It Happened on Love Street

by Lia Riley

  “This isn’t funny,” he bit out.

  “It’s a little funny.” She snorted. “And that’s some truly terrible alliteration.”

  She jumped at his growl. “Go ahead and think of Everland as a joke, but it’s my home. I was born here, I’ll die here, and in between those two milestones, I have to live here, preferably without everyone’s nose in my business. Hey!” He glanced to the window, pressing a finger to his lips. “Hear that?”

  She paused with a slight frown. There was a subtle scratch on the weatherboards. “Oh, that’s nothing,” she said waving him off.

  “Doesn’t sound like nothing to me.” His eyes were wild.

  Of course the first guy she was attracted to in a year had a crazy streak. “Trust me. The first time I heard those scritchy-scratchy sounds I freaked, but it’s one of the old rosebushes brushing up against the side of the—”

  Rhett tackle-hugged her to the ground before she could finish her sentence. Even though he hit first to break the fall, it was disorienting to go from standing up to straddling a hard male body in less than a breath.

  “Are you insane!” Her nose pressed into the side of his neck. Up close the notes of wood sap and spice were even headier. She wasn’t sure what made her more outraged, the fact he’d sacked her like a quarterback or the pesky detail that up close and personal he smelled even better. “Let me go.”

  “Shhhhh.” He lifted his head and listened intently. “You never know who’s watching,” he muttered. “After all, why settle for a caption contest when there can be documented proof of us together, in your house, after dark?”

  She must have hit her head in the fall. That was the only explanation for why she was gripped by a sudden, overwhelming desire to lick his Adam’s apple. “Remind me to make you a tinfoil hat, Mr. Paranoid.”

  Using him as a human mattress wasn’t unpleasant, and that was part of the problem. A shiver moved through her. It made her feel strange, and not a little trembly. “The only thing out there is an overgrown rosebush. You’re jumping at shadows.”

  “You don’t understand people in this town,” he fired back. “They’re relentless when it comes to gossip.”

  “Let me tell you what I understand even less.” Besides the whole urge to lick his neck.

  “What?” he asked, dryly.

  “You.” She bit the tip of her tongue, because that little word was the equivalent of an iceberg. It didn’t look like much, bobbing there, alone on the surface, but dive below and more met the eye.

  He shifted his weight, but that meant his hips rolled over hers, their stomachs pressed together. She wasn’t the only one breathing fast. Her core tensed as a tremble ran through her legs. Hard to say if the realization was comforting or nerve-wracking.

  Maybe both.

  “This was a mistake, coming.” He stilled, as if registering what he’d done for the first time, his ears deepening to a fiery red. “I should go.”

  “Not so fast.” The fact she could make this guy blush would be cute if she wasn’t so furious, with herself, with him, with this whole situation. “You reached out to me, remember? Barged into my house, into my peace and quiet, into my life, into all my thoughts. Do you have any idea how that feels? Freaking confusing.”

  He jerked as if struck with an undercut. That gave her the opportunity to roll free, to scramble to her knees, get some much-needed distance. He followed suit.

  “You’re the only one confused?” He sat back on his feet, voice taut, almost strangled. “Is that what you think?”

  “Let’s review the facts.” Her chest heaved. “First you hand-deliver me rocky road and say you like my smile, then the next day barely look in my direction at the dog park. You found me a job, rescued me from public humiliation, tell me life stories, and stare like you want to eat me, but freak out when we’re spotted in your car. I’m sorry, am I missing something? Your signals are more tangled than a bunch of old Christmas lights.”

  “You’re right.” His simple agreement took wind from her indignant sails. “Absolutely right. But understand, this isn’t New York. Small towns are different—”

  “Stop. Stop right there.” She held up a hand. “Don’t think for a second that you can mansplain to me about small towns. I grew up in a place with half the population of Everland, actually less. My senior class took their photo on a log. A single log. So I get the dynamics. Everyone knows everything. Yada-yada. But what I don’t know is why you’re so paranoid.”

  “Because…” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “If the Back Fence gets wind of us spending time together, then it’s game over. My life would be back in the public eye. I worked damn hard to create an island that’s mine and mine alone. No drama. No gossip. Nothing to see. So do I like you? Yeah. Of course. How could I not? But I don’t want anyone to know.”

  She reeled from the impact of his words, trying to absorb the aftershocks. “Wow, you have a way of making a woman feel pretty…pretty bad.” She might have a bruised ego, but she’d never let him know. In fact he should leave, now. Better to cut the string on this strange connection fast, before she got too attached. “You know? You’re right. You should go. Don’t let the door hit you.”

  “Wait. Fuck. Pardon my French, but this is coming out all wrong.” He inhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more wildly that before. “I’m not used to talking to women.”

  Her brows arched. “No kidding.” Still, her curiosity wasn’t killed, only maimed. How exactly was he going to climb out of this hole?

  “Let me try again. I don’t do relationships.”

  “O-kay. Glad you dragged me out of bed for that news flash.” Did the Brontë sisters ever have to deal with this shit? Probably. That’s why they were so full of angst.

  He gave a one-shoulder shrug, the cords of his neck drawn tight. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

  “At least that makes two of us.” She crossed her legs, her tone professional, businesslike. “So you are kind of sort of attracted to me. And maybe—hypothetically—I’m kind of sort of attracted to you. Good thing for you my time in Everland has an expiration date. It’s not like I’m staying long enough to feed the gossip mill.”

  “Hold that thought.” He walked his fingers over the floor, halting an inch from her leg. “You’re attracted to me?” Stiffness made his voice rigid.

  She walked her own fingers toward his, almost but not quite a touch. “I think you’re hypothetically sexy.” Did her tone sound as dry as her mouth felt?

  “Here’s an idea.” He nudged his finger on hers. “Say we—and this is purely hypothetical—enjoyed the…ahem…pleasure of each other’s company in the privacy of our homes.”

  “Hypothetically, kept it casual and under the radar?” She nudged back. “When I leave, there’s no heartbreak, no drama, and no one is the wiser.”

  “Interesting theory?” He reached out, his hand skimming her thigh. “Or recipe for disaster?”

  Tingles shot up her leg. His skin was warm, those fingers very big and very male. “I have enough to worry about with my future. If you don’t need me for more than a little here and now? I might be persuaded. Hypothetically.”

  He moved his hand from her knee to the back of her neck. The touch melted her faster than an ice cube in the July sun.

  “What are you thinking?” she murmured.

  His deep blue gaze locked on hers and there it came again, that curious sensation of floating and drowning. “That I’d like to hypothetically kiss you.”

  A sudden roaring filled her ears, a whoosh of blood. “Well, there’s only one way to test a hypothesis.”

  Slowly, oh so slowly, he dipped forward. His lips didn’t settle on hers like she expected. Instead, he kissed the center of her forehead, softly, experimentally. A tremble rocked through him.

  The evening air was sultry, no hint of chill. The idea that she shook this steadfast man sent a shiver of need through the join of her thighs, a throbbing shudder that sw
elled to an ache as he peppered a light trail of kisses down her temple, then moved lower. He took his sweet time on her cheeks, treating her as something to savor, a delicious dessert you didn’t want to inhale in one bite. Tension spread through her body, pulling tighter and tighter, her belly doing fluttery dips and dives.

  When he finally reached her lips, it seemed reasonable to expect that the kiss would be as soft as the others. Silly. Because Rhett was full of surprises. He didn’t hold back, his tongue was greedy, insistent, and hungry. Their teeth banged together. A chair tipped over. They crashed against a table leg, sent it screeching across the floor.

  “In theory, you’re a good kisser,” she gasped, tracing her lower lip with her tongue. The skin was puffy, aching.

  “Let me experiment a bit more. The initial results are promising.” He coaxed her chin up and her own tongue slid deeper as she reciprocated. “Fuck,” he groaned, voice hoarse, tasting her in long, leisurely strokes.

  “Do you mean that abstractly or—” Her giggle turned into a hitched groan as her back bowed. He nibbled her shoulder. Those big, strong hands were…everywhere. All at once. In her hair. Against her small of her back. Under her nightie. Toying with the thin, silky strings. The savage need in his face suggested that not only did he want to take the sex quickly, but dirty, too. That bulge wasn’t a study in subtlety.

  Her thighs clenched with anticipation, her hips twisting in shameless circles.

  “This okay?” He brushed a hair off her cheek, his mouth curled ruefully even as his eyes burned.

  “Okay, it’s conclusive. You’re quite the kisser.” Confident, experienced, and just aggressive enough to spin her head.

  His mouth curved into a wicked arc. “Must be all those nights I spent practicing on my pillow.”

  And when his lips returned to hers, the tension in her shoulders eased. For once, she was right where she belonged.

  Chapter Sixteen

  This situation would end in disaster, and yet Rhett was moronic enough to march into the storm. With his internal logic crushed to dust, all sorts of wild thoughts flew free, like if he went about this right, maybe Pepper would be there tomorrow, and the night after and after and…

  “Jesus.” He slid his hands under her cotton nightie, and his fingers explored the lacey edge of a pair of tiny panties. Her hips were cool in contrast to the heat of her secret skin. She gasped when he sucked her earlobe. He had her right where he wanted, but the joke was on him because if he was an island, she was a wave, washing away his rules, his need for self-control.

  The flimsy strings of her briefs snapped between his fingers. “Shit.” He slapped her underwear on the kitchen table. Red lace? Shit. “I can’t do this.”

  “You’re kidding.” She tugged up one of her straps, half-undressed, wholly exposed. Her eyes were huge, bright, shining like a sun-shaft through clouds. A man could blind himself to common sense if he wasn’t careful.

  “Not here. Not beneath a damn kitchen table. I don’t want to take advantage and—”

  “Nope.” The sun disappeared. “You stop.” She grabbed a bunch of his sweatshirt and yanked. “Don’t feed me BS lines, Rhett Valentine, not when you’ve broken my underwear.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said helplessly.

  “Objection.” She held up a finger. “Leading the witness. The truth is that you don’t want to hurt yourself.” She traced his cheek’s clenched muscle, staring like if she strained hard enough she could glimpse his soul. He averted his gaze.

  “Whoever you were with last did a heck of a number on you, huh?”

  “That was a long time ago.” His voice was a pained whisper, a voice so raw it was almost unrecognizable as him. “Ancient history.”

  “You miss her?” she asked carefully, too casually.

  “No.” He met her gaze dead on. The best way to erase any flicker of doubt was to stop the bullshit and give the truth. “But…I do miss feeling.”

  Her eyes softened as the seconds passed. Finally she seemed to reach an internal decision. “So why not start again?” She plucked the string of his hoodie. “By feeling me.”

  The lightning-quick flash of relief shocked his heart back onto beating. “You’re gorgeous, you know that, right?”

  She ducked, her hair falling like a soft curtain, blocking her face.

  That wouldn’t do.

  “Hey.” He reached and pushed the soft tendrils back. “If we do this, I intend to do a lot of looking. That’s the deal. I look when I want, where I want, up close and personal.” He moved his attention to her neck, loving the way she hissed when he traced his tongue over her pulse point, sucking the trace of salt off her damp skin.

  “So we’re doing this?” she groaned, fingers locking into his hair, pulling him closer. “A secret summer fling? Right here, right now, not in theory, but in point of fact? End it in a clean break?”

  “Yeah.” He tore himself away and glanced around the cramped galley kitchen. “But not here.” His chest rumbled with a deep, primitive reverberation. “When I get you naked for the first time it’s going to be in a bed.” He forced himself to admit the hidden truth. She deserved that much. “The way I’ve been dreaming about since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  * * *

  What was life? Nothing made sense. Ten minutes ago Pepper was engrossed in the gloomy English moors, now she was getting whisked off to her bedroom. She framed Rhett’s head between her hands, his scruff tickling her palms. “One more idea.”

  “Got to say, I’m liking our brainstorming sessions.” He settled her onto her bed while doing something interesting with his mouth to her nipple through her cotton nightgown.

  “They’re Nobel Prize–worthy. Oh God!” A swoosh went through her stomach as he worked his hand over her breast, plumping the skin until it was taut and aching. He skimmed again. More pressure this time. More everything. Then lower. Lower. Lower.

  “Ah. God.” She licked her lips, her vision dimming at the perimeters.

  “You doing okay down there?” There was a dark purr beneath the gentle teasing. No skimming this time. Pressure. Firm, circling sweet, sweet, pressure. Tension built as he massaged her in an unhurried and relaxed rhythm.

  She brushed fingers over her lower lip and let a trembling moan of pleasure suffice an answer. Hot diggity, he had skills. Most guys went at it like they were sandpapering a wall or pressing a panic button.

  He nuzzled the side of her neck. “You smell incredible, you know that, right?” His grin grew wicked. “Do you taste that delicious?”

  He slid down and where to look? Would everything appear magnified with the glasses? Or fog up or, oh! He tossed the frames on the bed and pressed firm, the flat of his tongue swiping away any worries.

  His tongue speared into her wet heat as he pierced her with the heat in his gaze. He wanted to do it. That much was clear, as he closed his eyes and nuzzled in, all insistent pressure, taking until she had no more to give, reduced to slicked sweat and churning thighs, hips tensing on the edge of release, body begging, begging for more.

  He jerked back abruptly, his breathing ragged.

  Her stomach quivered madly but she knew the drill. Here came the part where he wanted his. She swallowed a lump of disappointment because the Big Bang was right there, hovering out of reach with the heat of ten thousand suns. But asking was embarrassing. Asking was vulnerable. Asking was admitting to wanting, to craving, to being helpless, weak and exposed.

  To needing.

  “I’m selfish.” He nudged her legs further apart, milking her tender sweet spot. “Wanted to see your face.”

  “Oh. Okay.” That’s it. Her heart was going to burst. At least she’d die happy. “I assumed you were done.”

  Laughter rolled through his chest. “Hell no. I could do this all night.” He leaned back in, using his lips, tongue, and the lightest love bites to show her hypersensitive knot of flesh that he was a man of his word.

  She lost track of how many times she
broke apart as he pushed his fingers in and out, keeping the perfect, rhythmic suction on her clit. All the cheesy magazines in the grocery store checkout lanes touted how-to headlines about attaining multiple orgasms. Pepper never felt greedy in that department, one did her fine, and anyway she normally took over from the guy anyway, relying on her own handiwork with customary efficiency.

  When she finally returned to her senses, or whatever was left of them, he spoke.

  “Pepper.” He made her name sound like a life raft. “Thank you.”

  She half sat, attempting to rearrange herself and realized quickly that was a pointless endeavor. Her nightgown top slunk around her waist and the bottom skirt hiked to her hips. She shimmied free. “I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

  He scrubbed his hand through his hair, making the ends stand out. “It’s been a long time.” He cleared his throat. “Probably not cool to admit that.”

  “Yeah. Consider my illusions shattered,” she said. He didn’t look tragic though, or needy. Simply relieved.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m making this weird.”

  “Not weirder than the situation already is.”

  He was quiet a moment. “I’m not always the nicest guy.”

  “But you’re a good man.” She reached out. “And if you want to be a bad boy tonight, I won’t tell.” He’d knocked her reservation loose. Her inner sex kitten prowled, ready for banter and a lot more bedding. Why did people refer to this feeling as an itch? Nothing remotely scratchy happened inside her. This was a throbbing, rich pulse.

  He gripped her hips, his fingers branding her skin. “Let’s find a better use for that smart mouth.”

  His tongue swept through the seam of her lips, demanding, claiming, left her twisting, writhing. Every indiscernible plea met with a ruthless chuckle, a deep, smooth rumble that fed the fire lapping between her legs. His hands roamed her silhouette, as if he needed to memorize her outline for future sculptures. No dip or flare escaped attention.

  He stood and stripped in a steady, assured motion. Normally she glanced away for this part, got busy studying sheet wrinkles or the back of her hands. Anything to avoid the awkward wang unveil. But tonight was about one thing—getting her perv on. Might as well embrace it. Keep her gaze lasered to the lean, hard lines of his body. The typography tattoo on the forearm.