by Lori Foster
“So, I was thinking,” she said, her voice soft.
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Does it?”
He shrugged, feeling a little like an asshole for trying to have a conversation while standing in front of her with an erection that was advertising the true contents of his thoughts. “I’m having trouble doing any real thinking right now.”
She looked down. “Yeah. Well...I can see that.”
“Sorry.” He wasn’t. Not really. She was there and naked. And he was crazy about her. If he was lucky enough to see her naked every day of his life for the next sixty years, she would probably always make him hard. That was just the simple truth.
“I was just thinking that...that there’s no going back, Jace,” she said. The way she said it made him feel cold. As if he was sure he wouldn’t like the next words out of her mouth. “I can’t forget last night or what happened before that. The only solution is to...is to keep going until we come out the other side. That makes sense, right?”
“I suppose,” he said. Except he was right—he didn’t like what she was saying. What she was saying made it sound as if they were lost in the forest, muddling around, groping and falling into each other’s naked bodies. But not to worry—they would find the other side eventually and all the groping could stop.
And that wasn’t how he felt. He didn’t feel lost. He finally felt as if he’d found himself.
“While I’m living here...Jace, this tension isn’t going to let up while I’m here. There’s no freaking way. We’ve seen each other naked. We’ve...y’know, and we’ll be sleeping down the hall from each other and...it’s not going to work.”
“I agree.” Kind of.
“So, I think...as long as we want it, let’s have it. While it feels right, we do it. And when it doesn’t...we’ll stop and never look back.”
“Can you do that?” he asked, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him.
“What other choice is there?”
There was another choice. One he knew she wasn’t ready to address. One he was more than ready to take on.
If he said the L-word now, he would scare her away. But he could show her. He could make her fall in love with him before they got out of the damned woods.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her up against his body and kissed her. That was his answer. Because he wasn’t agreeing to her terms, not really. He had his own agenda. And he wasn’t about to give away his plans.
She didn’t seem to want to talk anymore, though. She was kissing him back, and his whole body felt as if it was on fire, the stream of the shower not nearly enough to stop the flames from burning through him. Consuming him.
She was so soft. So perfect. Everything he’d ever wanted. Everything he’d never known he wanted.
The woman he loved.
He groaned and pushed her back against the wall, deepening the kiss, cupping her full breasts in his hands, her skin slick, sexy. Tempting. He leaned forward and licked the water droplets running down between her breasts, lowered his hands and sucked her nipple deep into his mouth, drinking in the moisture that had pooled on her body.
She shifted, opening herself up to him, and he reached down, gripping her thigh and tugging it up over his hip, testing the entrance of her body with the head of his erection.
He slid deep inside of her, his breath exiting in a gust, curling around his throat and pressing against his windpipe, making breathing an impossibility. But it was okay; he didn’t need to breathe. He just needed her.
The feel of her, hot and wet, tight around him, the water hot on his back, her breasts crushed against his chest. It was too much, but it was perfect.
She gripped his ass and pulled him forward, burying him deeper inside her body. She had her eyes closed, her head back against the wall, her brows locked together, her lips parted slightly.
He leaned in and kissed her because in his mind, parting her lips just like that was an invitation to taste her. An invitation she’d made subconsciously for years, one he’d denied because he didn’t want to ruin their friendship.
But he wasn’t denying it anymore. Never again.
He slid his tongue over her lush bottom lip, taking in her flavor, her texture. Like a crushed rose petal dipped in sugar. Sweet, velvet perfection.
He moved his hands over her curves, the water easing his way. Full breasts, slim waist, rounded hips. A fantasy. But no matter how those curves changed and reshaped over the years, they would still be a fantasy. They would always be his fantasy.
She would always be his fantasy.
He was lost then, in her body, in her sighs, in her nails digging into his back. He wrenched his mouth from hers and pressed his face to her neck. His orgasm rushed up over him, blinding him, making him feel as if he was losing his grip. On his surroundings, on the world. So all he could do was cling to Sam.
She dug her nails deeper into his back, the pain a sharp spike of reality amid the pleasure, helping him stay standing as he emptied himself into her body, his thighs shaking, his whole body shaking.
It wasn’t until he came back to himself that he realized he was biting her neck. Not hard. Just a little. But still. He moved away from her, examining the little mark he’d left there.
He brushed the back of his knuckle over the indents, regret slugging him in the gut. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning in and kissing her over her delicate, marred skin.
“Mmm.” She tilted her head and kissed his cheek. “Don’t apologize.”
“I hurt you,” he said, lifting his head and looking into her eyes.
“A little. But it was the fun kind. And no guy has ever gotten so into it with me before. You make me feel...different.” She smiled, sweet and sleepy. “And the orgasms are pretty rad, too.”
“Rad?”
“Yeah.” Her smile widened. “Got a problem with that?”
“Not at all.” Hell, he was just glad he was in a position to give her orgasms. He wasn’t going to argue with her choice of outdated nineties slang when expressing her enjoyment of them.
“Good.” She smacked his butt and wiggled out of his hold as she stepped out of the shower.
He turned the water off and followed her out into the cold air. She was drying off and it should not be as hot as it was. He was sure he’d seen women dry off after a shower. He was sure he’d had sex in the shower before.
He just couldn’t remember very clearly. Not because there had been so many or anything, just because...every other woman seemed indistinct in his memory now. Every other time seemed indistinct. Samantha was the definition of sexy to him. His life’s sexiest moments were now made up of encounters that had happened with her, and all in the past couple of days.
“Baby, I could watch you do that...for another ten seconds and then I would jump you again,” he said.
She smiled at him, hot and tempting. “Already?”
“You said no man had ever been like this with you, which proves what I already knew—you have dated assholes. But it also means that I have to tell you I’ve never been this way with any other woman. Ever.”
Her cheeks turned pink and she tugged the towel up over her breasts. Funny what made her blush. And what didn’t.
“That’s nice of you to say. But you don’t have to say it.”
“I do. Because it’s true. Because you’re different. Because I bit you. I’ve never bitten a woman in my life.”
“If you were Poppy, I would have smacked you with a newspaper.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
She let out a long breath and hugged the towel closer to her body. She looked smaller for a moment. Unsure. And he wanted to grab her and pull her into his arms. He wanted to reassure her. But he didn’t know if she wanted him to. He didn’t know what was
allowed in this little scenario of hers.
And he didn’t want to push her too far. Not yet. Too much pushing and she would scurry off into those metaphorical woods without him and he wouldn’t have the chance to make his case for forever.
His chest suddenly felt tight. Was that what he wanted? Forever? With her and Poppy in his house, screwing shit up and leaving hair and footprints everywhere?
Yes. Yes it was.
He’d spent most of his adult life protecting his space and his organization, prizing it above all else.
And it hit him then that if he kept on doing that, he wasn’t any better than his mother. Loving his things more than he loved people. Of course, he was into neat and clean rather than piles of trash. But it was the same idea.
If he took on Sam, he had to let her in. Really. He had to let her have an equal share. He had to give up control.
And in that same moment, he realized he would give up anything, even a clean floor, for her. He would let her damned dog on the couch. He would let the damned dog in his bed. As long as Sam was there, too.
Okay, he would get used to those ideas in stages. And maybe they could compromise.
But the sentiment stood.
“Yeah, well. Don’t push your luck. Anyway...the cupcakes will not frost themselves.”
“My cows won’t take their own vitamins, either.”
“Or cut off their own...well.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay so...makeup is in the other bathroom and I...” She shrugged her pale shoulders and backed out of the bathroom.
He didn’t know what had caused her unease, but she was definitely uneasy. He let out a breath and walked into his room, hunting for his clothes. He would have to follow her lead. To a point. Then he was going to do some pushing.
Because he was done hanging in limbo. He knew what he wanted now. He knew what he felt. He loved her. For better or worse, for chewed-up throw pillows or orderly house. And that meant he wasn’t going to just hang back.
And she wasn’t going to be able to avoid him forever.
Chapter Nine
Jace was so hot. Standing at the stove cooking her dinner. And he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Just jeans riding low on his hips, the snug fit hugging his ass like a little denim-wrapped present that was just for her.
Ugh. Wasn’t this supposed to be getting easier? Weren’t things supposed to be less...lusty?
She’d spent the past week in his bed. And on his couch. And in the shower. Once on the floor in the hall.
Yes. It had been a busy week.
And she didn’t feel any closer to getting out of the woods. Worse, she was forgetting why she wanted out.
Things were getting tangled. Jace her friend and Jace her lover weren’t really staying as separate as she would have liked. Because sometimes they were talking and laughing, and she would picture him naked. And then sometimes they were naked and he would say something very Jace and make her laugh.
Muddled. It was muddled.
And her mind was muddled at the moment because of those jeans. Because of the sexy shift and bunch in his muscles as he stirred the pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove.
What she really wanted to do was walk up and kiss his bare shoulder. Trail her fingertip down the curve of his spine. Slide her fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans. Squeeze his butt.
But this was the problem with their little arrangement. She felt compelled to find the line during the times they weren’t getting it on. Which meant acting like his friend and not his bed partner when they weren’t hot and heavy.
Which meant no random shoulder kisses or proprietary ass grabs just before dinner.
But she wanted to.
That was sort of disturbing. It was line-muddling. And stuff.
But it might not hurt, either. Especially not if it was considered fore-foreplay. Because they would have sex later, of that she had no doubt. Because if every night over the past week was an indicator, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
She crept up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Hi,” she said. He went stiff beneath her fingertips.
“Hi,” he said.
She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his skin, just like she’d imagined, before tracing his spine, also like she’d imagined. And then she edged her fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans, skimming the top of his butt. She stopped short at squeezing, even though she wanted to.
“How was your day?” she asked, pulling away.
“Good.”
“Did Poppy behave?”
He shrugged a shoulder, the one she’d kissed, and turned to face her. “Yeah, she was fine. She rode in the truck and did my errands with me. Then we did some ranch work. The hands like her a lot. I think she might have gotten a little spoiled with lunch scraps.”
She made a face and looked down at the dog. “Greedy thing. They’re going to make her fat.”
“Her fur will cover it.”
“Ah, yes, black hair is very slimming.”
Their eyes met and he smiled. And her heart did some kind of weird melty thing it had never done before. Ever. In her whole life. It was strange and she didn’t like it at all.
She cleared her throat and turned away. “Can I set the table?”
“Sure,” he said.
She busied herself with the task while he finished cooking and dished their plates. They ate in relative silence with more small talk about their day passing back and forth. But mainly her eyes were glued to his chest. Why was he shirtless, anyway? It was snowing outside. It was warm in the house, but she didn’t feel the need to strip off her top.
It seemed like gratuitous male nudity. Which, if it also counted as fore-foreplay, was allowable.
She would just enjoy it then. Let it kindle her flame. Light her fire. Make her go up like a match thrown into a tank of gasoline.
Yeah, more that last one.
Because the man had the most perfect chest ever. And while she’d definitely noticed it before, even before the morning she’d smacked him with pancake batter, she was really, really noticing it now.
Now that she knew just how those muscles felt under her fingertips.
Now that she knew just how sexy he was.
“I’m suddenly hungry for dessert,” she said, realizing she’d gone a little Marilyn Monroe.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I am. And if you have to ask, I’m not doing a very good job.”
He smiled and her heart did that thing again. Then he stood from his spot at the table and crossed to where she was sitting, kneeling in front of her and taking both her hands in his, his eyes intent on hers. “You have been seducing me since the moment I first met you. Pick-up lines are appreciated but not required.”
“I...” She blinked, trying to soothe suddenly stinging eyes. “How do you do that?”
“How do I do what?”
“How do you make me feel like I’m the only woman in the world?”
“Because you’re the only one that matters.”
She breathed out hard, fighting against the intense emotion rising in her chest. She didn’t want to cry. There was no reason to cry. Jace was her friend so he was saying nice things. He was her lover so they were extra mushy.
That was all.
Nothing deeper.
“We should do dishes,” she said. “I mean, before dessert.”
He reached up and brushed his thumb over the corner of her mouth before straightening. “You really do know how to talk dirty to me. By talking clean.”
“I know my audience,” she said. “Most guys aren’t so excited about putting their hands in warm soapy water.”
“If you were in it, a
ny guy would be.”
“Oh...” Her cheeks heated. “Well, you...you...”
“Yeah. And you.”
He was being gooey. And looking at her funny.
“You know,” she said, “I’m easy where you’re concerned. You don’t have to try this hard.”
“I’m just being honest.”
“Okay.”
She started running hot water out of the tap, scrubbing at the bowl idly with her thumb before realizing what she was doing. And then she realized he wasn’t yelling at her. And that was weird.
“I’m washing the bowl with my thumb,” she said, studying his face closely. “My thumb, Jace. I petted Poppy with these hands earlier. I grabbed your ass. This thumb was involved in said ass-grabbing.”
He shrugged and smiled. “It’s going to go in the dishwasher.”
She squinted at him. “Are you high?”
“Never once in my life.”
“No. You’re too much of a control freak. Which is why I am suspicious of you now.”
“I’m fine. I’m...” He looked down at her hand. “You did stick your hand down my pants.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you could use a cloth?”
She smiled and grabbed a clean dish towel from the counter. “Yeah, I could do that.” There. That was more normal. Nitpicky Jace, who was freaky about his dishes, was strange but normal in his way.
“So what’s with the trying to be relaxed about me manhandling your stuff?” she asked.
“I’m making an effort to be flexible.”
“That’s weird, man. I’m not gonna lie.”
“You’re staying here. And I shouldn’t make you feel like an imposition.”
“Huh. Well. For the record, you don’t make me feel like an imposition, but thank you.”
“But you wouldn’t feel comfortable if you were staying here permanently.”
Something strange and heavy settled in her chest. “No. But I’m not.”
“No,” he said. “But...if you were, I couldn’t be tyrannical about everything.”
“But I’m not,” she said, feeling the need to affirm it.