by Lori Foster
“No,” she said, her throat tight.
Good. Lord. Jace was hard for her. And what was she supposed to do now?
Ride him like you’re not saddle sore!
Her inner hedonist was quick with an answer, while that ever more cautious part of herself whispered “doom” on a low hum in the background.
He lifted his hand, his thumb and forefinger bracketing her jaw, and he turned her head gently, so she could meet his eyes. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.
All she could do was want. She’d wanted him before, but not this badly and not when he was standing so close.
It was a recipe for disaster. Or tasty physical cake...
No. Disaster.
But he was looking at her, and his fingers were rough against her skin. Masculine. It had been a long time since a man had touched her. It had been...never since it had excited her so much. His jaw looked...scratchy. A full day’s growth on his skin, dark and...and rough...and masculine. She’d thought all those adjectives already. But it’s because they were so true.
He pulled her closer, one arm still partly around her front and holding the sprayer, his cock getting harder at her back.
She couldn’t help it. She moved against him. Not an accidental wiggle. A full-on, intentional arch against him. Oh. Yes.
And then her lips parted, her eyes dropping to his.
Kiss me. Please kiss me.
And her silent prayer went answered.
Because then, suddenly, and finally, Jace was kissing her. His lips were firm, purposeful, expert. And he smelled like him. He smelled like home. Spices, familiar and exciting at the same time. Like leather and sweat. Like Jace.
She couldn’t get close enough to him.
She turned fully in his arms and he dropped the shower head, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her hard against his body.
“Yes,” she whispered, parting her lips for him.
His tongue slid against hers, the friction sending her to the edge, the pleasure radiating deep inside of her. She ached. Everywhere. Her breasts, the apex of her thighs. If he actually touched her anywhere she might explode. Right now, his hands were on her lower back and he was just kissing her lips, but she felt as if she was on the verge of an orgasm.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, sifting her fingers through his hair, kissing him back. Hard.
He growled and backed her up against the wall. She arched against him, trying to fit that tempting ridge of his arousal just where she needed it. She was a little too short to manage it.
She gave up for the moment and put her hands on his chest, skimming them over his body. He was as hard as she’d always imagined, his muscles clearly defined, even with the wet T-shirt fabric stretched over his skin.
Oh, no, the fabric wouldn’t do.
She ran her fingers down to the hem of his shirt and pushed them underneath, coming into contact with his skin. Lightning zipped from her fingertips through the rest of her body. He was so hot. And she was so hot for him.
There was no time to think or measure what response her actions might get. Measure what kind of consequences they might have.
And then her shirt was gone, so fast she hadn’t realized he’d made a move for it. He lowered his head and kissed her neck, her collarbone, his teeth scraping the delicate skin there.
The water was still running into the bathtub, hot now, steam filling up the small room. Or maybe that was just them producing the steam. It was entirely possible.
She was mindless, but she knew it was Jace. It was the fact that it was Jace that made it so hot. That made it so perfect.
He pressed a kiss to the rounded curved of her breast, traced the edge of her bra with the tip of his tongue. She whimpered, holding his head to her. So good. So incredibly good.
He reached behind her and unhooked her bra. She pushed it down her shoulders. He pulled her up against him and claimed her mouth again, his chest hair rough against her nipples. She arched her back, increasing the friction, deepening their kiss.
He swept her up into his arms and stepped into the bathtub in his jeans and bare feet, her with her jeans still on, then set her down in the water, never breaking their kiss as he settled between her thighs.
He kept kissing her, and she moved against him, using the seam of her jeans and his erection to chase the release that was close. So close. So very, very close.
Jace kissed her neck again. She gripped his belt loops, urging him to move against her harder, faster. She locked her legs over his, the wet denim heavy and scratchy on her skin. She didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything but this. But the way Jace made her feel.
He put his hand underneath, on her lower back, pushing her up more tightly against him, increasing his movements. Harder. Faster. Yes. Yes.
He bent his head and ran the flat of his tongue over her nipple, then sucked her deep into his mouth. Her orgasm rushed over her. She held on to his shoulders, a hoarse cry escaping her lips as her mind went blank and she surrendered herself. Utterly, completely.
Jace bucked against her, once, twice, then buried his face in her neck, his body stiffening as he found his own release.
Chapter Six
Suddenly, reality shot back into focus. And Sam was very aware of the fact that she was in wet jeans. That the water was still running. That she was half-naked in the arms of her best friend after having dry-humped...well, wet-humped maybe was the better term, all things considered. Whatever.
Gut-wrenching regret and humiliation were all the same no matter what you called the thing that brought them about.
She pulled away from him slowly, her eyes locked shut. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want him to see her. She wanted to sink beneath the water and hide until Jace left the room.
But she was frozen. Completely.
Jace was the one who moved first.
He stood, water pitching around them, splashing over her bare stomach, up to her breasts. She managed to open her eyes and look up at him. His jeans were molded to his legs, to the bulge right behind his zipper. Droplets ran down his chest. And up higher...up higher was what she really didn’t want to see.
His eyes were shadowed, his jaw set. At his sides, his hands were clenched. He didn’t look happy, that was for sure.
Well, she wasn’t all that happy, either. Considering the release she’d just had, she was battling between horror, anger at herself, anger at him and a sweet sort of languor that made her feel boneless and warm and wonderful. It didn’t make any sense that satisfaction and terror could exist side by side.
But right now they did. Her body was all happy and smoking a cigarette. Her mind was completely freaking out.
It was quiet in the bathroom now. Except for the water that was still running. Cold now, and she was still in it as it got higher.
Awkward silence had passed to devastating silence, and they were just sort of staring at each other, letting it get worse.
Hell. It couldn’t get worse. Could it get worse?
It was getting worse. He was still standing there, staring at her. And she was just staring at him. And she felt as if she was looking at a stranger. Because was it really Jace who had taken her to heaven like that? Her best friend, the man she’d known since she was sixteen?
Yes. Yes, it had been.
And now, after speaking millions upon millions of words to the man with total ease over the course of the past fourteen years, she couldn’t think of one to say after getting a mind-bending orgasm from him.
Not one.
Except maybe...
“Thanks.”
“What?”
He didn’t look happy that that was the word she’d said. Damn. Bad choice. Yes, judging by the stormy look in his dark eyes, it had been a bad cho
ice.
“I don’t know,” she said, sitting up, suddenly so embarrassed she thought she might die of it. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know.” She climbed out of the tub, her jeans stuck tight to her legs, and scrambled for her shirt.
“Why the hell did you...thank me?”
“Because the orgasm was good?” She tugged her shirt over her head. “It seemed polite.”
“Polite?”
“I don’t know. What’s the protocol for this situation?”
“There is no protocol.” He let out a string of curse words, each progressively more crass than the last, ending in a word combination she never could have conceived of. “There is no protocol.”
“I was afraid of that. Farmer’s Almanac has nothing? No? Okay.”
Jace was still shirtless, still standing in the tub in water that hit him mid-shin. His expression was starting to resemble that of man who’d been punched in the stomach with the end of a two-by-four.
It was like watching him go through the stages of grief. Denial was the part that had him frozen in the tub, and she had a feeling anger would be next. But she didn’t know whether the anger would be directed at himself or her.
And she didn’t really want to stick around to find out. “It’s been a long day,” she said, starting to edge out of the bathroom, wondering if Jace would be pissed about the water on the floor. Too damn bad. She was not hanging around to clean it up. That was what had caused this mess in the first place.
It confirmed her deepest suspicion that nothing truly good ever came of housework.
“Yeah,” he said, looking down, probably realizing he was still standing in the tub.
“I’m going to go to bed.” It was five o’clock. Even she didn’t buy her BS. But darn it all, she would huddle up in her room until Jace went to work the next morning if she had to. Because she couldn’t deal with this just yet. Just yet or maybe never.
So she would do what she’d done when she was a kid and reality sucked. She would cover her head with a blanket and imagine she was somewhere else. Just like she’d done nearly every time they’d moved.
Or on particularly cold, frightening nights sleeping in their car.
As scary as that had been, she was pretty sure this was worse. Because this had rocked her foundation.
If she ruined things with Jace, there was no one else.
Mrs. Brown was in Florida. Her mother probably didn’t even remember which city she’d left her only child in all those years ago.
And Poppy was wonderful, but she didn’t make Sam watch Die Hard or drink beer with cupcakes.
She needed Jace. She needed this to not have happened.
“Good night,” she said, not looking at him, and as she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
* * *
Jace was still trying to catch his breath, and Sam was already gone. It was probably a good thing because the moment he caught his breath, if she was still here, he would have done one of two things. He would have started yelling. Or he would have pushed her back down into the water and wrestled those jeans off of her no matter how hard it was to peel wet denim from skin.
He breathed in deep, finally, his chest pitching sharply with the motion, and stepped out of the tub.
Dammit. What had he just done?
Years of pent-up lust had exploded, and it had gotten all over Sam. Had he been in a shower by himself, great, fine. He’d have guiltily jacked off to her image. And it wouldn’t have been the first time.
Even those moments, moments of pure fantasy, made him feel like dirt.
But this was inexcusable. He’d expended his fantasies all over her. Well, the denim had caught most of it.
He winced. What kind of asshole did that to his best friend?
In fairness, she’d kissed him back. And she’d really seemed to enjoy everything that had happened in the tub. But he should have stopped. He should have known better. He should have done better.
He looked around the bathroom. It was a mess. Evidence of the dog’s bath all over the place, and puddles from their water fight splashed across the floor.
But for some reason the thought of cleaning didn’t relax him.
Whether he cleaned the bathroom or not, what had just happened would have still just happened.
Because no matter how much control he took over his surroundings, in this situation he had no control at all. And it made him feel as if the entire theory for his life wasn’t quite as sound as he’d always believed.
He had to figure out a way to get control. At the moment, a little dog hair was the least of his worries.
Chapter Seven
Samantha had scurried out of the house before he’d gotten out of bed the next morning. And she wasn’t home when he got in from working the next afternoon.
It was so fricking cold outside he felt as if his balls had been on ice all day, which, all things considered, was kind of helpful. Especially since he’d spent the whole night trying to ignore the hard-on from hell that seemed to be inextricably linked to a shame wave that threatened to wash him away the minute he wrapped his hand around himself.
He’d been awake most of the night, horny and unable to do anything about it. Because he was hard for Sam, and that was something he was ashamed about. Vicious cycle set on repeat.
Thankfully, punishing physical labor in weather that was pushing the negative numbers on the thermometer was helpful for that state. If he couldn’t tame his nether regions he’d freeze them off.
He poured himself some coffee, needing the warmth in spite of the fact that it was past five in the evening, and added just a little bit of booze. To warm himself up. And to make the image of Samantha’s breasts a little less clear in his mind.
He froze at the kitchen counter, his hand wrapped tight around the hot mug. Perfect, pale breasts with little pink nipples. So hard. So delicious. One taste and he craved more with everything in him.
He craved her flavor. Not just her mouth or her breasts. He wanted to bury his face between her thighs and...
Poppy barked and Jace jumped, sloshing his coffee and alcohol mixture over the edge of his cup.
He turned and looked at the dog. “You can read my mind, can’t you?” he said, his tone hostile. Poppy looked confused by what she’d done to earn his anger, but he had no doubt that she knew. That bark was too well timed.
“I can have fantasies,” he said. “It’s my right as a man.”
Poppy tilted her head to the side. Silently judging.
“Clearly you wouldn’t understand. I guess you’ve never met another mutt who lit your fire. It’s probably better in the end. This is all a lot more trouble than it’s worth.”
The front door slammed shut and Poppy jingled over to the entryway. He looked out the window and saw Sam’s van parked out front, covered in snow. Oh, so that was why she’d been barking. Fair enough.
He stayed at the counter in the kitchen, cursing his own cowardice. He was avoiding her for the next thirty seconds. It seemed the thing to do. And if that made him chicken shit, then fine. He was. He owned it. But he was extending the moment between now and the awkward silence for as long as possible.
Then Sam walked into the kitchen, holding a cake and wearing a huge grin on her face. “Hi! How was your day? Have cheese sandwiches for lunch?”
“Leftover chili,” he said, feeling a little stunned.
“Oh. Well, you know, ’cuz of the nostalgia and whatever.” She laughed, a weird, high-pitched sound, and set the cake on the little table by the window. “I brought cake!”
“You’re going to make me fat. It’s going to go straight to my hips,” he said, his tone dry.
Her cheeks flushed pink. “Ha!” Her fake laugh was as overenthusias
tic as her fake smile. “Funny. Jace, that’s...funny. Because you’re a man and things don’t uh...they don’t go to your hips.”
“Yeah, Sam, that was the joke. Thanks for explaining it.”
“I’m going to make dinner.”
“What the hell, Sam?”
“What the hell what?”
“You’re fluttering around here chattering like a deranged chipmunk and trying to pretend everything is okay when you know damn well things aren’t okay. You’re trying so hard to act like everything is normal that you’re acting like a nut job.”
“I...I’m not.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, then fidgeted and cocked her hip out to the side, uncrossing her arms and putting a hand on her hip instead. “I’m...fine.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because of last night.”
“What?” she said, her voice reaching heights that were almost only audible to Poppy. “That was...nothing. We made out.”
He crossed his arms in return. “We made out?”
“Yeah, we kissed. So...so what? No big deal. I’ve kissed guys that I’ve only known for, like, twenty minutes. It’s really only surprising that we’ve never kissed before. We’ve known each other forever. Not really a huge shock that we’d test the waters. Ha. Waters. See what I did there?”
He reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him. “Stop,” he said, anger pooling in his gut. “Stop making it a joke.”
“We kissed, Jace. Stop making a huge deal out of it. We don’t need a postmortem. There’s not even a body.”
“Just a kiss?”
“Yeah.”
He swore and released his hold on her, pushing his fingers through his hair. “Just a kiss? That’s what that was to you? That’s why you were digging your nails into my back like that? Do you kiss all your dates that way, baby? Because if so, I’ve been missing out.”
Her whole face turned red. “Stop it.”
“Why? You’re determined to act like nothing happened! You’re lying about it, to me, to yourself...”