by Tara Quan
If he could just get his penis to cooperate. Ever since he’d kissed Maya, his brain seemed to have developed a singular focus—one that had nothing to do with government conspiracies and gun-toting men.
Putting more distance between him and the naked woman in his bed seemed like a good place to start. “You only had the energy for a quick rinse last night, and I remember hearing you mumble something about a nice, long shower.” Reining in his imagination, he silently added, alone, dickwad.
She stared at him for a long while. “Why are you being weird?”
He heaved an exasperated sigh. The woman was too perceptive for comfort. Honesty seemed the best path. “Because I’m trying very hard not to jump your bones. Trust me, it’s a painful process that requires immense concentration.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
He scratched his head. “Could you get a move on? This whole sheet-clutched-over-chest thing is giving me ideas.”
She cast a glance at the visible bulge at his crotch, her expression turning mischievous. “What kind of ideas?”
He closed his eyes and pointed in the general direction of the bathroom. This was turning out to be the longest, most confusing, and best day of his life. “Hurry up. Breakfast—or I guess it’s dinner—is getting cold.”
He kept his lids squeezed shut as she stomped off, lifting them once the door clicked shut. The sound of running water brought unparalleled relief. Crashing facedown on the bed, he closed his eyes and smelled her on his pillow.
Realizing how much he enjoyed the scent, as well as its uplifting effect on an increasingly uncooperative part of his body, he groaned and rolled onto his back. What kind of guy watched a woman sleep? Until today, he’d thought the pointless, sappy activity a Hollywood invention. Then he’d caught himself lying on his side, his arm numb from having cushioned Maya’s head all afternoon, listening to her snore. The momentary trip into the Twilight Zone had spurred him out of bed, making him eager to take a long walk through a shopping district for the first time in his life.
Snoring wasn’t supposed to be sexy. Neither was bed hair, which she had in abundance this evening. Crinkled, frizzy, and pointing in all directions, her black tresses fell forward to obscure her face, reminding him of Cousin It from The Addams Family. After a third of a day’s sleep, her voice had turned all raspy and gruff, sounding not at all feminine. But did any of it matter? Not to his cock, it didn’t.
The woman had no right to look hot, fast asleep under a sheet or within moments of being awake. His insane physical attraction to her wasn’t even his biggest problem. No, the proverbial nail on the head, as far as his unraveling future plans were concerned, was the fact that she was still Maya.
In his experience, which he’d classify as extensive, sex made things awkward. No matter how satisfying it seemed in the moment, the act’s aftermath brought conversation to a crawl and filled the air with tense energy, vague expectations, and uneasy silence. For this reason, he made a habit of avoiding the morning after whenever possible.
And here he lay, less than nine hours after the most mind-blowing sex of his life, listening to the best friend he’d just slept with hum a sappy Richard Marx ballad in the shower. He should feel a sweaty, cold sensation run down his spine, his fight-or-flight response should have gone into overdrive, and he should be pacing the apartment like a caged lion. Instead, nothing felt off other than his dick pestering him to initiate round two.
Either he’d lost his mind, or something very different from anything he’d ever experienced had happened. If only he could convince himself the former were true.
“Zack, where’s your conditioner?” Maya’s muted voice jolted him out of a rare moment of self-reflection.
“In the same bottle as the shower gel and shampoo.” The three-in-one body wash ranked up there on the world’s list of best inventions.
“You know this dries out your hair, right?”
Considering the time between each cut, he doubted it mattered.
The flow of water ceased. The shower curtain’s metal rings made an ugly scraping sound as they slid over the rod. “I need a towel.”
He froze. Under no circumstances did he plan to set foot in that bathroom with her wet and naked. His brain didn’t seem to be in complete control of his body, and he’d end up fucking her in every household’s most common accident zone. “What’s wrong with the one on the hook?”
“It’s still damp.”
“Only one I’ve got, sorry.” On the scale of white lies, this one was morally ambiguous. Besides, it’d been two whole hours since he used the damn thing.
He could hear her moving about, which for reasons he couldn’t fathom prompted him to stand up and pace. He never understood how women could spend forever in bathrooms, and right now the phenomenon didn’t make a lick of sense. It wasn’t as if she had any of her own stuff in there.
“Do you have a hairbrush?”
He raised his gaze to the ceiling. “It’s in the medicine cabinet.”
A second later, the door opened and she poked her head out. To his embarrassment, he yelped and jumped back. “What the hell are you doing?”
She looked at him as if he’d gone insane, and he couldn’t blame her. Her very presence seemed to make him do weird shit. Noticing she had the dark blue terry cloth looped around her torso and tucked in above her chest, he breathed a sigh of relief. Then the devil on his shoulder pointed out one yank would render her naked.
She waved her arm in the air, a white piece of plastic gripped in her hand. “Did you mean this?”
Taking another step back, his calf hit the bed. “Yes.”
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. The motion draped dark, wet hair over her shoulders. He considered punching his own crotch to send the misbehaving appendage a message. “This is a comb, not a brush.”
Feeling lightheaded, he sat. He must have been holding his breath or something. “It’s for hair, isn’t it?”
She responded with a very unladylike snort and marched out. The towel reached less than three inches below her hips and left her legs, arms, and shoulders bare. Before thinking through the reaction, he scuttled back to the head of the bed and clasped his hands firmly behind his back. When her expression turned quizzical, he came up with a lame excuse. “This is my last set of dry clothes. You’ll drip water all over me.”
She bent at the waist in front of him, appearing unconvinced. “What is going on with you? Even if we were in Victorian England, which we’re not, I would be the only one here with any right to act like a squeamish, recently deflowered virgin.”
How was he supposed to think straight with her cleavage visible and less than a foot away? “Gah….”
She tapped the comb under his chin. “Head up, buddy. Focus.”
He looked into a pair of laughing eyes, saw the slight dimple on her right cheek, and felt his muscles unknot. Exchanging words with her, no matter how few, somehow dissolved all his stress. How the hell did she do that? “If you haven’t noticed, I can’t think when you’re half-naked. We need to talk.”
She rolled her eyes before sitting next to him on the bed. “Don’t be so melodramatic. We’re not together,” she drew air quotes with her fingers, “so you can’t break up with me. Considering the number of laws we’ve broken, the post-sex meaning of life conundrum is the last thing you should be fussing about.”
She had a point. He scented his soap on her skin, which seemed to appease some Neanderthal subsection of his frontal lobe. He leaned in. “You smell nice.”
She cleared her throat. “You had something to say, yes? Hurry up, I’m getting cold.”
He moved an errant strand of wet hair behind her ear. It seemed natural to leave his hand there, cradling her face. “Since my life has turned into a really bad video game, I can’t start a relationship right now.”
Her brows arched. “You’re skipping steps. We’re just friends with benefits.”
“Sure we are.” He tilted her head back.
“Why are you using that tone?” She frowned. “I’m agreeing with you.”
Because the words sounded wrong, and it bothered him to hear them come out of her mouth. But he couldn’t correct her; he had no right to. Sensing an undercurrent of disappointment, he shifted closer, his free hand moving to splay over her lower back.
She sighed and lifted her chin. “If you must play hard to get….”
“Shhh….” He couldn’t remember why he’d demanded a talk—not with his toothpaste lacing her breath with spearmint, his damp towel molding over her soft curves, and her tresses wetting his T-shirt. It didn’t matter if any of it made sense. He wanted her in his arms, needed her in his bed, and craved her slightest touch.
As she parted her lips, his stomach growled.
She giggled. “I’m guessing you didn’t snack?”
He’d never been able to eat when nervous. “I didn’t have much of an appetite.”
“But you did buy food.” She stood up.
He nodded.
“Good. I’m starving. We’ll talk after you feed me.”
***
“A salad? Really?” Maya scowled as she opened the plastic container. “You’re killing me here.”
Looking not at all guilty, Zack unwrapped his double cheeseburger. “That’s what you get for being vegetarian.”
Pulling the sleeves of the oversized, borrowed T-shirt onto her shoulders, she reached over to steal a French fry. “I’m not vegetarian. I just don’t eat mammals.”
His gaze drifted to her bare legs. “Same difference.”
She banged her fist on the glass surface to get his attention. As much as his inability to focus boosted her ego, there were more important matters at stake. “No, there’s a huge difference. It means you could have gotten me a fried chicken sandwich or fish and chips instead of all this green stuff. And what’s wrong with a veggie burger?”
He took a huge bite, chewed dramatically, and swallowed. “You look cute when you’re angry. Your cheeks get all pink.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And you know better than to show up without other meal options.” Turning her palm face up, she wiggled her fingers. “Hiding goodies from me right now is a horrible idea and will lead to dire repercussions.”
He got up, opened a kitchen cabinet, and came back with a bag emblazoned with the Tackle Box logo. Now that was more like it. “Tabasco sauce with a side of hydrogenated oil-soaked seafood, at your service. I figure it’d go well with the salad.”
She’d always thought Zack had a gift for getting takeout, and he even remembered her spicy condiment requirements. Scenting fried shrimp, she perked up. “Fork?”
He sat. “It’s in the bag. By the way, people usually eat this with their hands.”
She shrugged. “People do stupid things.”
Both starving, they dug into their breakfast-lunch-dinner combo meal. The silence lasted for all of five minutes.
“If you want to check your e-mail, my laptop has an untraceable Internet connection,” he casually remarked.
She took a gulp of club soda. She’d been pleasantly surprised he’d remembered her preferred drink. Then again, the guy had a huge brain. If only he’d apply it to personal matters. “Considering we’re waiting for a response from Dan, I thought you would’ve already checked it on my behalf.”
Having inhaled his burger, he wiped his mouth and hands with a napkin. “I thought I should try to respect your privacy.”
She almost choked on a piece of lettuce. “Why now? Because we had sex?”
He scowled. “Something along those lines.”
The man had skirting relationship issues down to an art form. Knowing it must have killed him to wait until now, she decided on magnanimity. “Considering the exigent circumstances, you have my permission to access all my electronic communication for the foreseeable future. Go ahead. Don’t be shy.”
His monstrosity of a laptop whirred to life next to her less than a minute later. She’d been rather impressed he remembered to clean up his side of the table and rinse his hands. As his fingers flew over the keyboard, he asked, “By the way, who convinced you to buy a Mac?”
What was with boys and their gaming PCs? “The nice lady at the Apple Store, and I’ve got no regrets. I turn the thing on, and it works. No partitions, no defragmentation, no daily security updates, and no bugs. And then there’s the pretty factor.”
He sent her a look of pure affront. “You’ve now lost all geek cred. The thing has no DVD drive, only one USB port, and the graphics card is useless.”
She licked her fingers. “I now possess the funds to buy a sixty-inch TV, a Bose sound bar, and several gaming consoles. Trust me, inventory management is much more satisfying on the big screen. So did Dan write back?”
“No. He did tag you in a dozen photos on Facebook.” Zack sounded none too happy about it.
She crooked her index finger. “Tilt it a bit so I can see.”
Leaning to the side, she spied the images and grinned. Her cousin had chosen well. Next to a bare-chested Dan, she looked rather smashing in a white halter dress. Since Zack seemed to be having trouble admitting they were more than friends, she remarked in a suggestive tone, “That was on Dan’s sailboat, by the way.” It seemed fair to omit the fact that her father had been holding the camera.
Zack crossed his arms and leaned back. “I’m decrypting the downloaded files. It’s taking a while, which is a good sign.”
“I’m hopeful.” She got up to wash her hands. “Dan’s a genius with computers and has contacts in the Dubai police.” When Zack glared at her, she threw him a bone. “You’re taller, which is really what matters.”
Joining her in the kitchen, he crowded into her personal space. She took her time soaping and rinsing. It didn’t take long before he groused, “If he’s so perfect, why were you a virgin until this morning?”
She glanced at him, her eyebrows raised. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Turning off the faucet, he caught her waist and pivoted her so their bodies faced each other.
She lifted her palms in the air. “I’ll make your T-shirt wet.”
“Go ahead.” He pulled her against him, close enough she could feel his erection against her belly.
Glad to have made some progress, she placed her fingers on his chest and raised her chin. If she left matters up to him, she’d be an old crone by the time they had sex again. “Do you want the right to be jealous, Mr. Caveman?”
He bent his head. “Maybe.”
His mouth descended, his tongue pushing her lips apart in a demanding kiss. She circled his neck with her arms, holding tight as he lifted and placed her on the kitchen counter. She parted her legs, relishing the feel of coarse denim against her skin, her soft limbs meeting hard muscle. She drew one bare foot up, tracing a line from his calf over the crook of his knee. He caught that leg and pulled it to rest against his hip while his free palm pushed down on her lower back, his hold tilting her body so he could grind into the naked flesh between her thighs.
The kiss dragged on, the meeting of teeth and tongue both too little and not enough. He bit and sucked, teased and taunted, the unrelenting onslaught making it difficult to draw breath. His hips circled, his denim-covered zipper separating her folds as even more moisture gathered at the apex of her legs. She didn’t want the moment to end, didn’t want him to stop or even slow down. When he finally broke the kiss, all her muscles seemed to have melted. Her skin tingled as if covered in static electricity.
Pulling back, he slid both hands up her inner thighs. “No panties?” His gruff words sounded more like an accusation than a question as the pad of his thumb circled her clit.
White light flashed over her vision. Her muscles drew taut. “You put my only pair in the dryer.”
His palms slid up her hips, lingering at her abdomen before molding over her breasts. “I’m trying to be sensible, and you’re not making it easy.”
She didn’t know how she had enough br
ainpower to quip, “I think I’ve been the very definition of easy.”
“So says the twenty-five-year-old virgin.” He squeezed her nipples. “Don’t make me spank you.”
She arched her back. “Now that’s a thought.”
His teeth grazed her neck. “Stop being naughty.”
“Or what?” She hooked her fingers through his front belt loops and pulled him closer.
He bit down above her collarbone, where he’d already left a light-red mark. “You don’t want to know.”
“But I do.” She undid the top button of his jeans and yanked down the zipper.
The computer chimed, signaling a completed task. Jerking her hands back, she turned in its direction. He grabbed her chin, forcing her head back to face him. “Shouldn’t we…?”
“It can wait.” He closed his mouth over hers, pushing his tongue into her before she had time to protest. His fingers laced through her hair, his grip preventing any movement. She could sense desperation behind his urgency, the chilling taint of fear that seeped through the curtain of desire.
She placed one hand over his heart and lifted the other to close around his wrist. It took the gentlest of tugs to make him break the kiss. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
Stress lines bracketed his eyes. “Everything.”
Turning her head, she pressed her lips against his palm. “Not this.”
With a groan, he clenched his fingers and reclaimed her mouth. Meeting his tongue, she urged him into a more languid rhythm. She lifted his T-shirt so she could slide her palms along his torso. Savoring the sensation of crisp hair over warm skin, the smooth ridges of hard muscle, she tried to use the slow delicious exploration to anchor him to the here and now.
He relinquished her lips to peel his top over his head. Hers followed within seconds, leaving every inch of her body exposed. Not wasting any time, he closed one hand over her breast and lowered his head. His tongue lashed out to pulse over her nipple.
Needing to brace herself, she straightened her arms and anchored her palms on the countertop as he sucked each throbbing nub in turn. She moaned, her head tipping back in silent invitation. By the time he’d tasted his full, kindling need had morphed into voracious hunger. Her inner muscles clenched, protesting the emptiness. The dampness between her thighs was obvious enough to make her blush.