Right Kind of Wrong

by Sara Rider

  Ian elbowed him. “Isn’t it great?”

  “I hate it.”

  “So did Melissa. She was always complaining about how tacky they looked. I almost didn’t even put them up this year, but then I realized, hey, why not? She’s not coming back and I can finally do what I want.” Ian’s voice splintered into sharp fragments of pain.

  Fergus patted Ian on the shoulder with an awkwardness he could barely stomach. “Yeah, you can.”

  Ian cleared his throat. “Maybe I should add a giant inflatable Santa.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  “Nah, maybe you’re right. Better to go with a more classic look. A couple of jack-o-lanterns would be tasteful, don’t you think?”

  Fergus glared, which only made Ian grin wider. “So, since we’re bonding and all, are you going to tell me where you were last night?”

  Fergus straightened. “What do you mean?”

  “Dude, I’ve been your neighbor for almost two years and you’re kind of a boring guy. You don’t go out on weeknights. You’ve never stayed out all night except the weekends you’re visiting Emily. Now you’ve been gone for almost twenty-four hours. The only explanation is that you finally crawled out of your cave and decided to be friendly to another human being instead of grumping at them like a bridge troll.”

  Fergus didn’t say anything, which only made Ian laugh.

  “So…who’s the lucky person?”

  “We are not having this conversation.”

  Ian shrugged. “You might not be having it, but I’ve gotten used to carrying conversations on both our behalves. I’m going to guess it’s someone feisty and short.”

  Fergus stared blankly at his neighbor, but he couldn’t stop the weird feeling pressing at his cheeks whenever he thought about Julia. Christ, was he really blushing? “I…uh…”

  Ian laughed again. “That’s awesome, man. It gives me hope that I can find someone again one day, too.”

  “It’s not like that,” Fergus said. “It was just one night.”

  “Do you want it to be just one night?”

  The sudden seriousness in Ian’s voice took him aback. Because Fergus didn’t know what to say to that. Until last night, he hadn’t thought he was ready for any kind of intimacy with another person, but now he couldn’t imagine not holding or kissing her again. “I don’t know. I don’t know if she wants to see me again.”

  “Why?”

  “I accidentally broke her arm.”

  Ian’s eyes widened before he broke out in a howl of laughter. “Dude. I know I’m not one to give advice on this kind of thing, but maybe you should go see her. Bring her flowers or a bottle of Advil at least.”

  Fergus scrubbed his jaw as bright lights twinkled and danced discordantly in front of him like the house was possessed by a ghost who preferred pulling pranks over haunting. Was he really going to take advice from the man who was responsible for this monstrosity?

  He thought of Julia and what she would have to say about this display, and then realized that Ian was right. Seeing Julia again was already a foregone conclusion.

  Fergus had often been told he was an old soul—mostly by people who mistook his general grumpiness and social aversion for some kind of esoteric intelligence. Lately, he felt old, too. His body creaked and ached in strange ways. He used to keep fit by jogging, but his knees had put up a full blown rebellion in the last few years, so instead he was reduced to making use of a secondhand elliptical and a couple of free weights in his garage. But at thirty-seven, he didn’t quite feel ready to be standing inside a store displaying the latest models of scooters and hip protectors.

  An older lady with gray hair and pearls the size of marbles dangling from her ears and neck greeted him with a friendly smile. “Welcome to Super Scooters Emporium and Medical Device Supplies. What can I help you with today?”

  Fergus rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. Normally he avoided interacting with the retail staff. His dislike of these awkward conversations was one of the reasons he greatly preferred online shopping to brick-and-mortar stores. But he’d done the research to know this was the one place in town that had what he was looking for and he wasn’t willing to wait for delivery. He’d hoped he could just pop in and out without having to talk to anyone, but something about the suspicious glint to the woman’s eyes told him she wasn’t okay with a strange man wandering around the store unassisted.

  “I’m looking for a cast sleeve.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh goodness. Was it your son or daughter who broke their arm?”

  “Not my daughter,” he answered, scanning the jumbled shelves of the store to see if he could spot the item he’d come here for.

  “Your son then? I raised three boys and I swear we were in the hospital every other week. I’m sure you know what that’s like.” She patted his arm like they were co-conspirators.

  “It’s for my friend, actually.” He regretted the admission almost instantly, realizing he’d just handed over valuable ammunition to this woman on her quest to pry into the details of his life.

  The woman narrowed her eyes. “Girlfriend?”

  Christ. She was looking at him like he was obviously the cause of the injury. Which he was, in a way. “Friend.”

  The woman harrumphed. “Well, we keep the cast sleeves on aisle two. If you want your friend to be comfortable, you will also want to purchase one of our specialized heating pads and a food tray, of course.” She picked the items off the shelves as she led him down the aisles at a rapid pace, stopping only when they reached the register.

  Before Fergus knew it, he was handing over his credit card for a handful of purchases he neither needed nor required. There was something about the woman that reminded him of his mom—probably the chastising stare that compelled him to shut up and listen. His parents were older when he was born, well into their forties. They’d gone back to Scotland after their retirement, visiting him and Emily once every year or so. He didn’t have a particularly close relationship with his parents, but his mom had been a strict disciplinarian growing up and he still cowered at the thought of disobeying her.

  “There’s a grocery store down the road that has a wonderful flower shop inside,” she said as she handed back his card. “Perhaps you’d like to stop there for a bouquet and some chocolates before you deliver these?”

  The woman smiled serenely, but there was edge to it that made him nod.

  Ten minutes later, he was standing inside the grocery store, staring at the dozens of brightly colored flowers for sale, questioning his own sanity. What the hell was he doing? He didn’t know if Julia even wanted to see him again, much less whether she liked flowers. There’d been hesitancy in her eyes this morning. It hadn’t been there the night before—as though the morning sun had cast an entirely different light on what happened between them.

  She would probably think he was nuts when he knocked at her door with all this stuff in his hands. Hell, he thought he was nuts. The smart thing to do would be to just leave it all as an anonymous package on her doorstep. That way, she would have all the stuff she needed without any of the awkwardness or misinterpretations. This was just a helpful gesture, nothing more.

  So why did he catch himself thinking she would probably like the simple elegance of a bouquet of white freesias? He was about leave when he heard a soft, familiar voice behind him.

  “Freesias are a great choice.”

  He turned to see Julia standing just a few feet away, as though he’d dreamed her into existence. “You think so?”

  She nodded. There was a pink flush on her cheeks. Her hair was down, curling over her shoulders in long copper waves. He wanted to run his fingers through the strands just as he’d done this morning. But somehow, that felt like a lifetime ago. That easy intimacy they’d shared while she lay in that bath, completely bared to him, was nowhere to be found beneath the buzzing fluorescent lights of the grocery store. “They represent friendship and thoughtfulness.”

  He frowned. T
hat wasn’t exactly the message he wanted to convey. Then again, he didn’t know what he was trying to say.

  “If this is for a date, you could go with carnations for beauty and admiration. Then again, roses are classic for a reason.”

  “They’re not for a date,” he said quickly. “They’re for you. A get-well gift.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened, as though she hadn’t expected that answer. “I thought we were going to take a little time apart.”

  “I was just going to drop them off at your door.” The words sounded so dumb even to him that he cringed. He started to put the flowers back in the display.

  “Well, I happen to love freesias.”

  “Okay.” He picked the bouquet back up and carefully set it in his basket. “I was going to bring you some groceries, too. Just in case you needed anything.”

  She looked down at her cart. It held a loaf of bread, some pre-sliced pineapple, and three different kinds of cheese. “You don’t need to do that. I’m perfectly capable of getting my own groceries.”

  “Right, of course. But you’re okay with the flowers?”

  Her chin jutted upward. “I’m always okay with flowers.”

  He couldn’t help from smiling at her haughty tone. “I’ll keep that in mind. What about a ride back to your place? Is that okay?”

  She bit her lower lip, looking up at him through her thick, dark lashes. But when he met her gaze, the nervousness in her brown irises burned away, replaced by something else entirely. Heat. “I need to go back to work tonight after I drop off my groceries.”

  “I can drive you there, too.” He didn’t know what he was doing suggesting something like that. He should be putting a little distance between them so his brain could catch up to his body, but he couldn’t think straight when he looked at her. All he could feel was the pull of his desire.

  “You don’t have to. I can take a cab.”

  “Julia,” he said with more than a little frustration. “I know you don’t need groceries or a ride or any other kind of help. I’m asking because I want to do these things for you.”

  She inhaled deeply, looking around the crowed store. He could see the uncertainty on her face. Had things really gotten so strange between them in just a few hours? “All right. A ride would be nice.”

  11

  Julia hadn’t expected to see Fergus so soon. She hadn’t had time to think about everything that happened last night. She hadn’t given herself the time, if she was being honest with herself. But unlike everything else in her life, she couldn’t solve her Fergus problem by working harder and longer.

  They didn’t talk much as they made their way through the checkout line, or during the short drive back to her apartment. Normally, she prided herself on her ability to make small talk, even in the most awkward or uncomfortable of situations, but she didn’t know where to start with Fergus. The image of the sketch he’d left on her counter that morning kept forcing itself to the front of her mind. She wanted to know what it meant to him—what she meant to him—but she wasn’t prepared for the answers. Not really.

  The snow had thankfully disappeared over the last few days, leaving the damp scent of spring in its wake. Weather in the Pacific Northwest changed so rapidly compared to L.A. It wasn’t predictable, something that should have frustrated her as an event planner, but she loved the different seasons. The gothic moodiness of the foggy, gray autumn mornings, and the brilliance of the sun hitting the dewdrops in spring. After this year, though, she would learn to have a little more respect for the icy winters here.

  She let Fergus carry her groceries, even though she probably could have managed it herself. She was bone-tired and it was nice to let him shoulder some of her burdens. He didn’t make her feel like she was inept or replaceable when he did it. But that still didn’t make it easy to accept his help, because no matter how much she wanted a break, there would always be that little filament of fear burning inside her, telling her that she was a burden. That she would push everyone away if she showed even an ounce of neediness.

  Once inside, she retrieved a vase for the flowers from her cupboard while he set the groceries on the counter, along with a couple other bags he’d brought in from his car.

  “That’s a lot of cheese,” he said as he pulled the Camembert from the cloth bag.

  Julia tilted her head back to give him a withering look. “I am a single, thirty-year-old woman with a broken arm. I have earned the right not to be judged for my love of cheese.”

  His expression sobered. “Actually, I think it’s a very cultured choice.”

  For a moment, she just stared at him. Then her jaw dropped. And finally, she laughed. “That is the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”

  He took another step closer so that only the thinnest, most inconsequential sliver of air separated them. “But you still laughed.”

  Her heart sped up until her pulse was thundering through her veins, like he was a magnet for her blood. She couldn’t stop herself from drawing nearer. She pressed her hand against his chest, remembering all the ways they’d touched each other last night. “I’ve only got about twenty minutes before I need to head back to work.”

  His eyes darkened. “Twenty minutes is a lot of time.”

  “Is it?”

  He brushed his knuckles along her cheek so gently, she shivered. “Not enough for everything I want to do to you and with you, but enough to get a decent head start.”

  She exhaled in a rush, almost dizzy from desire. She should tell him to leave. “Kiss me?”

  His lips were hungry as they descended on hers and his hands were suddenly everywhere—her cheeks, her back, her stomach, and the hem of her shirt. She would have melted in his arms if not for the fact her hunger was just as strong. She wanted him with a force she couldn’t explain or understand.

  He broke the kiss only to ease her blouse off her body. Despite their wild, heavy breathing, he was so respectful and gentle with her, treating her like she was made of sugar. He dropped her shirt to the ground, then traced the lace edge of her pale pink bra with his finger. Her skin buzzed with electricity beneath his touch.

  “This is a pretty color on you,” he said unexpectedly, slipping his finger beneath one strap.

  “Thanks, but it’s prettier on the floor.”

  He unhooked the back clasp and pulled the straps off her shoulders.

  His eyes grazed over her naked breasts but he didn’t touch her, even though she was burning with need to feel his hands on her skin again.

  “We only have twenty minutes,” she reminded him.

  “You’re a woman who deserves to be savored, Julia.”

  Her emotions caught in her throat. She’d always been fine with her looks, considering herself pretty, if a little plain and forgettable. But the way Fergus looked at her with such reverence made her feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet.

  “And for the record, you’re beautiful whether your clothes are on or off.” He cupped her breasts and pinched her nipples.

  She was already so aroused, the pleasure made her dizzy. But even her gasps and moans didn’t make him speed up. He teased her nipples, alternating between with soft strokes and pinches until her breath was ragged and her need pulsed between her thighs. And then finally—finally—he dropped his mouth to her breast and suckled her. The sweet brush of his tongue against her sensitive nipples was intoxicating.

  Not for the first time, she silently cursed her broken arm. She wanted to rip his clothes off and tease him like he was doing to her, but all she could do was hold on as he licked and sucked. By the time he unzipped her skirt and pulled it down her hips, she was ready to explode.

  “Your clothes, too,” she huffed, aware that she was completely bare while he hadn’t yet removed a single stitch of clothing.

  “I’m busy,” he said, sinking to his knees.

  “You’re bossy,” she retorted.

  “Only when you’re naked.” Before she could respond, he spread her apart and licked he
r.

  She cried out—partly from shock and partly from the unbearable pleasure. She accidentally knocked him on the ear with her cast as she tried to steady herself, but he didn’t slow down or give her any reprieve. He simply urged her leg over his shoulder, spreading her even wider to him. She was too helpless to protest.

  Her body was on fire from all the sensations—the wet rasp of his tongue, the scratch of his thick hair against her thighs. He licked and sucked her clit like it was his sole mission in life. It was erotic and sensual and completely overwhelming. She shattered like fragile glass, breaking into a million pieces as her pleasure consumed her.

  He rose to his feet with a smug grin and looked at his watch. “We still have ten minutes.”

  “It will take me at least that long to strip you down if you don’t help me,” she said breathlessly.

  He grabbed the back of his collar and pulled his sweater off in one smooth movement. As much as she wanted to speed things up, she couldn’t help but pause to salivate at the sight of his broad chest. He was muscular without being overly defined—the body of an athletic man who’d been ever so slightly softened by age. A patch of hair dusted his pecs, darkening to black where it trailed beneath his navel. He was perfection.

  “Keep going.”

  “Keep looking at me like that.” He unbuttoned his jeans.

  “Hurry.”

  His hands stilled midway pulling down his jeans, and he arched his brow. “Ask nicely.”

  She growled. He laughed, but his jeans and boxers dropped to the floor, so she didn’t throttle him.

  He cupped her cheek. “What’s going to work for you?”

  In spite of her burning desire to touch him in that moment and the slick heat between her thighs, she felt a small pang of disappointment. “On top, I guess.”

  He stepped closer and did the one thing she hadn’t expected. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her into a hug. It wasn’t a sweet one, exactly. Not with their clothes discarded on the floor and his long, hard cock pressing into her belly. “You don’t sound excited.”