One Hot Roomie

by Durand, Anna

  He rolls his eyes, huffing. "No, I mean football. You Americans have a bloody stupid idea of what that word means."

  "And you Brits are so damn arrogant about your sports. I mean, it's only a game."

  "Only a game?" He gapes at me like I've suggested the sun is nothing more than a forty-watt light bulb. "Don't tell Kyle you said that. He worships American football and is obsessed with stock car racing."

  "Yeah, I know. That's why I've never dated Kyle, besides the fact he's my best friend's brother."

  I prop my feet on the coffee table, crossing my ankles.

  Reese rakes his gaze all the way down my body to my feet and back up again. "Please tell me you were joking about being a virgin. You said that to stop me from attacking you, right?"

  "Not completely. I am a virgin."

  I've had orgasms, lots and lots of them, but only my hands have ever touched me down there. Sometimes I really want to pop that cherry, but men are such dicks. Most of them. The good ones are, of course, already taken.

  "Does Elena know that?" Reese asks.

  "That I'm a virgin? Yeah. My family knows too, since we talk about pretty much everything."

  His lips curve into a wicked smirk. "Do you want to stay a virgin? Because I'm the best first time you'll ever have."

  "Not exactly humble, though, are you?" I lean back and shake my head. "Sorry, I've taken a vow to stay untouched until I meet the man I'm going to marry."

  That's baloney, since I've decided to get laid ASAP, but I'm trying to discourage Reese.

  Uh, why am I doing that? He's hot, I'm horny, and we're both adults.

  But he's also the brother of my best friend's fiancé. My brain keeps telling me that makes it wrong somehow, but my body thinks that's bullshit.

  He sighs with immense sarcasm at my claim I'm waiting for marriage. "What a shame."

  "The right guy is worth waiting for."

  "Hmm." He braces his elbow on the sofa's back, raising his hand to rest his chin on it. "Who is your perfect man?"

  "Don't know. Someone who"---doesn't care about my money or my pedigree---"treats me with respect and love. A man who adores me. You know, the kind who always considers my feelings and does whatever he can to make me feel appreciated and loved."

  "You want a gay man, then?"

  "No." I give him a fake scowl. "I want a good man."

  "I'm very good. Ask any of the girls I've been with."

  "Sex isn't part of the formula for a good man. I mean, I want to have sex with the guy I marry, but that's not the most important thing."

  Reese studies me like he's trying to figure out what kind of alien species I belong to, his eyes faintly squinted and his lips faintly puckered. "You really are barking mad."

  "Excuse me? I'm quirky, not crazy."

  "Oh, don't get me wrong." He scoots a little closer, his voice lowering to the sexiest rumble I've ever heard. "I'd love to get a leg over with you. And I guarantee you'll be glad you gave up your innocence to become a sinner with me. I do sin better than anyone."

  He is cute. A real hunk of man candy. And he smells soooo good. Is that cologne or aftershave? The spicy scent of it wafted over me when he leaned in, and now I can't stop smelling it. My nether regions love that aroma, and how close his lips are to mine. I'm getting slick and warm and deliciously achy.

  "Thank you for the offer," I force myself to say. "But I'm good the way I am."

  "Yes, I agree. You are perfect, lush---" He stops short of calling me Luscious again and frowns a little. "Is it all right if I call you darling? Or is that too close to the word I'm not allowed to use?"

  Oh what the hell. It's not like I'll jump his bones if he calls me that word again.

  "Go on," I say, waving my hand like I'm a queen granting my royal permission. "Call me Luscious."

  He grins. "Thank you."

  "Whatever."

  The doorbell rings, and Reese springs off the sofa to get our food. He returns a minute later with a large pizza box and sets it on the coffee table, then flips the lid up.

  His brows draw together over his nose. "They must've bollocksed up the order."

  I shimmy closer to the sofa's edge, rubbing my hands together and humming with hungry delight as I lay eyes on our snack. "Mm, yummy. They got it exactly right."

  "But this isn't pizza." Reese lifts a slice, eying it like teeth might erupt out of it to bite his nose off. "No cheese. No meat. It's some sort of pastry crust with what looks like applesauce all over it."

  "Yep. It's an apple strudel pizza." I grab a slice and take a bite, moaning because it tastes sooooooo good. Cinnamon and sugar and apples, all mushed into one warm, gooey slice of food heaven. I close my eyes while I chew, moaning some more because, damn, I'm so hungry and this is like an orgasm in my mouth. After I swallow my large bite, I say, "Try some. It's the most delicious thing I've ever put in my mouth."

  Reese says nothing. He sits there with a slice of gooey goodness in his hand, but he's not staring at the pizza. He's staring at me.

  "What's wrong?" I ask. "Don't you like strudel?"

  "I love it," he says, his voice huskier and deeper, the sound of it shivering heat through me. "But I'd rather devour you."

  "No sex. Remember? I'm staying a virgin until---"

  "Then you shouldn't consume dessert pizza like you're about to climax." He sets down his slice and inches closer to me. "A bloke only has so much willpower, you know."

  I gaze into his hooded eyes for a long, long moment, struck by the intensity of his desire for me. No guy has ever looked at me that way. Suddenly, I want to toss the pizza and mount him right here on the sofa. Reese Dixon might prove to be the biggest temptation I've ever laid eyes on, and I'm having trouble remembering why I need to discourage him.

  Twenty-eight years old and still untouched. Maybe a night of hot, meaningless sex with Reese Dixon is what I need to help me unwind after nine months of living with an Ecuadorian family.

  Sleeping with Reese wouldn't be simple sex, though, would it? His family and my friend make it complicated as hell.

  In my mind, I mutter a thousand nasty curses as I leap off the sofa and retrieve a plate and a can of beer from the kitchen. While Reese watches me with a curious expression, I slap three pieces of strudel pizza onto the plate and march back to my room. Okay, maybe I'm sashaying. Like I said, that's my normal way of moving, and I can't help it.

  Though I might be exaggerating it a little to torture Reese.

  Chapter Three

  Reese

  Arden is gone when I wake up in the morning. Her bedroom door is open, and her bed is neatly made, but she's not there. I wander into the kitchen and find a note taped to the refrigerator. It says, "Out getting breakfast. You're welcome." I can't decide if she's saying "you're welcome" because she's bringing breakfast home for me too or if she wrote that strictly because she's off her rocker.

  I sort of like her insanity. It's adorable, in a very strange and slightly disturbing way.

  While I wait for Arden to bring food---I assume that was the meaning of her note, not that she's out eating at a cafe while I'm starving to death here---I have a shower and then ring my brother Chance. Since his almost wife and almost brother-in-law got me into this mess, I decide he should be the one to fix it. Find me another flat, I plan to tell him.

  But as I'm scrolling down my list of contacts to find Chance's number, I reflect on last night and the sexy little American dressed in nothing but her underwear. Maybe I don't want to move. Yet. Not until I see if I can get Arden naked and make that hot body sweat and writhe. She's a virgin and my almost sister-in-law's best friend. Does that make it wrong to seduce her?

  Probably. But what if...

  I growl at myself, because even I'm not that much of an arse, and tap my phone's screen to dial Chance's number.

  "What's wrong?" Chance asks, his tone giving away the fact he's smirking from the safety of our parents' house in the English
countryside, too far away for me to tackle him to the ground for being cheeky.

  "Nothing's wrong," I say. "Didn't Elena tell you about the Linwood family blunder?"

  "Yes, and I assumed you would be a gentleman and get yourself to a hotel."

  "Why would you assume that? It's me you're talking to. Reese, not Dane the boring and uptight brother. It's me, the fun one in the family."

  "Right. What was I thinking?" Chance sighs. "Please don't harass Arden. I haven't met her yet, but Elena loves the girl to bits. If you do your usual shag-and-run routine, my fiancée will not be pleased."

  "What sort of dick do you think I am? I never run. I kiss them goodbye and walk out the door at a normal pace."

  "Elena told me Arden is, ah, not like the other women you've been with."

  I drop onto the sofa. "Do you mean because she's barmy, or because she's a virgin?"

  "Both." Chance pauses. "Arden told you she's a virgin?"

  "Yes." I relate last night's surprise to Chance and finish up by saying, "So you can see why I want to stay here. She's a charming nutter and the sexiest girl I've ever seen."

  "Leave her alone, Reese."

  I hate it when he uses his big brother voice. I feel like a schoolboy who got caught stealing girls' bras and shrinking them in the clothes dryer.

  And yes, I've done that. Not in ages, though.

  But if I shrink Arden's knickers, they'll be almost nonexistent. Hmm... That's not a half bad idea.

  "Don't do it," Chance chastises.

  "What?"

  He huffs, part humor, part big brother bossiness. "Whatever it is you're thinking of doing. Keep your randy paws off Arden."

  "Fine, I will. But don't blame me if the girl tears my clothes off."

  "That happens to you all the time, doesn't it? Women going into a sexual frenzy the second they see you. I should call the New York Police Department and warn them of the danger."

  "Ha-ha." I grumble, because I know Chance is right and I should keep my randy paws off Arden Clover Pesti. Christ, even her name is oddly arousing. "You trusted me enough to let Elena lend me her apartment, so trust me not to deflower her best friend."

  "All right. I'm sure you can't get into too much trouble in two weeks. Then, you'll be in New Hampshire for the wedding, where I can see you."

  "Yes, yes, you've done your bloody annoying big brother thing." I hear someone fiddling with the lock on the apartment door and sit forward, feeling bizarrely excited at the prospect of seeing Arden again. "Got to go. See you in New Hampshire, and kiss Elena for me."

  "I will."

  Though Chance can't see it, I smirk as I say, "Make it a good, deep kiss. From me."

  "Bugger off, Reese."

  He hangs up on me.

  I still hear noises from the door, like Arden is having trouble getting it unlocked, so I rush over there and open the door.

  She stumbles into me, her left arm laden with two eco-friendly reusable canvas sacks, while with her right hand she grips the door key. The sharp end of the key stabs me in the gut, but it doesn't really hurt. Not much, anyway. Her entire body careens into me, her breasts mashed against my chest and the top of her head nudging my chin. The shopping sacks seem about to fall out of her grasp, so I hug her to me tighter, strictly to stop her from dropping the sacks.

  Yes, that's why I hold on to her luscious little body. For the safety of her groceries.

  But she feels so good, so warm and soft but with ample muscle tone. And she smells incredible too. Not like perfume or some other scented whatever, but like it's just the way this woman smells. And it makes my cock wake up.

  I ease her away from me and take the sacks. "Are you all right?"

  "Me?" she says, staring at me with a vaguely dazed expression. "I stabbed you. Are you okay?"

  "You stabbed me with a key, and I don't think those are usually fatal." I smile, and because I'm holding her sacks in one arm, I can pat my belly when I add, "See? Right as rain."

  "I've never understood that saying. What's so perfectly right about rain?"

  "Don't know." I nod toward the kitchen. "Am I taking your groceries there?"

  "Yes, please. Thank you for carrying them."

  "I might be a louse, but I'm not rude."

  She shuts the door and follows me into the kitchen, where I set the sacks on the counter. Arden starts taking items out and lining them up on the counter in neat little rows.

  Leaning against the counter, I can't help watching her and smiling. "Are you obsessive-compulsive?"

  "No. I like neatness, that's all. Why be messy? There's no purpose to it."

  "You won't like living with me, then. I toss my clothes everywhere and never touch a feather duster."

  "Uh-huh. I can see that about you." She flashes me a playful smile, but then turns serious. "Why did you call yourself a louse?"

  "It was a joke. But I do love women, and I usually leave as soon as we've both come."

  "You mean you screw them, pat them on the head, and walk out the door."

  That's almost exactly what I said to Chance, but without the head-patting. How does this girl I've known for five minutes understand that about me? Maybe she receives microwave thought transmissions.

  She raises her brows, like she's expecting a response to her assessment of me.

  And I suddenly feel itchy all over. "Yes. I kiss them, then I walk out."

  "Why?"

  I start to scratch my arm but stop myself. Trying not to look at her, I pretend ignorance. "Why what?"

  Evasion is always a good choice when a woman pokes her charming little nose into your affairs. Not that I've had any affairs. It's strictly been come-and-go for me. And I don't mean "come" as in walking into the bedroom. Once we've both gotten off, what else is there to do but leave?

  Arden stops unpacking her groceries and turns to face me, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why are you afraid of relationships?"

  "I am not afraid. Relationships aren't for everyone, you know."

  Her lips pucker while she roves her assessing gaze over all of me. "That's what people who are afraid of falling in love say. They usually have some kind of trauma in the past that makes them terrified to try again."

  "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not traumatized," I say, sounding annoyed because, bloody hell, she is annoying me. And I'm getting itchier. Could I be allergic to interrogation? "Can we please stop talking about my sex life?"

  "Sure, whatever." She resumes unloading her sacks. "I'm making banana oatmeal pancakes with your choice of Greek yogurt or syrup on top. Oh!" She pulls out what looks like a tiny milk carton, grinning. "Whipped cream too. If you're into that sort of thing."

  Of course I am. I love decadence in all its countless varieties, but her grin and her sensual body are making me picture all the ways I can use whipped cream to make her squirm and gasp and finally scream my name.

  No, you arse, you can't. She's off limits, remember?

  Yes, yes, yes, I know that. Honestly, I do. I know I cannot touch her.

  But fantasies are completely allowed. So tonight, I'll be locked in my bedroom fucking my own hand while I imagine I'm fucking her.

  I stifle a groan. Being an upstanding adult is awful.

  Arden has emptied her grocery sacks and proceeds to fold them, stacking them next to the refrigerator before she starts gathering the ingredients for our breakfast. I offer to help out as her cooking slave, and she cheerfully bosses me around. I love it when she smiles at me over her shoulder and says, "Mash the bananas with the potato masher, not your fingers."

  "But if I use my fingers, you can lick them clean for me." Yes, flirting is also allowed. Chance didn't order me not to do that. He said to keep my hands off Arden, that's all.

  Her lips twitch upward. "You have a one-track mind, don't you?"

  "No, I have two tracks available at all times, running parallel." I wink. "One of them is reserved for dirty thoughts."
/>   "Yeah, I can tell."

  We go back to cooking, and soon we've got two plates loaded with banana oatmeal pancakes. A glass of milk sits next to each plate, which we've placed on the bar. Arden and I take our seats on the stools and dig in. I pour enough syrup over my pancakes to start a flash flood of stickiness, but Arden is judicious in her use of syrup. She does, however, spoon a mountain of whipped cream onto her stack.

  I watch her shove four layered pieces of pancake into her mouth. "Do you believe all those barmy things you said last night?"

  She swallows her huge mouthful of food. "Some of it. The part about not flushing the toilet before eight on Tuesday is pure baloney. Most of that stuff is my way of testing guys to make sure they're not schmucks."

  "Did I pass the test?"

  "I'd give you a B plus."

  "Should I be flattered or offended by that?"

  Arden pretends to consider me, her head tilted to the side. "Too early to say."

  We go back to enjoying our breakfast, and once I've finished eating, I turn to Arden. "Let me wash the dishes. I insist."

  "I won't argue with that." She consumes her last bite of pancake, leaving a smear of whipped cream right next to her mouth. "I like having a hot British guy as my kitchen helper."

  Though I hear her words, all I can think about is licking that cream off her skin. Sweet, decadent cream. The word makes me picture her naked with my head between her legs while I taste the best kind of cream there is.

  Arden lunges forward, pressing her mouth to mine.

  I freeze, trying so damn hard not to kiss her back. Chance said not to touch her, but she started this. Doesn't that absolve me of any wrongdoing? She kissed me. And her mouth is silky and warm, her lips sweet from the cream clinging to her skin. I burn to taste her, to flick my tongue out and lick the cream off, then plunge my tongue into her mouth.

  But I can't.

  Her tongue slips out, gently probing between my lips, all but pleading for me to ravish her---or maybe for my mouth to open so she can ravish me.

  I want that. Want it so badly that holding back is like a physical pain.

  She pulls away just enough to speak, our mouths a hair's breadth apart. "I thought you wanted to kiss me. Was I wrong?"