by Julia London
He lifted his head and murmured, “Just think about it.”
Lola didn’t move; her gaze, crystal clear, locked on his. Harry didn’t move, either. He felt a different kind of spark as she peered into his eyes, as if she were trying to read him. He had that feeling there actually might be something there to read, something that had sprung up out of nowhere. Not two months ago, he was devastated that he’d lost the woman he thought he would marry. How could he be feeling the kernel of desire and affection take root in him now?
Harry tried unsuccessfully to figure out what was happening in him until he began to worry that she would read how horny he was. So he kissed her again.
Only not as gently.
This time, he kissed her like he meant it. At first, Lola stood stiffly, and he thought he was the only one feeling this thing between them. He was about to let her go, to stop teasing her, but Lola abruptly relented. Her body sagged into his and he had to slip an arm around her to keep her from sliding to the dock. She reached for his hand that cupped her face, curling her fingers around his wrist as she opened her mouth to his.
Whoa. Lola was suddenly kissing him on turbo mode, like a woman who hadn’t been with a man in a year, and it was stoking a rush of desire and affection in Harry that surprised and confused him. He had not felt this electric, this charged—
Lola suddenly jerked back. “Dammit,” she said with a shake of her head. “I swore to myself I would not make that mistake again.”
“That was not a mistake,” he said, buzzing from the charge in that kiss.
“Well hands off, Hardhat Harry,” she said, batting his hands away from her.
“Lola,” he said, reaching for her, but she batted at him again. “Fine,” he said, and lifted his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say.”
“Hey! You’re the one who came up with the ground rules, remember?”
“What’s going on with you two?”
Mallory had reappeared.
“Nothing!” Lola said too quickly and too loudly.
Some of the wine in Mallory’s goblet sloshed onto the dock, but she didn’t notice. “Is this a great party or what?” she shouted, swaying forward like one of those car dealership air dancers. “Hey, a bunch of us are going for a moonlight boat ride. Want to come?”
“Yes,” Lola said.
Harry did not want to let go of Lola just yet.
“Follow me,” Mallory said, and began to sway and slosh her way down to the boat.
Lola and Harry fell in behind her. Harry unthinkingly took Lola’s hand. “Are you holding my hand?” she asked, as if she were unfamiliar with the experience.
Harry looked down. “I guess so.”
“Honestly!” Lola exclaimed, as if she was exasperated . . . but she didn’t take her hand from his.
Seventeen
The boat—or what Lola thought might be a small yacht, but didn’t want to be the bumpkin from the group to ask—was crowded with drunks in expensive clothing. She and Harry mutually agreed they needed air and pushed through to the upper deck as the captain piloted slowly out onto the lake. They accepted champagne from a waiter who was passing them out in plastic flutes, and stood at the railing, looking at all the lights twinkling back at them from million-dollar lake houses on the shore.
But as they moved into deeper waters, Lola began to shiver in her barely-there dress. “Here,” Harry said, shrugging out of his suit jacket.
“No, you keep it,” she said. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are,” he said, and draped it across her shoulders anyway. It smelled like man—spicy and fresh, with a twinge of cigar smoke. She was grateful for the warmth and pulled it closer around her body and smiled sheepishly. “You keep surprising me with how nice you can be.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said, chuckling a little. He braced his forearms against the railing and looked out at their surroundings.
Lola studied him. She took a sip of her champagne and then, because she couldn’t help herself after that kiss and the longing that was starting to bake in her, she blurted, “Why did your ex dump you?”
“Sorry?” he asked, shifting his gaze to her.
Lola swallowed more champagne. Shut up, Lola. Shut up, shut up. “Just curious as to why you, ah . . . broke up.”
Harry groaned. “I prefer not to think of that right now, if you don’t mind. It’s a long, complicated story.”
“Fine,” Lola said.
He sighed. “Let’s just say she didn’t share my vision of our future. She didn’t understand that there would be failures along the way . . .” He paused and shook his head. “Maybe she was right about that,” he said ruefully. “There have been more failures than I anticipated, that’s for sure. But there have been victories, too. It requires a lot of patience and fortitude.”
“I can relate,” Lola muttered under her breath. Had Will ever really wanted what she wanted?
“I can’t really blame her,” Harry said. “But I couldn’t work for someone else all my life. I need to make my own way.”
Lola puffed out her cheeks at that. “Working for others is highly overrated,” she agreed.
One corner of his mouth tipped up. “You’d be surprised how many people believe security is the goal.”
“I used to think I could work for someone else,” Lola said. “I thought it would be okay to give up goals I had because others depended on me. To be fair, I also thought my job was a depot stop until Will and I started a family. But . . .” Lola winced, reminded of the disappointment and heartbreak again. “Here I am.” She looked up at the moon. “Funny how things go, isn’t it?”
“Yep,” Harry said. But he was looking at her.
What was funny was that she and Handsome Harry had more in common than she would have thought.
The boat ride turned out to be the best part of the party for her, really, floating around on the lake with Harry’s coat on her shoulders and the fizzy feel of champagne and martinis in her head, and the memory of a super-hot kiss still tingling on her lips. Her humiliation in front of Birta Hoffman quietly receded.
When the boat docked, Harry said, “Ready to go? I’ve a lot of paperwork to do tomorrow.”
She wasn’t really ready, but she nodded, swung his coat off her shoulders, and handed it back to him.
“You sure?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, and smiled. But she wasn’t fine. If she’d had her druthers, she would have stayed wrapped in that warm wool piece of him all night. It was an old habit, a trait she’d learned as a little girl—say you’re fine and smile. Never let them see how you really feel, or they might take you away. Will had once accused her of being emotionally closed off. Lola wondered if that problem wasn’t bigger than she’d ever allowed herself to see.
She and Harry walked down the little gangplank and across the dock. He was holding her hand again, but Lola didn’t say anything, because she really liked the feel of his big, rough hand surrounding hers.
They said good night to Mallory and made their way to the drive and waited silently for the valet to bring Harry’s truck around. Neither of them said much on the drive back to the lake house, either.
When they finally reached home, Lola felt slightly nervous. She wasn’t sure how to end this evening. So she went to her comfort place—the fridge—and took out a plate of cheese and grapes. She set it on the bar and popped two grapes into her mouth.
Harry divested himself of his coat and stood across from her, his hands on his hips, his expression inscrutable.
“That was insane, right?” Lola said, popping more grapes into her mouth. “There is so much money up on that road.”
“Yes. The whole evening was insane.”
She wondered what parts he was referring to, and stuffed two more grapes into her mouth. “Thank you,” she said with her mouth full.
One of his brows rose above the other. “For . . . ?”
Lola swallowed. “For helping me. For being there when I couldn
’t find my tongue. And for agreeing to go to dinner next week. I would never have said yes if you hadn’t.” Apparently, standing up for herself and seizing opportunities was going to require a lot of work.
Harry smiled. “I figured that out. I’ve never seen anyone quite as starstruck.”
Lola reached for another grape, but Harry caught her hand and held it. For a brief second, she thought he was concerned with how many grapes she was eating. But instead, he turned her hand over, and lifted it up to kiss her palm. “I had a good time,” he said. “Really good. You?”
God, he was killing her. Something that felt strong and magnetic was flowing between them, and frankly, Lola didn’t know what to do with it. Part of her wanted to leap headlong into it; part of her wanted to retreat and protect her heart from expanding too far beyond its borders.
Harry kissed her wrist. “You won’t change your mind about your roommate benefits?”
His gaze was smoldering. Lola had a strange sensation when he looked at her like that, almost as if she were swimming in deep water, her head only barely above the surface. She shook her head. She wanted to suggest it was a bad idea. What if he didn’t like her in bed? She would still be here tomorrow. She wanted to analyze the offer and ask what friends with benefits really meant, what happened tomorrow, and the day after that . . .
Harry chuckled softly, squeezed her hand, and let it go. “Just my luck,” he said. “My sexy roommate is locked up like Fort Knox. All right, go to bed,” he said. He tapped his knuckles against the bar and turned, swiping up his coat on the way back to his room.
What had just happened? Jesus Lola, you blew it before anything happened. “Good night!” she called to him.
From down the hallway, she heard, “Good night, you little lunatic.” And then she heard his door close.
Lost in thought about her incredible knack for blowing great chances—two in one night!—Lola absently ate more grapes until she realized what she was doing, and put the plate away. She walked to the picture windows and looked out at the moon again, then absently made her way to the couch and sank down, kicked off her shoes, and propped her feet on the big leather ottoman, leaning back into the cushions. She closed her eyes, folded her arms over her middle.
All she could see in her mind’s eye was Harry. She could imagine him taking off his clothes, getting ready for bed. She could still feel his mouth on the skin of her wrist. What was the matter with her? What red-blooded woman turned down an offer like that?
This was exactly the sort of opportunity Casey would challenge her to take. Why not? Lola hadn’t had sex in forever—so long that sometimes she believed she might truly die without ever having sex again. She liked Harry—really liked him—so what was holding her back?
She was afraid of being hurt again, of being rejected. Aha, so there it was . . . an unconscious thought that had turned into an ugly blob of truth, tossed out of her subconscious and onto her lap. She was afraid of any sort of relationship for that matter, for fear of another mortal wound to her heart. That fear went even deeper with the whole friends-with-benefits idea. She understood the idea—a casual, no strings attached hookup—but she didn’t understand the emotions of it. Sex with men had never been so simple for her. With sex came feelings. How was she supposed to turn that off? How was she to hide them when he wanted only a friendly encounter?
You have to get over yourself, came one of her thoughts, uttered in the voice of a very persuasive and very smug younger sister. Are you going to die with cobwebs in your va-jay-jay?
God, Casey was right, even in absentia. Lola was thirty-one and divorced. It wasn’t as if she was meeting a lot of single men. Her opportunities for good old-fashioned, wall-banging copulation were not great. For all the drama in her head over men and betrayals and feelings she didn’t want to face or experience, there was another, awfully persistent thought pushing in right alongside: Do me, Handsome Harry. Do me in the shower, on the bed, in the kitchen, in the back seat of the car.
It was that voice, fueled by a little alcohol and a lot of libido, that won out over all the other Nervous Nellie thoughts in her head. “Okay, all right, Casey. You win,” Lola whispered. She slowly stood up. She smoothed her hair down and adjusted her dress. She started walking toward Harry’s room . . . but then abruptly changed course, darted back to the kitchen, and uncorked an open bottle of wine. She took a sip of liquid courage, corked it up, washed her hands and her mouth, smoothed her dress once more—
“For God’s sake, I’ll die first at this rate,” she chastised herself.
She breathed in, breathed out, squared her shoulders, and walked down the hall to Harry’s door.
There was no light peeking out from beneath his door, and Lola couldn’t hear anything inside when she rudely pressed her ear to the door. She tapped lightly. Nothing.
Normally, this would be the point Lola would scurry like a mouse back to her room. But the new Lola, the Lola who was going to be a writer and live life to the fullest, was going to go for it. She turned the handle of the door and cracked it open.
Nothing! Not a sound, not a light. She slipped inside and stood beside the door. She could see Harry in his bed now, his body illuminated by moonlight coming in through his open window. He was asleep, lying on his back with one arm slung over his eyes, and bare-chested.
A heart-pounding sight, that.
Lola loudly cleared her throat.
Harry suddenly shot up and blinked at the door. “What’s wrong?” he asked, and moved as if he meant to get out of bed.
“No, no, don’t get up,” she said, waving both hands at him.
“What’s happening?” he asked, rightly confused.
Lola drew a deep breath. “You were right.”
“Huh?”
“You were right, Harry. It really has been a very, very long time—”
He threw the covers off the other side of the bed so quickly that it startled Lola. “C’mere,” he said.
“Are you sure? Because I really don’t get the roommates with benefits thing.”
“Come here,” he said insistently.
So Lola walked to the side of the bed. Harry reached for her—grabbed her, really—and pulled her hard to him, twisting and bearing her down on to the bed in one super-sexy athletic move. “What took you so long?” he asked.
“I had to think about it.”
“You think too much,” he said, his gaze skimming over her features.
“I don’t know what the rules are,” she tried to explain.
“Rules,” he repeated, and kissed her cheek, her temple. “No rules.”
“We have to have ground rules,” she said breathlessly, as each touch of his lips sent a jolt through her.
“Okay,” he said, and slid his hand inside her dress, kneading her breast. “How’s this for a rule: We act first, talk later.”
“But what if—”
Harry kissed her, silencing her question. When he lifted his head, he kissed the bridge of her nose and said, “Don’t overthink it. Just relax, and let it happen.”
Let it happen. Okay, Lola was going to let it happen. In fact, she was going to do him one better and make it happen. She was going to take charge, go for broke, and not overthink it.
She had to get her bearings first, because Harry was kissing her fully, all minty fresh and soft and wet, his tongue dipping between her lips, his touch warm and heavy. She pushed against him, trying to roll him onto his back. Harry grunted and his kiss intensified. Lola leveraged him with her knee, finally succeeding in getting him on his back and then trying, unsuccessfully, to sort of slide up onto him.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked.
“I’m going for it,” Lola said.
“Okay,” he said uncertainly, and when Lola leaned down to kiss him, he took her head in his hands and resumed kissing her in a way that made her turn to jelly.
She was sinking and tumbling down the rabbit hole, and began to grope for her back to remove her dress, but s
he was off balance, and slid off the side of him with an oof.
Harry’s arms fell away from her. “Now what are you doing?” he asked, his voice a little ragged. “I was thoroughly enjoying myself.”
“I can’t reach my zipper,” she said breathlessly.
“Are you always this clumsy?” he asked as he reached behind her and in one fell swoop unzipped her dress.
“I don’t think so,” she said as he sat up and pulled the dress off of her. He tossed it aside and cupped her breasts. Thank God she’d worn a good bra tonight, and not one that was stretched out of shape.
“Okay, are we set?” he asked, and kissed her neck, at the point where it curved into her shoulder.
Sparks were flying through her now. Thousands of glittery sparks, firing and pinging throughout her body. “We’re set. Just lie back,” she said, and shoved at his chest. This time, she managed to get on top of him, her body pressed to the hard length of him. “Wait . . . you’re still wearing pajama bottoms.” She tried to slide off to push them down, but her knee hit him in the groin.
Harry came up with a hiss. “Look,” he said, and reached behind her and unhooked her bra. “I really appreciate your willingness to take charge here . . . but how about you let me worry about clothes and logistics,” he said. He was moving, kicking. And then his hand was in her panties. “Think you can do that?” he asked as he slipped his fingers in between her legs.
Lola closed her eyes. “I really wanted to take the lead, but if you insist.”
He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I insist.” He rolled them again, putting her on her back once more and coming over her, and that was it. Lola had fallen all the way down the rabbit hole. Her body was floating in a sea of pure sensation as his lips followed the trail of his hands, sliding down her body. It was a heady, frothy concoction of skin and lips and desire all mixing into one utterly surreal experience. Lola had forgotten how delicious this could be, how satisfying, how earthy. They swam along in that sea, both of them reaching and stroking, kissing and sliding. It was foreplay like Lola had never experienced—twinkly and fiery, tender and rough all at the same time. She was rocked by the physical sensations and the emotions that were mixing and churning in her.