Lovers Unmasked

by Katee Robert

  If she had a boyfriend—or a hookup—she could damn well tell him. Wasn’t that what friends were for? Even MIA ones who suddenly wanted nothing more than to reclaim what they’d walked away from for selfish, stupid reasons? So what if he’d started wanting more from her? He wasn’t a kid led around by his hormones. She mattered too much to him and he could handle this situation if he just kept his pants zipped and his hands off.

  Their eyes connected, wary blue to his own frustrated green, and an answering tug reverberated through his system. Had what he was willing to risk changed? Had he changed?

  Steff sighed, shattering the moment. “Fine. We’ll go to dinner.” She made the concept seem as pleasurable as a root canal sans anesthesia. “Pick me up Wednesday night. I’ll be home.”

  “What time?” he asked, but she was already walking away. “Make it five o’clock then.” If she wouldn’t answer, then she’d accommodate his always growling-by-late-afternoon stomach.

  He gritted his teeth and turned to walk toward his own vehicle at the back of the lot. He’d hurt her with his vanishing act, and he had no right to assume he could waltz back into her life when it suited him.

  Or demand to know who had given her all those hickeys. Christ, the guy had worked over her delicate neck like a chew toy. How completely classless.

  Slipping behind the wheel, he jammed the key in the ignition and smiled grimly. He’d made up his mind about wanting Steff back in his life—no, needing her there. Now he just had to convince her that he wasn’t merely the same cowardly bastard who’d pushed her away.

  Maybe he’d even convince himself.

  Chapter Four

  Wednesday evening, Landon pulled up in front of the two-family house Steff lived in and parked at the curb. Steff’s car filled the narrow driveway.

  Her older brother, his wife, and their child lived in half of the house, and Steff had moved in on the other side a few years ago to help with her brother’s new baby. Since her niece was now older, he’d asked her once why she didn’t just find some new digs. She’d nailed him with a look and explained that her teaching gig didn’t offer her lots of spare change. Plus she was waiting to settle down with a guy, and they’d pick out a place together.

  That sounded stupid to him, and he’d said so, flat out. Why put your whole life on hold for something that may never happen? He’d known he was taking a risk saying that to someone as romantic as Steff, but his pragmatic side had won out.

  She’d never talked about it with him again.

  He climbed out of his truck and strode up the sidewalk. Weeds choked it from both sides, though he’d bet good money Steff would consider them flowers. She never killed anything. Bugs, dandelions, friendships…

  Crossing the rickety porch, he made note of where the wood sagged. He could take care of that for her at least. Her brother, Brett, worked a shit-ton of hours, so Landon had always handled those tasks for her. It felt good to resume his role.

  Landon knocked on the door on Steff’s half. Knocked again when she didn’t answer. Hearing what sounded like the rush of water, he pressed his ear to the glass pane. Was she doing dishes or something? She didn’t have a dishwasher. He tried the doorknob and glowered when he found it unlocked. She’d be getting a lecture for that one. She might as well engrave a gold invitation for some lunatic.

  Quietly, he shut and locked the door behind him then walked toward the back of the house, moving soundlessly so as not to scare her. On his way to the kitchen, he passed the partially open door to the bathroom. And stopped short.

  The bathroom was a danger zone when it came to male and female friends, a territory one could never enter safely, even with prior permission. Something he profoundly did not have. Even if the door was locked, he didn’t dare speak to her through it, on account of her certain nudity on the other side.

  Her certain wet, soapy, naked nudity.

  Landon swallowed and pushed his hand in his jean pocket, groping for the item shoved deep. He’d gotten sappy, toting around trinkets and building up encounters to the point of mysticism. Still, he now had more pressing concerns—like not getting arrested spying on showering women who may or may not be alone.

  He’d just head back outside to wait for her to finish like any respectable, non–peeping Tom friend would do. After a few minutes, he’d knock again and pretend he’d just arrived.

  Then he heard the moan. It wasn’t a full sound, more the wispy hint of one. Caught in a man’s mouth maybe, or trapped against a tiled shower wall.

  She’d known he was coming by tonight, so would she have invited over her secret lover? Maybe. Perhaps his coming over later hadn’t deterred her one bit in her quest for urgent sex.

  Jesus, he really needed to leave. Now.

  Gripping the back of his neck, he turned and aimed for the front door. He didn’t intend to head farther down the hall toward the bathroom. Somehow he did, anyway.

  He approached the door with his heart pounding in his ears. Tick-tocking like a damn Jeopardy clock. All he wanted to know was if she was alone. Not that it was any of his business. Just call it curiosity over her anonymous hickey-dispensing lover.

  Pure, unfogged glass surrounded the shower stall. She wasn’t entertaining a guest.

  And he kept inching forward, right into the bathroom.

  Wet ribbons of dark hair waved down her spine. The round swells of her ass and her small, sexy breasts swayed as she tipped her head back and let the water run straight into her face. Her nipples weren’t pale, though the rest of her was scarcely darker than the white tiles. But they were large, hard, and pale brown, completely at odds with the modest shape of her breasts.

  Pervert. She’s your friend. Don’t you have any morals at all?

  No, he did not, as proven by the fact that he. Did. Not. Move.

  He had to get out of there. So what if she’d just made him so hard he couldn’t walk? She was the girl he’d shared laughter and pepperoni-and-mushroom calzones and horror movies with.

  She ran her handheld shower massager up and down her thighs, bending so that soap ran in thick rivulets over the pale canvas of her body. Sprayed it over her neck, her shoulders. Turned to reach her back, showing him the shadowy recesses between her legs, her pouty lower lips.

  She was even beautiful there. Ripe, somehow. Flushed and slick and that same cinnamon brown as the tips of her breasts. And mother of all that was holy, she was bare. Not a wisp of hair to be seen.

  How had he missed the gorgeous body she’d developed since college? He couldn’t deny he was riveted by the sight of her soaping and washing that hot spot between her thighs. Again and again. Her low, vibrating moans pinged around the tiled walls, echoing in the room. In his head.

  He backed up. See, he was going. He wouldn’t wait for her to finish, to see if she would.

  The hand holding the massager sped up in tandem with her moans. Too late. Now he physically couldn’t move.

  She was so beautiful and so close, mere inches away. All he had to do was lean forward and pull back the shower door. He’d press her soapy, warm body to his while he explored from her succulent lips to her luscious breasts and on down the line, first with his hands, then with his mouth. He’d save the slick, rosy cleft between her thighs for last, an exquisite dessert meant to follow a perfect meal.

  Dammit. He jammed his fist against his mouth to stifle the groan so eager to escape. How could he have believed he could suppress his feelings for her that easily? They were too hot and burned too deep. And she was right. Fucking. There. All he had to do was reach out—

  Then the unthinkable happened.

  Steff opened her bluer-than-blue eyes and let out a Psycho-worthy, ear-blistering scream.

  …

  Was there such a thing as a waking nightmare? This definitely qualified.

  Steff dropped the handheld massager and it bounced off her foot. Holy crap, that hurt. She grabbed her sore toes and hopped around, trying to find the faucet while using her elbows as modesty sh
ields. Useless.

  There was lots of light in this bathroom. Lots of glass. There wasn’t even any concealing steam, since she’d been stuck in cool-shower mode since the party. Why had she waited so long to get ready for tonight? The ceramic pumpkin she’d been painting for a student’s upcoming birthday could’ve waited until tomorrow night.

  She wrenched off the water, and had just gathered enough breath to yell at Landon when she heard furious pounding down the hall.

  “Steffi? Are you okay?”

  Her brother. Great.

  She pulled open the shower stall door. “I’m fine, Brett. Just a big spider,” she called, glaring daggers at Landon. His jaw tensed and he moved jerkily as he so considerately handed her the towel she’d hung on the rack, keeping his eyes averted from hers. “I’ll see you later!” she added, hoping Brett got the hint and took off.

  “Are you sure? Open the door.”

  “I’m in the shower. Naked!” she yelled, knowing that would send her brother away the quickest.

  “Oh, okay. If you’re sure,” he yelled back.

  Unsurprisingly, that was the last they heard from Brett.

  She whipped the towel around herself as fast as humanly possible, tugging it down to cover as much as she could, and opened her mouth to screech at Landon. Then she glanced down—a slip of the eye—and glimpsed something she had not been expecting.

  He was hard. The evidence couldn’t be hidden in his well-cut trousers, and he hadn’t even recovered enough to turn away to hide the proof of what she’d done to him. He stood with his back ramrod straight, his lungs heaving with the breaths he’d trapped behind tightly compressed lips. Hands bunched, eyes wild.

  Cock obviously ready to play.

  The shiver that moved through her had nothing to do with the water’s chill and everything to do with the burning heat of his expression as he followed her gaze to his groin. And just like that, a switch seemed to snap off inside him. He dug his fist into his thigh and squeezed his eyes shut. “Gimme a second,” he rasped.

  Another shiver took her, harder than the last. Her towel might as well have been tissue-sized for all the coverage it gave her.

  “Okay.” He said it again as if reassuring himself. “Okay.” Opening his eyes, he held up both hands, palms out. “I know. What I just did violated about sixty-five laws and another hundred tenets in the friendship book. You could throw my ass in jail for being some kind of perv and I wouldn’t even fight the charge.”

  For a second her addled brain couldn’t even process that he’d spoken. The steam in that bathroom could’ve been cut with a scythe—and there hadn’t even been any damn hot water.

  “As if you saw anything worth getting arrested for,” she muttered. The quick rebuttal sprang from habit, because she’d seen in cubic inches how he’d reacted to her nudity. Or had she really sunk low enough to fish for compliments?

  “Excuse me?” He pinned her in place with his stare. “You’re fucking incredible, and don’t you ever insinuate otherwise.”

  She sagged against the tile wall, her shoulder doing most of the work of holding her upright. “You saw me naked.” Talk about stating the obvious, but her brain didn’t seem to want to work.

  For a moment, all she heard were his ragged breaths. “I did,” he said finally.

  “And you…you weren’t turned off.” I didn’t need all the makeup, or the slinky costume, or the corset?

  The corset had been pretty awesome. She was looking into a flesh-toned version, to be worn the next time she played the role of mystery seductress. As of now that was scheduled for the twenty-first of never.

  “Turned off?” He laughed harshly and strode forward, snagging her arm before she had a chance to evade. “Are you kidding me?”

  She pushed him away, terrified to feel his skin against hers. Even just his fingers were too much. “We’re friends, Landon,” she said, hating herself for her hypocrisy. For the want making her voice thin and high. She hated that she’d chosen this course, but it wasn’t like she could suddenly reverse. She’d had her chance to tell him the truth and she’d stalled out completely.

  Really? Friends don’t fuck each other while pretending to be someone else, you hypocritical liar.

  He didn’t respond. Already she could see his lids lowering, hiding the brief flash of emotion she’d seen in his vivid eyes. Pretty soon his face would be a blank canvas again.

  “Why didn’t you have your door locked?” He tipped up her chin with his thumb. “As your lawyer, I have to advise you that’s not safe.”

  Clearly, he was slipping right back into protector mode. That was how he saw her—as a friend who needed to be taken care of, not a lover. Not his lover. He was all of eleven months older, and had always made it seem as if he was her wise elder.

  What would he think if he realized she had been his lover, and he’d practically begged her for round two?

  “It was an accident. I meant to lock the door.” She definitely hadn’t wanted this to happen. Had she? If so, she definitely could’ve handled it better than shaking and blushing every time he looked at her. She’d been with him, for God’s sake. Why was she acting like a naive virgin?

  Buying time, she bit her lip and noticed the way his focus lingered on her mouth before skittering away. A warm glow kindled in her belly. “What time is it?”

  “Just past five.” He rubbed the side of his face, his gaze firmly directed toward her water-spotted vanity mirror. “Next time I’ll be later, just in case.”

  She laughed, low and sultry. At least she hoped so. “Maybe I’ll take even longer in the shower.”

  He turned his back on her so swiftly that she could only stare at the shirttail he pulled out from under his jacket. He tugged on the expensive fabric with an obvious frustration that practically swirled the air around them blue, his rapid yanking particularly concentrated on the area in front.

  Why would he—

  Then she knew. Her teeth sank into her lip again, and this time they weren’t messing around. Oh man. He was still hard. Maybe even harder than before. And like the gentleman he was, he didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable by seeing his erection. If he only knew.

  Damn, damn, damn. Now what?

  Some unknown, slightly mean urge prodded at her to goad him. Luckily she didn’t make a habit of following unknown urges, because look what happened when she did. “Got a problem, Lan?” She licked her lips to soothe the sting she’d created, wishing he’d do the honors instead. Maybe, if she continued to push…

  “Goddammit, Steff.” The curse burst out of him when he turned to face her. Shirttail and all, he looked disheveled—and delicious—as hell. “What about dinner?” he gritted out.

  His grasp at normalcy might’ve been cute if she hadn’t been itching to check out his below-the-waist situation once more. She knew exactly what he had to work with, and in this instance, knowing made everything worse, not better. God, she wanted another crack at his sinful body. And this time, she wanted all the rest of him, too.

  “Is dinner so important right now?”

  “It’s why I’m here. So we can go out.” His emphasis on his second sentence couldn’t be missed.

  Rarely used feminine wiles roared to the surface, bringing a heady flush to her skin. “Afraid to be alone with me, Lan?”

  “What?” His too-loud laughter was both insulting and provocative. “Me, scared of you?”

  Good Lord, Landon the sex god was afraid of being alone with her in her skimpy towel. She might never take it off, if it would keep that slightly panicked, dazed expression on his ridiculously sexy face.

  She couldn’t stop her smile. It would’ve been fun to torture him some more. Perhaps if she found the right button, he’d even stop hiding behind striped cotton and reveal his…uh, hand.

  But considering what she’d done, engaging him in sensual torment wasn’t fair. Now that she knew he was at least a little receptive to her as regular old Steff—with optional terry-cloth enhancement�
�she had to stop holding back. He deserved the truth.

  As soon as she figured out how to give it to him.

  When he started to speak, she grabbed hold of his wrist to climb out of her old-fashioned tub/shower combo. That silenced him quickly. “I’ll go get ready.”

  “Okay. Good idea.”

  Neither of them moved.

  She tightened her hold on him, her fingers sliding over his racing pulse. Pressing there as hers picked up to keep time with his. He flexed his taut muscles and she looked down, riveted by the play of light golden-brown hair over his tanned skin. In some weird way, the strip of paler flesh from his missing watch made him seem more vulnerable.

  “Steff.” He sounded hoarse. Breathless. “Go.”

  If she glanced into his turbulent green eyes, she’d get caught, just like a surfer in a sudden storm. Better to avoid the waves altogether until she was ready to deal with the undertow.

  And until she’d put on some clothes.

  She released him, wondering how the suction of her fingers didn’t sound an audible pop. Then she rushed out of the room, pulling her towel down in back, all the while hoping she hadn’t flashed him.

  Mostly hoping that, anyway.

  Chapter Five

  Upon reflection, a candlelit restaurant had not been the best choice. He still hadn’t fully recovered from seeing Steff naked, and sitting across from her at an intimate table for two was not helping the dire situation beneath his belt.

  They’d been to Mama Leone’s Pizza Kitchen a thousand times, but since when had the restaurant put out the Irish linen tablecloths and lowered all the lights? The tables themselves were spread out and tucked into nooks, though how one square establishment could have more than the average amount of nooks he didn’t know.