Paige in Progress (Reluctant Hearts #3)

by Brighton Walsh

  We never made it to my shower, but now I sure as hell wish we had so I could draw from memories rather than my imagination.

  Tessa laughs along with the others and distractedly slaps my back as I attempt to catch my breath. To Adam, she says, “I know you’re trying to save as much as you can to help your parents, but have you thought about getting a place while you’re here? Something cheap? I’d offer you to stay with us, but we only have the two bedrooms.”

  “No offense to your boyfriend, but I would kill him if we ever lived together,” Adam says.

  “Hey, I’m not that bad.” Jason grabs a fry and throws it toward Adam, who flicks it away before it can hit him.

  “Oh, babe, you kind of are.” Tessa pats Jason on the head and smiles. “I put up with it because of the sex.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Cade groans. “How many times have I told you I don’t need to hear that shit?”

  Winter laughs and shakes her head. “Like you can talk. How many times has poor Tessa walked in on us?”

  “God, don’t remind me. I could’ve gone my whole life without seeing that.” Tessa shudders, then she gasps and turns to me, her smile bright. “Hey, what about that studio apartment that’s always for rent in your building? You said people are moving in there every other month. Is it available now?”

  I open my mouth to tell her there’s no way Adam is moving in across from me, and then snap it shut. This is not the time or the place to bitch her out for suggesting that. But seriously, why the hell would she offer this to him, especially since she thinks I can’t stand him? Except I don’t even have to think about it. Tessa likes for everyone to get along. And knowing two of her closest friends don’t is probably killing her. I totally fucked myself over by acting like I hated him.

  Goddammit.

  “I’m not sure if it is or not,” I hedge. It’s open. The last douchebags who lived there got evicted a couple weeks ago, and there hasn’t been a moving truck around since. Can’t tell her that, though. Instead, I try a different tactic and turn my attention to Adam, ignoring that flutter in my belly when I find his gaze already on me. “And, actually, you probably wouldn’t want to live there. It’s in kind of a shitty part of town.”

  Tessa opens her mouth, no doubt to argue, at the same time Adam leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “You live there.”

  I shrug. “I like to live on the edge.”

  He continues scrutinizing me, his stare unwavering, and I will not shift in my seat. Will. Not. After a million years, he says, “Your brother’s a cop.”

  “Yeah…?” I draw out the word, having no idea where he’s going with this.

  “Your brother’s a cop, and I’m pretty sure if you lived in a shitty neighborhood, he wouldn’t allow you to live there.”

  “First of all, my brothers don’t allow me to do anything. I do whatever the hell I want, because I’m a grown-ass woman.” And as a grown-ass woman, I obviously need to step up my game if I have any hope of deterring him from looking at the apartment across the hall from me. So I tell a teeny, tiny white lie. “Second, I’m pretty sure the last people who lived there were cooking meth. And then there were all the cats. Like, at least six. In a tiny studio apartment. I can, you know”—I wave my hand in the air—“smell it through the door. It’s that bad.”

  He does that staring thing again, and this time he does it long enough that I do shift in my seat. Goddamn him. Then he turns to Tessa and shoots my entire survival plan to hell with a handful of words. “Thanks for the tip, Tess. I think I’ll check it out on Monday.”

  He looks at me, one corner of his mouth tipping up in a sly grin, and holy shit I am so fucked.

  FOUR

  paige

  I’ve never come just from a guy staring at me, but if I have to sit here for another minute under the intense gaze of one Adam Reid, I’m not so sure I’ll be able to say that when I walk out of the pub tonight.

  Everyone’s finished eating, plates cleared from the table and replaced with second or third drinks. Talk of Cade’s restaurant and Winter and Jase bullshitting about website-something-or-other and Tessa recalling Haley’s latest mishap goes on around me, but I can’t pay attention. I can barely listen or offer any sort of input, because my words don’t work. Adam has no problem, though. His velvety smooth voice, rich and deep, has filtered through all the other noise in the pub and planted itself inside me when everything else has gotten lost amidst the cacophony of sound around me.

  But it’s not just his voice that has me squirming in my seat like a whore in church. Oh, no. That wouldn’t be cruel enough for the devil himself. Nope, he’s continued his torment of looking at me, too. And not just looking, all casual like, taking peeks here and there. No, he’s looking. His gaze is as hot as the sun, sweeping over me like he wants to devour me right here on the table, and he doesn’t give a shit if our friends watch as he does it. I know that gaze. I remember that gaze. It’s the same one he used on me that night in December. When I stripped for him. When he took me against my front door.

  My nipples have been saluting the entire table for the past twenty minutes, and my panties are a lost cause. All from his voice and those looks. It’s like he’s done some kind of crazy voodoo magic on me. He’s dickmatized me.

  And that’s really goddamn sad, considering I haven’t seen his dick in nearly half a year.

  When his eyes lock on mine again, I can’t take it anymore and stand abruptly, my chair scraping loudly across the floor. Conversation halts as five pairs of eyes snap to me.

  “Uh, just gotta tinkle.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder and spin away from the table, pretending I don’t see Tessa’s questioning look, and head to the back of the restaurant, finally escaping into the dark hallway housing the restrooms. It’s still pretty early—the lights have dimmed around the pub, but it hasn’t yet filled up with the late-night crowd—so I don’t have to wade through throngs of people to get to my refuge. And, thankfully, I don’t have to wait in a long-ass line for the single-stall bathroom.

  I shut and lock the door behind me, then lean against it, taking several deep breaths to get myself under control. This pull I feel toward Adam is unacceptable and so atypical I barely recognize myself. If I want a guy, I have him. Sometimes more than once, but never for more than a week. And once I’ve had my fill, I’m done. I move on. They get on my nerves, all their little flaws building up until it’s all I can see, and I’m over it. Over them.

  Why can’t it be like that with Adam? I’ve already had him—more than once—so why do I want him again? Why do I want him still?

  Regardless of the why, I have to figure out a way to get past it, to deal with this unending attraction somehow, because until he finishes up what he needs to with his parents’ business and heads back to Colorado, these nights where the six of us are together are going to happen more than I’m comfortable with.

  Pushing off the door, I head to the sink and run a paper towel under the cold water, then press it against my flushed face. I look like I’ve just run a marathon. Or had marathon sex.

  God, why does he get to me so much?

  I’ve had my fair share of guys, and some of them even knew what they were doing. But I’ve never—never—felt this insatiable need before, like fire burning under my skin. I’ve never been so thirsty I didn’t think there was the possibility of that thirst ever being quenched. I’ve never wanted like this. Not even when I was seventeen and in love. Not even with the guy I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with before he crushed those plans right in front of my eyes.

  “That’s enough of that,” I mutter and toss out the paper towel. My open-weaved, lightweight sweater hangs off one shoulder as I adjust my skirt. I wish I’d worn something else. Jeans and a T-shirt, maybe. Something I’d wear while running to the store instead of what I wear when I’m looking to hook up.

  Because I’m not.

  I roll my eyes at myself, because even I don’t buy my lie, and reach for the doorknob to hea
d back out to my doom. The darkness of the hallway looms as I pull open the door, but I don’t even cross the threshold before there’s a big, male body in front of me. I don’t have time to react before hands are around my waist, pushing me back into the bathroom. My heart jumps into my throat for half a second before the familiar scent fills my nose—citrus and sandalwood—and a whole different kind of fear grips me.

  Lashing out the way I do best—with my mouth—I pull out of his grasp and turn around, my back to the door, as I snap, “This is the ladies’ room, Adam. Did you lose some parts since I last saw you?” And I don’t want to, try to stop myself, because I know what a bad idea it is, but my gaze still drops to the front of his jeans. And, nope, he’s definitely not missing any parts. I can make out the outline of his obviously hard cock straining against soft denim, and my mouth waters. My mouth actually fucking waters.

  When I lift my eyes to meet his, he doesn’t even dignify my accusation with a response, just raises a single eyebrow. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  There may have been a few times this past week when I ducked out of Tessa and Jason’s place once I heard Adam was on his way over. Or maybe I just had shit to do. I scoff and cross my arms. “I can’t be avoiding someone when I don’t care one way or another if I see them.”

  He takes a step closer to me, and I flatten my back against the door. “Oh, you care, Paige.”

  “I do not.” Apparently being in his vicinity turns me into a mouthy teenager.

  His eyes lighten in amusement, the side of his mouth quirking up, and he’s so fucking smug, I want to smack the look right off his face.

  “If you don’t care, why are you hiding in the bathroom?”

  “I’m not hiding. Did you miss the part where I said I had to pee?”

  “Uh huh.” His voice is taunting, and it makes me want to kick him in the shin. And then maybe bite him. On the ass.

  He takes another step toward me, and God, how did I forget how big he is? Even with my heels adding three inches to my already tall five-foot-ten I have to look up to see him. I’m used to looking most guys in the eye, and I like it that way. Puts me on a level playing field.

  But not with him.

  My eyes don’t listen to my brain when I tell them to focus and instead decide to take a leisurely path up his body, feasting on his defined arms and wide shoulders encased in that red Henley, a couple of the buttons at the top open and hinting at the skin underneath it. Skin I know the exact texture and taste of. That night we were together, his face was smooth, freshly shaven, but not now. Now, there’s a shadow of stubble gracing his jaw, and I want to know what it’d feel like against my neck. Between my thighs.

  His lips are full, the bottom pouty and too lush on his angular, masculine face, but I love it. I love how it adds some softness to all his hard edges. Separately, his features are nearly perfect—square jaw, straight nose, full lips, and high cheekbones. By all accounts, he should be a pretty boy, but he’s not. Somehow, when you put everything together, he has this…hardness to him. This mystery about him that makes me want him all the more.

  God, he is tasty.

  He takes another step, and I can feel the warmth emanating off him. I want to rub myself all over him like a cat in heat. If I don’t get out of this bathroom right the fuck now, I might actually do it.

  “Is this because you were too drunk that night? Did I take advantage of you?” His voice is low and gruff, his eyes surprisingly sincere.

  That isn’t at all what I was expecting. Does he really think that? I meet his stare, take in his penetrating gaze, and uncertainty looks back at me. This is the first time I’ve ever see him be anything but confident. And it would be so easy to say yes, to let myself off the hook of having had sex with him because I actually wanted it. But he looks so torn up about that being the case that I can’t bring myself to, especially when I was completely cognizant of everything that happened that night. Especially when I wanted it as much as he did.

  “No.” My voice is hoarse, the single syllable coming out in a throaty near-moan. “I wasn’t and you didn’t.”

  Another step, and now he’s crowding me against the wall next to the door, one of his feet between my parted legs, his hard thigh pressed against my pussy and his hard cock pressed against my hip. I have to force myself to stay upright. To not let my head tip back to the wall, to not open my mouth and ask him to push harder against me—or worse, ask him to replace his leg with his cock or his fingers.

  He leans into me, his nose skimming my jaw until his lips brush my ear, and I force myself to hold my breath so I don’t moan. “And now? Are you too drunk now?”

  Needing something to steady myself, I reach up and grip his biceps, the muscles hard and unforgiving under my fingers, and that was possibly the worst idea I’ve had all night. Because now all I want to do is pull him closer. Before my brain can signal to my hands what a bad idea it would be, I tighten my fingers around him, and then his hand is on the inside of my thigh. His fingers make a slow path up, moving under my skirt, and God. God. In about two-point-five seconds, he’s going to know exactly how wet he’s made me, exactly how much I want him. Exactly how full of shit I am. And I’ll die of mortification.

  If I don’t first die from whatever the girl form of blue balls is.

  But he doesn’t trace the leg of my panties, doesn’t feel the soaked lace cupping me. He stops just short of exactly where I want him, and I realize he’s waiting for an answer. I should tell him yes. I should play the drunk girl card, because I know he’d step back. He’d walk out of here without a second thought, because Adam isn’t the kind of guy who takes unless you’re explicitly offering.

  I should tell him yes, but somehow I shake my head and that’s enough for him. Finally he closes that last inch of space, his fingers slipping under the material of my panties until he’s running them along my slit. A low, satisfied sound leaves his throat when he finds how wet I am, and I was wrong. Mortification is the last thing I feel as he traces circles around my clit. The only thing I feel is overwhelming desire and the need for more.

  We’re in the bathroom of a public place, and our friends are twenty feet outside this door. I shouldn’t be with him at all, because I’ve already been there, done that. And I don’t do repeat performances. Not like this.

  But instead of pushing him away, I tilt my hips up, a moan ripping from my throat when he takes my unasked plea and fills me with two fingers, pumping them in and out in a slow, agonizing pace.

  “I need to ask you something.” How is his voice so perfectly controlled when I feel like I’m about to come undone?

  “Now?” I pant, eyes closed, as I grind myself on his hand trying to get friction on my clit, not at all ashamed of how greedy I am. I’m past that point, and now all I care about is the finish, the release.

  “Yes, now. Why don’t you want me to move into your building?”

  It takes me a couple tries to get out the words because his fingers are so good, but I finally do. “Because I don’t like you.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “I don’t—” I gasp out a moan when he dips his head, his teeth scraping against the juncture where my neck meets my shoulder, and I clench around his fingers. I swallow and try again. “I don’t care what you believe. I’m telling you that I don’t like you.”

  He places an open mouthed kiss below my ear, sucking the flesh there, and I arch into him. How does he remember all my weaknesses? Against my skin, he says, “Your pussy seems to like me just fine.”

  “She’s a very bad judge of character.”

  He hums deep in his throat, and I feel the vibrations of his chest against my own, my nipples hardening even further. “I think she’s just attracted to men she knows can get her off like she’s never gotten off before.”

  I dig my fingernails into his cloth-covered skin. “God, you’re a cocky—” He finally presses his palm to my clit, and I nearly see stars.

  “I am cocky. Know why?
” He puts his lips right next to my ear, so the smoothness of them brushes against the shell with every word. “Because even though we only spent one night together, I still remember exactly what it takes to get you off. I know exactly what it takes to make you writhe, to make you moan, to make you scream. I know if I tug your top down and pull your nipple into my mouth, you’ll arch your back, trying to get closer. I know if I curl my fingers and hit that spot deep inside you, you’ll moan low in your throat.” As if to prove his point, he does just that. I try to hold it in, clamp my lips shut as if I can stop the sound from sheer force of will alone, but it comes out anyway. His lips curve against the skin below my ear. “And I know if I press my thumb hard on your clit right now, you’ll come. So, yeah, I’m a little cocky. Now, do you want to finish or should I keep playing with you?”

  “I hate you.”

  He pulls back, his eyebrows raised and his fingers frozen inside me. “Finish or play, Paige?”

  I groan and latch my fingers in his hair to tug him closer to me. “You are such an asshole. Now make me come.”

  “You didn’t say please.”

  Fuck this. And fuck him. I don’t need an orgasm that bad. I can get one just as easily with my fingers or B.O.B. at home. I don’t get the chance to push him away, though, before he’s doing exactly what he said he would to get me off.

  And he’s right.

  One hard press of his thumb on my clit and I’m flying, my mouth open in a silent moan as my head falls forward, my forehead pressed against his chest while I ride out the best orgasm I’ve had since forever.

  Since him.

  The quick thud thud thud of his heart beats against my forehead, and it’s a small consolation that he’s as worked up as I am. When the sound returns to my ears and breath fills my lungs, I pull back, pushing against his chest to get some space. His fingers slip from inside me, and he gives me some room to breathe, but not much. Not enough.