Falling for the Guy Next Door

by Claire Robyns

  “Then you’re on a time limit.” Her voice was just a shade too husky for playful teasing. Her gaze had definitely snagged on his lips.

  She was thinking about that kiss.

  “It’s not Kate,” he threw out, determined to focus on anything but that temptation. Kate had mentioned once that her family was originally from the peat mining district. Didn’t sound like the kind of place that gave birth to blue blood.

  Megan rolled her eyes. “You’re not allowed to recite your way through the entire town’s roster.”

  “I don’t intend to,” he assured her with a grin.

  She scraped her hair back from her face, her arms raised behind her head as she twined the rich brown curls into a knot. The movement exposed the slender length of her throat and pressed the mounds of her breasts against the thin ribbed cashmere sweater. His body leaped to attention and now his jeans were damned uncomfortable.

  This was ridiculous. He sipped on his Irish coffee and, by sheer force of will, cooled his blood.

  Megan reached for her drink and folded one leg beneath her, sliding deeper into the sofa. Her fingers twined around the stem of the glass, the rim pressed to her lower lip as she gave him a contemplating look. “Why is it that men are incapable of admitting defeat?”

  “Because we never lose,” he said with a broad wink and gave the matter his full attention.

  He hadn’t met that many people in the town. Megan had hauled him along to a family barbeque at the end of last summer…there’d been Kate, and Harry, a policeman friend of theirs. An aunt and the twin cousins, but they were all from her father’s side of the family and he already knew that line descended from a pirate who’d gone by the name of Captain Cork Squirrel. Megan had told him about the great-great-dot-dot-great grandfather when they’d spent the afternoon at the heritage site of the old fishing village. That revelation had shocked him speechless and started Megan on this game.

  She beamed at him. She thought she had him.

  He ignored her victory smile. There was Finn, their Irish friend who’d recently demolished the local camping site to erect—that thought sliced straight through to his answer. “Isobel.”

  Her mouth dropped. “Lucky guess.”

  “Elegant, poised and reserved,” Jack said. “The three marks of royalty.”

  “What does that say about the rest of us? Are we all babbling baboons?”

  “Some of the time,” he teased.

  She pulled a face at him, then a smile snuck over her scowl. “Frank’s got a pen pal.”

  Jack spluttered up his mouthful of Irish coffee. “What?”

  “It’s true. He’s been corresponding with a farmer from the Valencia district, Spain, for years. They both write regular letters to some European agricultural magazine and that’s how they met.”

  He wiped his mouth and set his glass down on the table. “And he told you this?”

  “Last week,” she confirmed, grinning. “I was next door with your uncle when Bill brought the post. He said something to Frank about there being a new one from Valencia. I thought Valencia was a woman and I wasn’t going to let that go. It was like draining water through a sponge, but he finally burst two days later.”

  “Well, I’ll be…” He shook his head in amazement, smiling at that glint of delight in her eyes, not sure when he’d started shifting along the sofa but suddenly her bent knee was grazing his thigh. His hand came up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, the back of his fingers brushing the silken line of her jaw.

  “You win,” he murmured. “I’m officially shocked. In a good way.” Warmth unfolded within his heart and sealed his veins. This woman was in his blood and she was there to stay. Wherever he went, whatever he did, he’d always carry a little part of her with him. “Thanks for telling me.”

  She held his gaze, tilting her chin into his touch rather than out of it. Familiar energy strummed the air between them like an old friend growing less and less content to wait in the wings.

  He couldn’t keep away from Megan. He was drawn to her infectious smile, to the source that lay within her wide, soft and welcoming heart. She was content at the deeply planted roots of her life, not because she’d settled for less but because she’d worked hard to shape her world to fit.

  Her house on Bluff Drive was a prime example of how she balanced her independence and occasional solitary instincts with the cramped demands of her friends and family in the suffocating town. She didn’t need to run away like that friend of hers, Lucy. She carved her space into the foundations that grounded her and forged a path that was distinctly hers.

  Where his job pushed him around the globe in search for the next perfect shot, Megan brought the world to her with that brilliant, imaginative mind.

  He was drawn to her naturally exuberant nature, to her open, friendly manner that invited him to take a brief respite from his restless, never-ending journey. No questions asked, no recriminations. He could be gone for months and she welcomed him into the tight fold of her friendship as if he’d never been away.

  Yielding to these surges of lust, even once, would signal the beginning of the end of their relationship.

  As much as he wanted her, he didn’t want that.

  He pulled his hand away and stood. His head was in the right place, if not his body. He wouldn’t screw this up.

  And he wouldn’t have. If they hadn’t stupidly braved the storm. If the gale force winds hadn’t swept Megan off-balance almost as soon as they stepped out the door.

  She stumbled off the low deck and landed in a deep puddle that soaked through her coat and clothes. He tucked his head in, unsteady on his own feet as he strode into the wind slamming in from the ocean. She’d picked herself up by the time he reached her side, but he had to grab her arm to keep her upright.

  He squinted into the distance. The steep flight of rock steps they’d have to climb out of the cove to the parking was hidden behind the wall of rain pounding down. They had no choice but to retreat.

  No one was leaving Smugglers Inn tonight. The second available room went to the other couple and the group of guys would have to make do with sprawling themselves over the sofas downstairs in the public lounge.

  Half an hour later, stripped to his boxers and with his back to the fire Liam had stoked into a blaze, Jack watched Megan emerge from the bathroom and lost the battle with his head. Skin flushed from the heat of her shower. Damp hair twisted into a knot at her nape. He was instantly and acutely aware that it was his T-Shirt drooping off one shoulder and skimming just above her knees. Her clothes had been thoroughly soaked, as had his jeans and sweater. She was wearing his scent. And possibly nothing else. Had her panties survived the puddle? Just like that, he was hard, throbbing, and there was nowhere to hide his erection.

  Her gaze flickered below his waist, then jerked high. She sucked in her lower lip and pure, naked lust lurked in the sultry depths of her eyes. Her chest rose and fell in quick succession as she took small steps toward him. She opened her mouth, then closed it again on a faltering smile as her gaze levelled to his chest and stalled.

  Too much naked skin between the two of them.

  One bed.

  Firelight dancing across the shadows of the room.

  The layers of desire had been packing on thicker and faster each time he’d coasted into town. His blood slowed to the consistency of warm honey and pulsed with an urgency that drowned the whispers of control he tried to summon. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. His gaze touched hers, slipped to her gorgeous mouth and glazed across the curve of her exposed shoulder.

  A series of thumps at the door broke the spell.

  Jack blinked. “Th-that—” He cleared his throat. “That will be Liam. I asked him to bring up a hot toddy.”

  “Okay, then. Well, I’m just going to…” She glanced around the room, then turned abruptly and padded back into the bathroom.

  He shook his arms out and rolled the tension from his shoulders. On his way to the door, he swiped his damp s
weater from where he’d hung it over the top of the open cupboard and tied it around his hips to mask his hard-on. This was going to be a long night.

  Liam delivered a tray holding two mugs of hot whiskey and a plate of dry crackers. “Everything okay here? I’m off to bed now, but the buzzer at reception comes through to my apartments.” He shrugged. “If you need anything.”

  “Thanks, we’ll be fine.” Jack closed the door and set the tray down on the bedside table.

  Megan reappeared with an armload of soggy clothes. She gave his nether regions a pointed look.

  “What?” he challenged.

  Her eyes lit with laughter and her smile broke wide open. “If that sweater wets through to your boxers,” she said, turning from him to pull a rickety chair closer to the fire and draping her clothes over the seat and back, “we’re going to be in real trouble.”

  Hell, he’d passed real trouble five minutes ago. Right now he was in disaster management and just barely holding on.

  He unwound the sweater at his hips and tossed it over the cupboard door again. The mattress sunk beneath his weight as he sat on the edge and ruffled through the drawer of the bedside table. A bible and a deck of cards.

  A game of solitaire might work, maybe bore him to sleep before he did something stupid. He grabbed the pack, shook the cards out and settled against the headboard. It was the bed or the floor. The room had exactly one chair and that was currently functioning as Megan’s clotheshorse.

  He pulled his legs up loosely, his arms resting over his knees as he shuffled the cards mindlessly. Watching Megan fiddle around with her clothes was a fulltime distraction.

  “You should call your uncle,” she said. “Let him know we’re stuck here.”

  “I already did.” He caught a glimpse of black lace before she arranged the pair of jeans neatly over her bra. And panties? That seemed to the question of the hour and he couldn’t shake it. “While you were in the shower.”

  She slid a look of surprise his way.

  “I’m not a totally thoughtless bastard.”

  “I never said you were.” She straightened and came over to the foot of the bed, folding her arms. She nodded at the deck of cards he was shuffling. “So, what are we playing?”

  “I’d suggest strip poker,” he drawled, “but we don’t have enough clothes between us to last past two hands.” His gaze roamed a little lower, to the hidden junction of her thighs. He had no defence. The pull was irresistible and he was weak. “Or would that be three?”

  “Jack Marlin,” she gasped. “Are you seriously asking if I’m wearing anything beneath this T-Shirt?”

  He glanced up and saw humour glinting warm in her eyes. “Enquiring minds want to know.” He grinned at the mock outrage spearing her brows. “Curiosity being the forefather of progression and all that.”

  “I’ll just bet.” She tugged the spread loose at the foot of the bed and climbed beneath the covers to sit cross-legged, facing him at an angle from her side of the bed.

  They hadn’t discussed sleeping arrangements yet, and he guessed head-to-toe was a good compromise. But then his mind took that one step further, to thighs gliding past each other in the night, tangled sheets and misplaced feet. He inhaled a deep breath and cursed silently. Head-to-toe was a really bad idea.

  Megan tipped forward and plucked the deck from his hands. “Any good at Snap?”

  “That sounds about as harmless as it gets.”

  She gave him a little frown, then smiled and cut the deck, handing half back to him.

  They might as well have played strip poker, because they never made it past two rounds. Her gaze kept slipping to his chest and her colour was high. Not the mottled red she turned from blushing, but a soft pink of heightened awareness. She nibbled her lower lip, thoughtless of what that sexy mouth was doing to him.

  His blood was humming and his resolve had taken too many hits to come back kicking. Their hands collided over a pair of kings.

  “Snap,” she called out.

  “I can’t do this,” he groaned simultaneously, winding his fingers around hers.

  He slid lower down the bed and gave a hard yank that toppled her on top of him. The covers stayed behind. Her T-Shirt had bundled at her waist and only a thin strip of lace separated him from the soft skin of her lower body. And he had his answer.

  “Jack?” The breathless murmur was a question, a plea, a sigh of bliss. Her forearms rested on his chest. Her head lifted so she could look into his eyes.

  “I need you.” His hands had landed flat on her back and he kept them there. Firmly. Non-evasive. “I can’t do this. I can’t resist any more.” God, the way she straddled him, her core flattened to his abdomen and her thigh pressed to the full length of his erection. His voice was gruff with the desire pounding him deeper and deeper to the brink of oblivious pleasure. But he had to hold on. A moment longer. “Megan, now’s the time to say no if you don’t want this.”

  “Jack, you idiot.” She sounded even more hoarse than him. She wriggled further up his body, dragging sensual waves of friction every inch of the way, and lowered her mouth to his. “I’ve wanted this since the day we met.”

  He let go.

  His hands moved over the rise of her backside and his lips parted, first nipping at that full, lower lip that had tantalized him for ages before deepening the kiss. His tongue plunged inside her, seeking, exploring, and the tug of desire when her tongue curled around his almost sent him over the edge.

  He gently tipped her from him and scrambled from the bed in indecent haste to find his jeans and the string of foil packets stashed in his wallet. When he turned to her, she was lying on her back, her arms tucked beneath her head.

  Her eyes were on him, heated with carnal admiration and glazed with passion. His gaze trailed over her body, the crumpled T-Shirt still bundled at her waist, the pale, creamy skin of her stomach and the secrets nestled behind that flimsy strip of lace. Those legs, so long, so slender, and about to be wrapped around him.

  He removed his boxers and sheathed the condom, then climbed onto the bed and moved so that he was sitting on his knees, straddling her thighs. His fingers danced over her skin with a light touch that evoked small gasps from her as he traced her belly button, then pushed her T-Shirt further up to leave her breasts exposed. He placed his hands on the bed either side of her and came down to tease each extended nipple with his mouth, sucking, nipping, tasting.

  When she squirmed beneath him, he clamped her thighs with his and lifted his head to look into her eyes.

  She was so beautiful.

  So wonderfully responsive, her entire body enthralled with his touch.

  Mine. An inner warmth like he’d never known before spread through him and slowly pushed through to a grin that softened both his jaw and a large chunk of his heart.

  He pushed back onto his haunches again and she came up with him, pulling the T-Shirt over her head and tossing it aside. Her palms flattened over his chest, nails scraping through the short curls. His hands went around her neck, fingers threading through her hair and tilting her head back so he could take her mouth in his.

  But his blood was too hot, his desire too rampant, he couldn’t take it slow another second. He withdrew from the kiss and pressed her flat to the bed again. His thumb hitched the band of her panties and tugged. She arched off the bed, then bent her knees to help.

  “Come here,” he said softly, easing onto his side next to her and pulling her into his arms.

  She came willingly, warm and almost as fully aroused as he was. Her nipples were hard pebbles against his chest as she flung one thigh over his. His mouth crushed over hers, their tongues clashing with a desperate fever while he rocked against her, rubbing his erection along her moist core.

  Her arms came around him, fingernails scraping over his back with a possessive urge to leave their mark. She moved with him, rocking their bodies into a rhythm that stroked need to his every sense. His kisses ravaged her mouth and his hands went all over h
er body, massaging her buttocks and pressing her deeper into his groin, smoothing up the curve of her spine and tangling in her hair.

  Between one slide and the next, he plunged inside her. From mouth to chest to hips to thighs to feet curled around each other, their bodies were glued together both inside and out, rocking the swell of burning desire and cresting the wave as one. Her climax peaked again and again, pulsing around him, draining him until he was thoroughly spent.

  He felt her collapse within the confines of his arms. Her limbs boneless, her breathing heavy and uneven, her legs and arms still wrapped around him, she melted against his body.

  He stayed deep inside and held her close, whispering everything and nothing in her ear. “Amazing. That was so… God, I can’t even describe it. You’re amazing, baby. Beautiful. Gorgeous. You drive me mad.” Breathing in the scent of skin and, unbelievably, growing hard again.

  When she strained away slightly to look into his eyes, he smiled and pulled out of her. Before he rolled aside to remove the used condom, he brushed the back of his hand over her cheek and dropped a string of butterfly kisses along her jaw, all the way up to that sensitive spot behind her earlobe.

  “Be right back,” he promised. “And this time we’ll do it slowly.”

  He delivered on the promise. Twice more before they fell into an exhausted sleep to the drone of the storm outside battering the hatches and threatening to rip the roof off the ancient establishment.

  Jack awoke to the sensation of satin soft skin sliding over him. He stretched on a yawn, craning his neck on the pillow, and was treated to the sight of a beautiful woman tangled in the sheets beside him.

  Megan!

  His heart thumped unevenly and it took a couple of shallow breaths to dull the beat. Okay, so he’d done it. But maybe it wasn’t all bad.

  The way things had been stewing for a while now, they were going to end up here sooner or later. He’d been fooling himself to think he’d resist Megan forever. She knew him for what he was and she’d never expected anything more from him. She’d never expected anything at all. Ever.