by Brinda Berry
He pulls his cell phone from the pocket of his slacks. Wearing his dark slacks and white dress shirt, he looks like a different guy from the one who spent time working on the koi pond. Both looks are sexy and confident.
My belly tingles while I look at him. “What kind of music do you have? I like all kinds—R & B, pop, alternate—”
“Kiley,” he says without looking up from his phone. “Relax. I’ve got this.”
Gunner moves his finger along his screen. How much music does this guy have?
“I—”
“Shhh,” he says, a grin tipping the corners of his mouth as he continues to scroll.
I’m going to combust from anticipation. Those science stories about people who automatically incinerate? I’m going to join them. Gunner will tell the police, “One minute we were going to dance, and then she went up in flames in the next. I have no idea why.”
He presses the screen and places the phone on the arm of the chair. A slow country song begins. “This will do.”
“Oh. It’s slow.”
“Yep.” He steps forward and pulls my hands up so they rest on the back of his neck. “You do know how to slow dance, right? Or do I need to teach you?”
I swallow. “Of course, I do.”
“Good. I didn’t want to have to talk.” His hands rest on my hips and there’s only an inch between our bodies.
It’s all very innocent on the surface, except I can’t quit wishing the inch of space would disappear. The heat of his big hands sears through the silk of my dress. His touch is light, but each flex of his fingers sends a bolt of desire right to my core.
“Is this OK?” he says, his gaze searching mine.
“Sure. It’s…” Do not admit anything. If I start talking, there’s a chance I’ll say something stupid and truthful. “This is good.”
“Can we dance closer?”
“Oh. Um…sure.” I swallow, his touch leaving trails of heat along my skin.
He pulls me to him so our bodies are flush; his hands glide around to rest on the small of my back. “Much better.”
My nipples perk at the contact of my chest against his. Settle down, I command. Only dancing here. No one is getting naked.
We move to the slow beat. I recognize the singer and song. Sam Hunt croons about how much he wants to take a girl’s time. “What are you thinking about?” I ask.
“Fourth grade.”
“What?” I laugh and smile against his shoulder. I breathe in his scent and hope he doesn’t wonder what I’m doing.
“Do you remember you sat behind me and bugged me all year?”
I nod. “Sure. Sorry your last name ends in P. But in my defense, I was bored in the backseat. I mean, come on, teachers. It’s a curse to have a last name like Vanderbilt. Who does that to a kid? Always assigned to the seat in the far corner.”
“I assume your dad had some evil plan to keep you hidden in the back. Damn him for that last name. But I’m not complaining. Only, I was too young to realize you were flirting.”
“Was not.” I feel his smile against my hair. “OK. Maybe I was.”
“That’s what I thought.” His hands slide up for a moment in a caress, then drop lower to rest above my waistline. I’ve never been so aware of every movement, every breath from another human being.
The song changes on Gunner’s phone. It’s a faster beat and a song I don’t recognize. He pulls back and places his right hand on my shoulder blade. “Two-step?” He holds out his left hand.
I put my hand in his. “I thought you didn’t like to dance.”
“Depends on the partner.” He steps forward with his left, twice. Then once with his right foot. And he’s flawless. We’re moving around a small area of the deck, taking care not bump into the chairs or the railing. Moonlight reveals his grin and he’s enjoying himself. Or maybe he’s mirroring my face.
Gunner twirls me once, spinning me quickly. He smirks at my surprised expression. “Keep up.”
My face hurts from smiling. “I could do this all night.” Then my smile fades when I remember what awaits me at home—Mason.
“You don’t have to go home. We could hang out here on the deck until the sun rises. Or go inside and watch television.” He lifts one eyebrow as if saying he dares me to take a chance on him.
“I think you’d best take me home.”
His mouth tightens and the lightness of the moment fades. When the song ends, Gunner releases my hand. “What are you going to do about that ring on your finger?”
It’s not that I don’t want to answer him. But I don’t feel right telling a guy I haven’t seen in years what I should tell my soon to be ex-fiancé.
“What I should’ve done weeks ago.”
“Maybe you should wait until tomorrow, so he can cool off. If he’s still at your house, I’m not dropping you off.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Gunner nods. “If he’s gone, I’ll leave. If he’s not, we’ll see.”
We walk to the Jeep and although I don’t need help, he places gentle hands on my waist and lifts me up.
During the drive, my thoughts are too crowded to talk about old times in school or anything else. When we pull up, the house is dark and all the cars are gone—even Mason’s.
“I’ll wait a minute. Flash the porch light that everything’s OK,” he says.
“It’s fine. He’s not here.”
“I’ll wait,” he says in a streak of stubbornness I remember from our school days.
“Thanks,” I say. “Really. You have no idea what you’ve done for me tonight.”
Then, I hop from his Jeep and run into the house. Run away from the confusing temptations I’ve felt for this man tonight.
Chapter Seven
Lust
Current Day
Gunner
The morning sun glints through an opening in the canopy of trees. A mocking bird swoops low, angry that I’m encroaching on his territory in the Vanderbilts’ back lawn.
Kiley’s SUV was already missing when I pulled into their driveway. I tell myself that I didn’t come here for her.
I tell myself that I’m here because of the empty holes in the ground I need to fill with trees. Ten sugar maples fill my long trailer I brought from the nursery.
It’s dangerous for her tiny dog to run around the holes. I don’t want to be responsible for an accident.
But then I remember how good she felt in my arms last night and I’m that teenage boy from so many years ago with his eye on the girl of his dreams.
All I need is a little hard work to get her out of my system. I complete the work this morning, I’ll send one of my guys from here on, and my life will return to normal.
No problem.
Except that my heart begins to rival one in cardiac arrest at the slam of a car door.
Kiley. Or maybe it’s Ed and I’m acting like a lunatic, looking at my T-shirt to see if I’ve gotten soil all over it from working this morning.
She bounds around the side of the house with the dog in her arms. “Gunner! You’re back. I thought you said you wouldn’t be.”
She’s all smiles and glory with her dark hair loose on her shoulders and a fresh-scrubbed face. I like her without so much makeup.
“I like to finish things I start.” I remove my gloves and tuck them into my back pocket. “You all right after last night?”
Kiley looks everywhere but at me. “Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“I…” She puts two fingers on the bridge of her nose. “I broke off the engagement this morning. I’ve never been called so many names in one hour.”
Her hand shakes and the dog whines. She puts him down and he immediately goes for the leg of my jeans, tugging with his tiny teeth.
“Hey,” I say, shifting awkwardly and ignore the dog. “You’re upset. That’s normal when a girl breaks up with a dickhead.”
One corner of her mouth lifts, but her eyes fill with water. She turns away, as if to shield me from he
r emotions.
Jesus, don’t cry. “You have some coffee in there?” I nod toward her house.
She sniffs and turns back to me. “Oh yeah. Come on in. Westley. Let go of him.”
When she bends over to pick the dog up, her low-cut pink V-neck top reveals the tops of her full breasts and the edges of her white lace bra.
She pops back up with the dog and I frown at the frisky animal so I can do something—anything—besides think about her breasts. She’s luscious. Not a word I tend to use, but I’ve discovered a reason to now.
Of course, now I seem to be frowning at her luscious chest. She tugs the V-neck higher while the dog’s paws seem determined to pull the fabric lower.
I follow her as she walks past the gated pool and through the back patio. She places the dog on the tile when we’re inside and it happily trots off, no longer interested in molesting my leg.
“I have flavored coffees, but I’d bet you like the plain stuff,” she says in a sunny voice that I know dang well is fake.
“I have a sweet tooth. Probably why I like you.” I wait for her response, but I’m disappointed. It was meant to be flirty, not crass. Maybe she’s distracted.
Once we’re in the kitchen, she sniffs again. Her back is to me and I wish she’d turn around so I can see if she’s OK.
“Did Moneyclip go ahead with his dinner?” I look around for signs of the dinner party last night.
“Of course. He told the guests I was ill. Apparently, he’s an expert liar.”
“Hmph.” I sit in the nearest chair and fold my arms over my chest. “Sorry.”
She sniffles twice and doesn’t turn around. “He’s really upset. He’s positive I cheated on him with you.”
“You want me to tell him I was goading him? Would that help?”
She threads fingers through her hair and winds it up off her neck, massages the muscles as if she's noticed how tense she is. “Let him think what he wants. It doesn't matter if I try to deny it. He's going to think whatever makes him feel better.” She keeps her back to me and places both hands on her hips as the single-cup coffee maker drips into a mug.
“When’s Ed coming back?” I worry about her in this state, alone in the house. Women are known to be emotional creatures and Kiley seems one sniffle away from a breakdown.
She waves away my question about her dad. “I’m glad you’re here. I…” Her voice breaks and she turns around to look at me.
Tears course down her cheeks, careening with her trembling lips. She covers her face. “Sorry. This is embarrassing.”
Turning back to the counter, she pretends to do something to the coffee. But her hands and shoulder shake.
I get to my feet and walk softly to her, putting my hands on her shoulders. “It’s going to be OK.”
I’m surprised when she pivots and folds herself into my arms. She places her forehead against my chest. “Why do guys have to be such jerks?”
“I know,” I say with a smile into the top of her hair. “Shitty men.”
“Yeah, shitty men,” she says. “Well…except for you. You’re sort of nice.”
“Most days,” I agree.
“Especially today.” She begins sobbing into the front of my shirt.
I stroke her hair. “You’re sweet and funny and a knockout. Any man would be lucky to have you. So don’t settle for a shitty one. You have to be more careful next time.”
“Tell me how.”
“How what?” I hope we stop hugging before her nipples give me an obvious hard-on. Then I’ll be in that shitty category without intending to be there.
“How to be careful.” She’s silent, waiting for my answer. When I don’t give one, she laughs—not a happy sound, but the kind that tears at my heart because there’s a sob mixed in. “He said, he said…” Then the tears start anew.
“He, your ex?”
“Mason says I’m messed up. That he knew I’d bail on him because I don’t think of anyone but myself.” She throws an ineffectual fist onto my chest, allowing it to slide down as she cries. “He said so many awful things to me. He said I’m a self-centered bitch. But I know I’m doing what’s right. I don’t love him and he certainly doesn’t love me.”
She lowers her head and mumbles something intelligible.
“Hmm?”
Kiley looks up at me. “I was going to marry Mason and probably end up divorced. He said it’ll be no big deal to replace me.”
I tilt my head, getting earnestly pissed off. “There’s something wrong with him. Women like you don’t come along every day. He didn’t know the real you if he thinks that.”
“Stop trying to make me feel be…be…better.”
She won’t stop crying. Her breasts and body melt into mine, her arms wrap around my waist and her hands rest close to my belt. Dammit. I’m getting aroused, and it’s not the right time for that shit. Not funny, I tell my body. Not funny at all.
I try to distract myself from the way she presses even closer. “You’re special. Smart and funny. Feisty. That’s what I like about you. You go after what you want.”
“You’ve always been such a good guy.”
“I’m not saying it to be nice. It’s the truth.”
“I wish I’d talked to you after that night in high school. I thought you blew me off. What’s wrong with me? I’m no better than my mother—the way she can’t tell the good guys from the bad.”
She’s sobbing harder now and I don’t know why her last statements cause this, but they do.
“I think maybe we should go sit.” I’d like to save myself the embarrassment of full wood knocking against her belly.
She lifts her head and I think she’s going to pull away, give us both some space, but then she tiptoes and places her hands on the back of my neck. “What if I asked you to kiss me?”
I stare down at her, too surprised to move back or think of what’s smart.
Then my heart restarts, firing on all cylinders and in overdrive.
“You don’t want to?” she asks in whisper. “Sorry. That’s so inappropriate. I just…”
Instead of answering, I lower my mouth to hers. Her lips part and I gently kiss her bottom lip. A whisper of a kiss. Tentative and tender.
True.
She pulls me closer, not satisfied with my attempt at being a gentleman.
I feel the desire of a sixteen-year-old and the wisdom of an adult. A kiss isn’t going to be nearly enough.
Our mouths crash together, teeth bump, tongues tangle. Her skin is hot to my touch as I pull her toward me so she can feel how desirable she is.
She gasps into my mouth and I push her backward to the kitchen counter. Her hips hit the edge and she grabs the belt loops of my jeans, forcing me to press against her. With one hand, I caress her breast.
“Oh,” she moans around our kisses. “That’s good.”
Her nipples pebble through the fabric of her bra and her shirt, but I want bare skin. “You’re beautiful.”
I skate my hand inside the bottom of her shirt and up to one breast. One tug on the bra cup and I run my fingertips along the swell of her breast.
I’ve got to have more. I want to smell her skin. Taste her. I lift her shirt and pull the bra down to expose her, sucking the pink tip of her nipple into my mouth and grazing my teeth over the sensitive bud.
Shivering, she runs her fingers over my short hair and grasps for purchase. “Don’t stop.”
My dick strains against my zipper. It’s pretty happy about that request.
“We should stop,” I grind out, trying to find control over the situation. Ed Vanderbilt’s kitchen, I tell myself.
“Ed,” I sputter as she runs her hand along the front of my jeans, over the full length of my dick.
“Two days,” she says, not needing to say more.
I nod and reach around with one hand to unfasten her bra. Heat fires through me at the wanton look on her face. My gaze sweeps down to her exposed breasts and my dick aches. Blood surges to my balls. “Good
Lord woman.”
“We shouldn’t do this.” She shakes her head. Her eyes and nose are red from crying. “But I don’t want to stop.”
I reason that I’m not a self-serving jackass. Even though I’m not the one who caused her tears, I’m glad to be one who can help them disappear.
She’s the girl who got away, the one I dreamed about through my teen years. And now she wants me—not some rich prick.
Her dilated pupils and swollen lips scream desire and need. “Maybe we should slow down,” she says.
“I want to touch you. Do you want that?” When she doesn’t answer, I tip her chin up so her eyes meet my gaze. “Sweetheart? It’s you and me in this room. No judging or over thinking. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”
Her cheeks turn pink. “I’m a little nervous.”
I glance down to her open shorts, white panties peeking out. Licking my lips, I inhale. She’s unsure. I’m certain that I could blow by simply looking at her half-dressed state. “Tell me to stop. Talk to me. I’ll do whatever you want.”
She watches wild-eyed and quiet. “No. Don’t stop.”
I lift her to sit on the kitchen counter so I have better access.
“Good.” I slide her ass back farther onto the countertop. Tracing one finger along the wet fabric between her legs, I shake my head. “Let me taste you.”
Will one taste lead to addiction?
“I’ve never…” she hesitates, her legs trembling underneath my touch. “I mean, I haven’t…Mason never…”
A darker bloom of pink steals across her cheeks.
Damn. Not only is the guy a dick, he’s out of his mind. I’ve never wanted to pleasure a woman more in my life.
I spread her knees apart and slide my rough palms up her smooth thighs. She moans and her legs open up for me. “Lift up, baby.”
She obeys and I tug her shorts down, then her panties follow. She places her forehead on mine. “Ummm…”
I skate one finger across the nub of her center and her entire body jumps in response. “Is this good?”
“Yes,” she murmurs. Her head falls back, long hair swinging across my hands that now bracket her sweet ass.