I see.”
“He does.” Tig stepped closer, then reached for Sage’s face, lightly gripping her chin with his thumb and forefinger. He tilted her face up so she’d meet his gaze. “He remembers you.”
Sage licked her lips, and Tig watched the movement of her tongue. His mouth watered. Fuck dinner. He’d only ordered takeout anyway.
“Mmm, something smells good.”
Ah hell. There went his plans. Right out the proverbial window. But as he held her gaze, Tig realized, her words implied food, but her eyes….
“What’s for dinner?” she whispered.
You. The thought stopped before leaving his lips, but he wondered what would happen if he spoke the word aloud.
“I ordered”—he cleared his throat, trying to push the roughness away—“I ordered Chinese.”
“You didn’t cook for me, Brand?”
“I think you can remember what kind of cook I am.”
She turned, walking to the kitchen, and Tig’s gaze fell to that perfectly round ass. There was no way he’d make it through dinner. Nine years was a long fucking time to make up for.
“Now, how are you going to wine and dine me with Chinese takeout?” She turned around to face him, a challenge in her gray eyes.
He didn’t know how to answer her with the lump in his throat and the tightness in his jeans.
She smiled coyly, well aware of what she did to him with just one raised eyebrow. “Let me help you out. For starters”—she trailed her fingertip down the length of the bottle of wine, leaving a trail in the condensation—“you can pour me a glass of wine. That way, we can get the wining part out of the way, right?”
Tig nodded, then rushed past her to grab the bottle of Pinot Grigio he’d picked up for her on the way home.
She giggled as he fumbled with the bottle opener, and the sound was almost better than any foreplay he could think of. God, he’d missed this woman. How had he even breathed without her all these years? He poured the wine, then handed her the glass, turning around to pour himself a glass of Black Label.
“Scotch on the rocks?”
He nodded as he took a sip, holding her gaze over the lip of the glass.
“You’re an old man, now, huh?”
He grinned. “Yep. You’ll have to be careful of my hips.”
Her eyes widened, and as the blush crept over her pale cheeks, his grin widened as well. At least they were on the same page.
She stepped closer to him, then leaned against the counter, gazing out into the living room. “So…”—Tig waited, holding his breath, praying she’d skip right to the after dinner tour of the apartment—“do you have a swimming pool?”
“What?” That wasn’t what he’d been expecting—or hoping—to hear. “Yes?”
“Is it heated?” She watched him from the corner of her eyes, swirling the wine in her glass.
> “Yeah, but….” He couldn’t understand the line of questioning.
“Good.” She turned to him, took a long pull of her wine, then set the empty glass down on the counter. “I haven’t been swimming in nine years.”
Tig’s brow furrowed. He couldn’t imagine going an entire day without getting into the water, let alone nine years. And, what a strange topic of conversation. He tilted his head, and as her eyebrows slowly lifted, it dawned on him. “You mean…since we…since I…?”
“I’ve never even been able to walk past a swimming pool and not think of you, Brand.”
“Then I think it’s time you go for a swim. You used to love it.”
“I used to love you.”
He took a step forward, ignoring the past tense of her statement, and she took a step back, never breaking eye contact. Tig stepped forward once more, and she matched his movement again, though with this step, her stride had been halved and her hands had found the lowest button of his shirt.
He took another step forward. She took one shorter step back. Her fingers undid the next two buttons of his shirt.
“Sage…”
Tig advanced again until her back hit the front door of his apartment. She gasped as he leaned forward and brushed the softest of kisses across her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed, all the permission he needed. He kissed her again, this time pressing his lips against hers, while his hands gripped the deep curve of her waist. Her fingers fumbled with the final button of his shirt, then her nails tickled his chest—the slightest of touches—tentative, as though she fought some inner battle with herself.
The teasing promise of her touch sent a shudder through Tig’s body. He needed more.
Moving from her mouth to her jaw, Tig grazed his teeth against her skin, then slid his lips over her earlobe, sucking it gently into his mouth. “Touch me,” he begged against her throat. If she took much longer, he’d combust from the agony of waiting. Even in all the years he’d spent with Rosie, he’d never felt his skin come to life the way it did now, beneath Sage’s tentative touch.
Her hands splayed across his chest, running up onto his shoulders, fingertips briefly gripping the base of his scalp, then back down, sliding over his pecks, his nipples, feeling each groove of muscle across his abdomen. He claimed her mouth once more, pushing his tongue between her lips, finding hers, then sucking it into his mouth. Finally, her hands gripped him, her fingernails clawing into the flesh of his sides as he suckled her tongue and rubbed the base of her neck.
“Brand,” she panted his name when he released her tongue—the sweetest sound on the sweetest lips. If he never heard another sound again, the honeyed caress of his name in her mouth would stay with him for lifetimes. She was the only girl who ever called him Brand. Hell, even Rosie called him Tig. Just like everybody else. There was nothing special about it, nothing sacred.
Not like when Sage called him.
“Fuck, Sage, say my name again.” He spread kisses down her throat, nipping with his teeth as he went. His hand remained behind her head, holding her to his mouth while he tasted every inch of her slender neck.
“Brand,” she murmured, deep in her throat, then gasped as his other hand found her breast. He kneaded her gently through her sweater, teasing the nipple pressing against the fabric with his thumb. “Oh, God…”
Tig paused, bringing his head level with hers and looking into those dark gray eyes, now even darker and hooded from the pleasure that heated her gaze. His heart swelled, and pounded and beat at his chest.
She was back. Sage was back in his arms, pressed against his body and moaning beneath his hands.
Hands that were only ever meant for her.
Sage hadn’t planned to come here and jump Brand’s bones. Really, she hadn’t. She wanted to believe she had more self-control than that. But the second he’d opened the door, she could think of nothing else. Her mind wanted to argue that they had a lifetime ahead of them for love-making. But then, she could argue that they had a lifetime to make up for as well.
An outsider might think tonight was for reconnecting, telling stories and catching up. But that outsider was likely—and sadly—unfamiliar with the way Brand could love a woman to the point of nearly unbearable pleasure.
Brand’s eyes pulled her, sucked her into the vortex of those green pools she’d called home so long ago. The possessiveness she saw in his gaze made her heart flutter. The hunger made her knees weak.
The love …the love was almost too much to handle.
Still there, still raw, pure, consuming.
Not the fabrication of a lonely woman.
Memories of being with Brand flooded her mind. Their secret rendezvous, his love for her, his acceptance, his strength. The pureness at the core of their relationship forged the path for mind-blowing sex, even as young as they’d been back then. The way he treasured her translated to a thoughtful, attentive lover.
Images of the best sex of her life fed her current desire for more, pushing forward her quest to find out if Brand was everything she remembered, or just the trick of an old broken heart.
Brand’s fingers flexed around her breast, and she moaned into his mouth as he closed his lips over hers once more. Sage ran her hands up his sides, over his chest, slid them down his shoulders, pushing his crisp blue shirt off his arms. God, those arms, she wanted them wrapped around her, skin on skin.
She inhaled, the ever-present chemical souvenir of his love for the water tickling her nose, reminding her that they were about to go for a swim.
She opened her eyes and broke their kiss, a smile playing at her lips. “Your pool, is it close?”
He nodded, leaning in to claim her mouth once more, but she backed away. “Good. Let’s go.”
She quickly turned, then opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. She looked back at him, a wave of pleasure surging through her at the sight of him standing there half-dressed in his living room. “You comin’?”
He groaned, then grabbed his keys and stepped outside.
“Towels?”
Brand shook his head, glaring playfully at her, then darted back into his apartment, returning two seconds later with two towels under one arm, and the bottle of wine in his other hand. She took the towels from him, then slipped her hand into his and let him lead her quickly down the stairs. Excitement fluttered around in her belly and her heart thumped wildly in her chest as she followed him to the pool, staying in shadows since it was nearly after-hours, and feeling as young and carefree as she used to when she secretly met with Brand.
He quietly unlocked the gate, and they scanned the surrounding area in unison, then ducked inside. He pulled her to a darkened corner of the deck, secluded in shadow behind the showers and bathroom, a picnic table to their left, and the wall of the building to their right. Bushes lined the far wall, and the swimming pool glistened in the moonlight behind them.
Brand gently pushed her against the wall, then pressed his lips to hers, and with each movement of his mouth, each caress of his tongue, Sage let herself open up, soaking in the possibilities, the future they may actually be able to attain. Finally.
She pushed him back, smiling when she caught the shocked expression on his face, then reached for the hem of her sweater and began to tug it upward. He was the only guy she’d ever made love to with her scars exposed. Since Brand, she usually opted for lights-off sex, or she kept her arms covered with long sleeves—whatever minimized exposing the wounds of her past. Skipping foreplay altogether had a tendency to keep her lovers’ eyes from wandering over the ridges that marred her skin as well, especially her inner thighs, so there had never been much passion to her love affairs. Skipping straight to the sex was the only way she ever felt protected, hidden.
Brand stopped her from undressing by placing his hands over each of hers, then he slowly unwound each of her fingers from around the soft fabric, their gazes locked. Something about looking into those eyes again made her feel all at once savage and peaceful. Wild, ready to rip
every piece of clothing from their bodies, desperate to eliminate every barrier between them; and at peace, because she’d never been safer than when she was with Brandon Tiggs.
He slowly—painfully slowly—placed each of her hands at her sides, then slid his strong fingers up beneath her sweater. She’d been in control just seconds ago, teasing him with the slow removal of her shirt, but now he’d turned the tables, painstakingly taking his time and making her wait for what she couldn’t possibly wait for. His fingertips brushed the skin above her jeans, and she sucked in a breath. Her heart thumped faster as he crept his way higher up her sides.
Then he froze.
And she realized her mistake.
His eyes widened, then narrowed, as he ran his fingers over the raised lines he’d discovered on her left side, just below her ribcage.
“No, Sage.” His whispered plea cut straight to her heart. She’d forgotten about the scars he didn’t know about, the episodes after….
She closed her eyes, unwilling to see the disappointment she knew would be visible in his gaze even hidden away as they were in the shadows.
“When?”
Tears threatened to spill, so she didn’t speak. She just shook her head, eyes still closed.
“Sage, please look at me.”
She opened her eyes as the first tear fell.
His gaze flicked from one eye to the other, back and forth, back and forth, searching her gaze for the answer. “When?”
She shook her head.
Tears filled his eyes as he realized, and her heart broke all over again. “Because of”—he swallowed—“because of me?”
“Don’t, Brand. Please.”
He pulled her shirt up over her head, too quickly for Sage to respond. She moved to cover her waist with her arms, but she knew it was too late for that and allowed them to hang limply at her sides.
Chlorine and Chaos Page 5