by Regina Cole
Something was wrong, and she was deathly afraid she knew what it was.
It was her.
He didn’t want her to read into situations the way she had been. He was being kind, and she’d let her libido run wild. Keeping her at a distance would ensure that she wouldn’t look at things the wrong way again.
Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket, and she wrenched her gaze away from Nate to look at it.
Everly, again.
How’s it going now? You relaxed, right?
Allison rolled her eyes. As if she could relax. She was about to completely wreck a decade-long friendship and Everly wanted her to relax? That first little text from her new confidants had nearly made her leap out of her skin.
I can stay out longer, if you need me to. Let me know.
That one was Charlie. She had to give them credit, they were both more than willing to help Allison get things settled with Nate.
Thank you guys. I don’t know that it’s going to work out. But I’ll give it a shot. Give me just three minutes, Charlie.
She shoved the phone back into her pocket and crossed the room to stand beside Nate. Mimicking his pose, she clasped her hands behind her back and leaned against the painted cinder block wall.
“You okay?” Her tone was soft, and she didn’t look over at him as she asked.
“Fine,” he said shortly.
She chanced a glance out of the corner of her eye. He was staring down at the toes of his work boots.
“You don’t seem fine. You seem pissy.”
That half-grin she so loved showed up then, and he looked at her. She gave up pretending to look away, and met his gaze.
“I can’t deny that I’m a little bit out of sorts.”
“You want to go?” Allison straightened. “We can come back another day. Or go somewhere else.”
“Nah.” Nate shook his head, lifting his cowboy hat and resettling it on his head. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind. Nothing that a good kick in the ass won’t cure.”
“I’ll be happy to do that for you,” Allison said with a grin.
“Wouldn’t want you to mess up—er, whatever those shoes are.”
“Louboutins,” she said, turning her toe this way and that so the shiny patent leather caught the light. “And yeah, they’re worth a lot more than your ass.”
“Figured they were.”
She lost the teasing tone, her arms falling by her sides. “But you know I’d wreck them six times over, if you needed me to, right?”
There was more she wanted to say. Needed to say. About how her brain was all screwed up, her plans weren’t working, and her heart wasn’t cooperating with any of it. But she couldn’t. There was a wall inside her head and heart that refused to let those feelings out. Self-defense, most likely. She couldn’t be hurt again. Falling in love was pain, and her psyche wanted no part of it.
“I know,” he said, and the look in his beautiful green eyes almost drew her straight into his arms.
The buzz in her pocket startled her out of the moment.
“Sorry,” she said as she texted Charlie a quickie come in text.
It was good that Charlie had interrupted. Very good. Otherwise, she might have done something, said something too soon.
She was still committed to seeing where she and Nate could take things. She was. But pretending that things would be simple was foolish. It would take a lot of work on her part to ever get to the point that having a relationship with someone was on the table.
Even if it was with Nate.
“And here we’ve got someone a little different,” Charlie said, poking her head through the gap in the door. “Now, I know you said you wanted a hound dog. But I want you to meet this little lady and tell me if she might fit the bill, okay?”
Nate straightened. “Okaaay.” He trailed the word off a bit, as if his uncertainty could be encapsulated in that single agreement.
Charlie shoved open the door, and in bolted a little black and white fluffball. It zoomed around the room, pink tongue lolling out as it jumped straight for Nate, who’d squatted and held out his arms. He laughed as the fluffy dog licked his cheek.
“Well, hello there,” he said, scratching beneath the little dog's chin. Shiny black eyes looked from Allison, to Nate, to Charlie, and back again.
“This is Buffy,” Charlie said, crossing her arms and smiling. “Buffy’s only about twelve weeks old. She’s Australian Shepherd, well, mostly, we think. We already placed her four siblings. She’s the last of them.”
The sight of Nate on the floor, laughing as the little furry panda of a pup chased its stubby tail, tipped her heart straight from wavering into the danger zone.
Even though they’d never slept together, she was already wondering how she’d patch up her heart when things went south between them.
And she was deathly afraid that she might never be able to.
8
Despite himself, Nate ended up having a pretty damn good time at Hopeful Paws.
He’d been getting discouraged for a while there. With each dog that Charlie had brought in, he’d gotten a little more disappointed. The pups were nice, sweet, friendly, but he couldn’t find Beezer in any of them. They’d shared similar ears, coloring, temperament, but Beez had been the kind of dog who had a presence about him. A stately, calming air that had much more to do with his attitude than his activity level.
But none of the hound dogs at Hopeful Paws had grabbed him the same way.
And then Allison. God. The way she could pry him out of his shell, leaving him naked and vulnerable? It was a gift and a curse. If Charlie hadn’t come in with that little puffball when she did—
The thought of the furry one made him smile out the window of Allison’s Audi.
He wasn’t in the market for a shepherd. They were too high energy. But if he were, he’d have been hard-pressed to say no to that little girl.
Allison had kept up her unusual quiet all through the drive back to his house. She only broke the silence when they pulled into the long, winding gravel path that led to his front door. Scraggly trees lined the drive, their limbs holding only a few curled, dead brown leaves. In the spring, it was hard to see his front door from the road. Now, it was like looking through prison bars.
“I should have offered to take you to lunch,” she said as she pulled to a stop in front of his porch.
“You bought me breakfast,” Nate said as he climbed from the seat. “I’ve got some chili in the freezer, if you’re up for it.”
Her face lit up. “Your chili? Nate’s homemade four-alarm fireman chili?”
“Yup.” He nodded, and she clapped her hands in glee.
“Just try and stop me,” she grinned, racing up his front steps ahead of him.
He followed, and a sense of calm he’d been missing eased into his heart like low-lying fog.
This was nice. It felt almost normal. Like, pre-kiss normal. The easy, fun air between them. The place that he could stay near her, listen to her, help her, without feeling like things were unsettled between them.
But even as the comfort settled around him, he knew that it was temporary. They’d never get back to that easy, uncomplicated friendship. His heart and mind had left that space, and now he was on a mission to be with her. This afternoon might be their last chance to be together as just friends.
If this didn’t work, he wasn’t sure what he would do if she walked out of his life.
Inside, she yanked open the fridge while he pulled a Tupperware from the chest freezer in the laundry room.
“What can I do to help?”
“Stay out of the kitchen.” He placed the container in the microwave and started pressing buttons.
“You’ve got a can of biscuits,” she said, holding the tube aloft. “I can manage this.”
He crossed his arms and looked down at her.
The smile on her beautiful face, the way her hair waved softly beside her cheek, the look of confidence mixed with sheepishness in her e
yes.
God, he was an idiot. He'd never be able to get over this girl.
“I'll help,” he said, and took the tube from her. She grumbled, but the both of them knew what would happen if she handled the oven.
They were out of Firehouse Three’s jurisdiction, but people talked. And if he had to hear the razzing from Reid, Kyle, Chaz, and the rest of them because his kitchen had gone Up in Smoke? He’d probably go to jail for murder.
With the scent of chili and baking biscuits hanging heavy in the air, he and Allison moved around the kitchen like they had a hundred times before. She washed up the mugs from their morning coffee while he poured them glasses of iced tea. She stirred the chili and put it back in the microwave, and he corrected the settings she’d put on the digital display.
And when her hand brushed his arm, and she was near enough for him to feel the heat from her body bleeding through his clothes, he tightened his jaw and sang folk songs in his head.
Anything to keep from pulling her into his arms and kissing the ever-loving fool out of her.
When they were finally seated with steaming bowls of chili in front of them and a basket of biscuits in the center of the table, Allison reached over and took his hand.
The contact jerked his gaze from the bowl directly into her storm-cloud gray stare.
“Thank you,” she said, not looking away. He felt her stare all the way down to his soul, and for a moment, he wondered if she could see just how wrecked his insides were because of her.
Because of the way he felt about her.
He wanted to ruin their friendship. Wreck their closeness, break her trust in him. Send her away forever, because the hell of being near to her and not having her was breaking him.
But he couldn’t be apart from her. That would kill him.
Better to be broken together than dying apart.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said, forcing a break in their contact. He grabbed his bread with a hand that couldn’t forget the softness of his skin, and shoved a bite of burning-hot biscuit into his mouth. The pain was good. It distracted him from the longing that was setting every nerve in his body on fire.
“Yes, you have,” she said, ignoring the fact that his mouth was full. She stood then, and his eyes followed along the planes of her body. He couldn’t help himself. She was closing the distance between them, and the look in her eyes was giving him that most insidious of all emotions.
Hope.
She stopped beside his chair, and pushed it away from the table. He swallowed then stood, there in front of her, his tongue numb, his body hard and wanting, his barely-leashed control threatening to snap from her closeness.
And still she stared up at him, her eyes wide, her expression unreadable, her lips pink and damp from the swipe her tongue had just taken across them.
Like she didn’t know he was a man on fire, and she was holding the spark that had ignited him.
“You've been everything for me for so long. And I don’t—I can’t…” she trailed off then, looking away.
The urge to take her into his arms was overwhelming, but his knuckles cracked and his sprain screamed from the strain of holding his hands still. It wasn’t the right time. Not today. He’d told himself he would wait. But with her body so close to his, the heat of her burning him from the inside out—
Goddamn it, he was only a man.
“Ally,” he said, his voice low, rough. She looked up at him, and he swayed in his boots. “You’re important to me, too. Now come on. Eat, before it gets cold.”
“I’m not hungry anymore,” she said, and then her arms were around him and he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
The love of his life was pressing her cheek into his chest.
* * *
She couldn’t avoid it any more, couldn’t put it off a second longer.
His chest was warm, his muscles hard against her cheek, and as she turned her head toward him and breathed deep, she closed her eyes.
Nate. Her Nathaniel. He always smelled like evergreens and man—that indefinable scent that had always comforted her. But now it set her senses tingling in ways that no one ever had before.
She’d never had sex with someone she was tied to this closely emotionally. She’d thought she’d been in love before, but her relationship with Nate was on a whole other level. She’d always presumed it was because he was her best friend, the one person on earth who knew her better than she knew herself. But she’d never pictured that the emotional connections could fire her physical desires the way they were right now. Not even when she’d written him that ludicrous, ridiculously complicated note that he hadn’t answered what felt like a million years ago.
When she was a teenager, she’d pictured relationships the way they were portrayed in books and movies. Falling head-over-heels in love, being swept off her feet by the romance of it all. But reality hadn’t shaken out that way. When she realized that relationships were more like business transactions, they were much easier to handle. So, that’s how her relationships had gone.
How different would things be for them now if he’d reciprocated her feelings back then? If her opinion of love and relationships hadn’t been colored by that rejection?
She’d never know. But it didn’t matter.
Her arms tightened around his waist, and she drew in a deep, Nate-scented breath through her nostrils. For courage.
Everything would be different after this. And that was terrifying. But she'd come too far to back down now. It was time to jump off the cliff and see where they'd land.
“Ally?” His voice rumbled against her forehead, and she looked into his eyes.
He was standing rigid, looking down at her with the question in his eyes.
“‘Thaniel,” she said, and then she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss her.
It was sweeter than she’d remembered. He tasted faintly of the spicy chili he’d had a single bite of before she’d pulled him to his feet. And though his body was still, his mouth was open, tongue tangling with hers as she tried to convey what she was feeling with every touch, with every movement.
Slowly, hesitantly, his arms wound around her back, and she pressed her front against him encouragingly.
Yes, Nate. More. Please. Touch me the way I want to touch you.
She deepened the kiss, exploring his mouth with a groan. Stroke for stroke, touch for touch, his tongue showed none of the hesitation his hands were experiencing as they rested lightly on her hips.
The tips of her breasts were aching, hard inside the softly padded cups of her bra. She pressed her chest against him, trying to ease the tender pain. Blood was roaring inside her, surging down to the apex of her thighs, throbbing to the rhythm of her heartbeat in a rush of wet heat.
She let her fingertips roam his body, sweeping up the muscled expanse of his back, splaying across his wide shoulder blades, then down, past the narrow waist, to cup his muscular ass.
He growled then, his tongue forcing its way deep into her mouth, and she tipped her head back to give him greater access. His ass felt so good to her palms, the muscles there tensing under her touch.
But still, he didn’t move his hands from their position on her waist. They might as well be dancing at a church social. She wanted more. And if she had to go to extreme measures?
So be it.
Tearing her mouth away, she grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hallway. Time to see, as Charlie had said, if he sizzled her panties.
He didn’t say a word. Just followed along where she led him.
Yanking open his bedroom door, she didn’t even bother to look around. She’d been in this room a million times. With its dark pine paneling, maroon comforter, mismatched furniture, she knew every square inch of his space.
Nate had never kept her out of any aspect of his life. She knew everything there was to know about him.
With a handful of glaring exceptions, and those were about to be rectified.
But once the
y were in the bedroom, she glanced back over her shoulder.
Nate was standing there in front of the scratched white bureau, his eyes glittering, dark. Hungry.
Her nerve failed her, the plans she’d agonized over falling into ash at her feet. She stood, frozen, like a deer in a hunter’s sights.
But of course, there was her savior to help her fix everything.
“Are you sure about this?” Nate’s voice was husky, low, and it sent shivers through her body. “If you don’t want this, you need to tell me now.”
Her mouth opened, but words failed her. She nodded instead, and unbuttoned her jacket. Letting the designer blazer fall to the floor, she grasped the hem of her blouse to pull it from her slacks. Her fingers trembled, faltering.
She looked up at him, desperation threading her words. “Nate, help me?”
The words seemed to unlock something hidden inside him, and he was on her in an instant. His mouth covered hers, tongue tasting her deeply as his hands ripped the blouse from her waistband. Buttons flew, sounding like tiny hailstones as they hit the weathered wooden floors. His hands, rough from years of working, rubbed across her skin and left fire in their wake.
He shoved the blouse down her shoulders as she reached for the hem of his tee. Breaking their kiss long enough to rip the thing over his head, he tossed it aside.
She looked up then, her heart pounding so hard she was light-headed. Bare from the waist up, he loomed over her. Big. Strong. She felt delicate next to his obvious strength, as if she didn’t have to take charge of this and it would all be all right. She’d always taken the lead in the bedroom—it seemed natural, just like the other aspects of her life.
But this? He was in the driver’s seat, and it felt so, so good.
Raising her arms to him, she smiled as he swept her up and pressed her down into the softness of his maroon comforter. Her slacks disappeared—she wasn’t tracking when. All she could focus on was the way his strong, hot body moved against her, the way he kissed her like she was the oasis to his desert survivor.