“None of those seem quite right.”
“Well, it’s your penalty. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” She started to take another sip of her drink, but he took it from her hand and brought it to his own mouth for a drink.
“Water?” he asked.
“With lime. I figured it’s easier to keep on top of things when I’m not operating in a haze.”
“So you’re sober.”
“Sober dober,” she agreed, then watched him set the tumbler aside on the small patio table.
“So when I do this, you’ll remember in the morning.”
“Do what?” she asked, still looking at her drink. He’d downed the whole thing.
Then his hands were cupping her face, tilting it upward, and his lips were on hers.
* * *
An entire herd of defensive linemen couldn’t have kept him from kissing her at that moment. Josiah’s hands cupped her face, and he watched her lips part in surprise, her eyes widen a little. Her hair flipped and flicked in the wind, wrapping around them, almost like small ropes tugging them closer together. And when he laid his lips on hers—testing first, light—he waited for her to protest.
Instead, she gripped his shirt and pulled him closer to her. He stumbled, surprised, then caught himself and her against the railing and opened his mouth over hers. Her lips parted more fully, giving him access to taste. Her lips were cool from the ice water, and the contrast of her hot skin and cool mouth ripped through him like a shock wave. Her tongue met his, and her hands alternated smoothing over his chest and gripping his shirt again to pull him tighter, tighter against her.
His knee parted her legs on instinct, bracing itself against the concrete of the balcony wall behind her. But she was short enough that that little movement lifted her up onto her toes, riding his thigh. She let out a moan of pleasure, and he captured it with his mouth, angling his head more to take the kiss deeper.
When her hands slid up his chest, over his shoulders and into his own hair, tugging and scratching at his scalp, he nearly lost all sense of self-preservation, brought her to the floor of the balcony, and ripped their clothes off.
She pulled away on a gasp, suddenly, and almost as if in pain. He inched back to give her a moment to catch her breath.
“You didn’t . . .” She breathed heavily. “. . . do that for the . . . for the penalty, did you?”
“For the . . . what?” He reared back farther to look in her eyes, and saw wariness, and maybe a little shame. He hated both. “Penalty. What fucking penalty?”
“The game. The lost point.” He stared at her, his hormone-soaked brain completely unable to follow her line of thought. “‘Pivot’?” she said.
“Oh, Jesus, Anya.” He let his head fall until he nuzzled against her neck. “Fuck the game.”
Her hands clenched in his shirt, just above his heart. “This isn’t for the penalty.”
“Fuck the penalty. Just kiss me,” he growled, and took her mouth again.
The fire, the sassiness, the sharpness she used against him in their verbal sparring found a new outlet, and she poured herself into the kiss as much as he did, holding nothing back. His hands roamed over her body, taking in her curves and hollows like he hadn’t been able to before with his eyes alone. Her dress was tight, though not skintight, and had given him a good idea of her shape before. Nothing compared to testing the shape out with his own touch.
A second, a minute, an hour later, who knew how long, she pulled away slowly, regretfully. “We have to stop.”
“Fuck stopping,” he said, nibbling at her lip.
“The party . . . yes, I know. Fuck the party.”
He grinned and pressed a kiss between her furrowed brows. “You’ve got the idea.”
“We can’t stay here forever. We have to—Josiah. We—mmm.” Her words melded into a moan when he sucked softly on the skin below her ear. “You need to quit doing that . . . in a year or two.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“No, that’s not right. Stop.” She sighed and pressed against him more firmly this time, and he took the cue to step away. But he stayed within arm’s reach in case she was unsteady. Those heels were killer, maybe literally if she toppled over on the balcony area. She smoothed her hair back, grimacing when she snagged her fingers in a snarl. “Damn.”
“Can’t tell, just smooth it back. Or do one of those . . .” He made a circling motion at the top of his head. “Messy bunny things.”
“Messy bun, not bunny,” she corrected automatically. “I will, when we get back inside. Now go,” she said, pushing on his shoulder. “You go. My bag’s in the bedroom with my brush and hair stuff. I need to fix myself up.”
“You look good enough to eat to me,” he argued, but she wasn’t having it. She pushed and prodded him until he was in the hallway and she’d shut the bedroom door.
That, he thought to himself as he walked back to the party, had gone a hell of a lot better than he ever could have planned. Now the next challenge would be making sure she didn’t explain it away and change the script on him.
Fuck that.
* * *
“You’re sure you don’t want to make use of the rooms?” Anya asked as Cassie shrugged into her lightweight jacket. The veil and attached tiara dangled from her fingertips, and at some point she’d decided to wear a flashing ring after all, on her right hand. Her best friend’s smile was a bit glassy, but she wasn’t wasted. Anya knew exactly what that looked like. The bride was merely in a very happy place.
“Yup. Trey and I wanna go have bachelor-and-bachelorette sex in our own bed, thank you very much.”
Trey winced. He was definitely more sober than his fiancée. “Come on, sweetheart. Off we go. Anya,” he added, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “You’re worth a million. Thank you for the party.”
“Thank you for having awesome friends,” she countered, cupping his cheek and giving him a smile. “And good taste in women.”
“Hear! Hear!” Cassie said, looping her arm around his neck. “Great taste. Fantastic taste. Perfect taste.”
Anya grinned and walked them to the private elevator that would take them to the private entrance where the town car Trey had rented would be waiting for them. Their guests had all managed to either stay sober enough to make it home—Josiah had made the call on those, handing keys back after a quick sobriety check—or had found rides back home.
“How did we end up with no overnight guests?” she wondered out loud. “Not what I expected.”
“People were having a lot of fun. They didn’t need drinks to enhance the mood. You threw a damn good party.” Josiah walked back toward her from the kitchen, where he’d been stuffing decorations into the trash can. “Kitchen trash is full. We can have housekeeping run up a few garbage bags to handle the rest.”
“Hmm,” she said, looking at the drooping streamers. “You’re not the kind of guy who would just walk away and let the staff handle it, would you?”
“Nope.”
“I didn’t think so.”
He waited a beat, hands in his pockets, then approached. “Is this the part where you tell me the kiss was a mistake and we should forget all about it?”
“Do you want to forget about it?” she asked.
“No.”
“Neither do I.” She’d been alone for so long, waiting, hoping the divorce would be finalized and she could move on with her life. With all of it. This relocation to Santa Fe was the first real step she’d taken in moving on with her life. Starting the nonprofit was the second.
Maybe Josiah was the third step.
“You know,” she said, stepping closer to him, “I don’t think you’re as snobby and elitist as you initially seemed.”
“Because I corrected you on how to wash lettuce?”
“Because you corrected me,” she
agreed. “And a few other reasons. I think you were nervous.”
He said nothing, but his jaw twitched.
“Did I make you nervous?”
“Anxious,” he conceded. “Not nervous. Different.”
“Different. Of course.”
“You’re not really shallow, are you?”
“I can be. Making things pretty is fun.”
He shook his head. A wayward strand of chestnut hair fell over his forehead, covering half of one eyebrow. “You don’t just like to make things pretty. That’s not enough. You enhance. That’s different, too.”
That stopped her in her slow trek toward him. “How is that different?”
“Making things pretty serves no purpose but to be pretty. Enhancing means . . .” He looked out toward the large bay windows. “Means giving the thing, or the person, a new purpose. A new consideration. Like this hotel room. It was nice before. Probably decorated by some professional designer or whatever. But you knew that wouldn’t work for the party, so you enhanced.”
“I threw up some streamers and handed out shot glasses with boobs on them,” she said wryly.
“It enhanced. You knew how far to take it, when to pull back, and it added to the party. It wasn’t just about making it pretty, because I think we both know it’s, uh . . . not.” His gaze caught on one streamer as the tape gave way and it fluttered to the floor. “So it enhanced instead.”
“I think,” she said slowly, “that was a compliment.”
“A big one.”
She slid one hand up his stomach—feeling those tight muscles ripple as they tightened in reaction to her touch—to his chest, where his heart beat fast. “Do you have a heart condition?”
“No,” he breathed.
“So this”—she patted her hand over his racing heart—“is all because of us.”
Not a question, but he nodded anyway.
“Would it be really crass of me to say I want to stay the night? It’s already paid for, after all. And I’d rather not bring back a guy to the pool house, even if Coach doesn’t snoop.”
“It’s only wrong if you tell me you want to stay here alone,” he growled.
She could barely shake her head before he cupped her face and kissed her again.
He was so damn good at that. She wound her arms around his neck, loving the brush of hair against the insides of her wrists. The shaggy look worked for him, though she doubted he did it intentionally. Just the same effortlessness that led him to being so sexy in the first place in his jeans and all-cotton T-shirts and running shoes. Normal Josiah.
Sexy Josiah.
Going to rock my world in bed Josiah.
Chapter Fourteen
She gave everything in the kiss. He’d noticed it the first time, and couldn’t escape it this time, either. With every stroke of his tongue, she responded. Every nip of his teeth, she mirrored. There was no passive enjoyment. She put her everything into it.
His blood fired to realize she’d be the same in bed, giving as much as taking, insisting on being an equal.
But there was one way in which he’d have the upper hand, every time. He wrapped his arms around her lower back and lifted. When her toes left the floor she squealed in surprise, clinging to him. But he walked her back toward the biggest bedroom, and she didn’t argue. Didn’t insist on walking herself or being put down. She let him—yeah, let him—show off just a little, because they both wanted it.
When he set her down on the floor beside the bed, he realized she looked like a gift. The coloring was simple; yellow with a gray ribbon. To match the wedding colors, he knew. She’d be the kind of person to think of something like that. The bottom of the dress poofed out sort of like a bubble, then tapered up to frame her skinny waist with a bow around the back. The top was modest enough, he supposed, with thick straps over the shoulders and a scoop neckline that didn’t give a peep of cleavage. But it was the way she wore it that got to him. No necklace to break up that lovely skin between her throat and the top of the dress. Just skin, creamy and inviting. Ready for his mouth to taste, his fingers to explore.
He pulled the bow loose first, because it was the logical first step when opening a gift. When it didn’t fall to the floor the way he’d expected, he grumbled.
“It’s attached,” she said with a little laugh. “More for show, and to tighten the waistline a little. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Not disappointed. Momentarily confused. That’s cleared up now, and it only makes the next part that much more satisfying.” He reached around and unzipped the dress by feel, enjoying watching as the material gapped in the front. She instinctively cupped the dress to her breasts. He let his fingertips roam over the skin of her back, left exposed by the wide open zipper. She wore a bra, but not much of one from what he could feel. And she shivered as he touched and teased, kissing her shoulder. His touch left goosebumps in its wake.
“Cold?” he asked, smiling. She poked his stomach.
“You know I’m not.”
“I’m just going to play for a bit, that’s all. Then we’ll get you nice and warm under the covers.” His body had ached for this for weeks now. The reality would be sweet, he knew. He hoped. He prayed. But getting there slowly would be the challenge. Her body, her response to him, made him want to rush. Made him want to taste what he thought wouldn’t come for the longest time.
One of Anya’s hands worked the buttons of his shirt, which was all but impossible to do without assistance. “This isn’t fair. You can undo my clothes with one hand, but I can’t undo yours.”
“So drop the dress.” When she hesitated, he added, “If you think I won’t see you—all of you—before the night is over, you’re mistaken.”
“Bossy,” she grumbled. “Can’t imagine why I thought you were elitist in the first place.”
“Can’t imagine,” he echoed dryly. “Lose the dress, hummingbird.”
She looked up at him then, surprise and pleasure shining in her eyes. “‘Hummingbird’?”
“I figure you were going on a little heavy with the notebook to annoy me.” Her gaze darted away for a half second, confirming his suspicion. “But I also figure you really like them.”
“I do. They’re pretty but efficient little things. Reminds me things can be beautiful and serve a purpose at the same time.”
Her mission in life, it seemed. It wasn’t a mission he shared, but he understood now, and he respected it.
“Like I said. Hummingbird.” He kissed the tip of her nose, then gently pried her hands from the dress. “Off we go.”
There was a moment’s hesitation, then she conceded and let the dress drop. It pooled around her sparkly silver heels that arched her legs so nicely.
Kind of like the lingerie, or what he could see of it. It was yellow, too, and mostly lace. He traced one fingertip over the edge of the strapless cup. Surprisingly, the bottoms weren’t something slinky and sexy, like a thong, but a pair of spandex one might see on a girl at the gym. Gray, like the ribbon.
“Those are unexpected.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t anticipating getting naked with the best man,” she said irritably, looking a little embarrassed now. “I forgot I was wearing them. I put them on instead of the matching panties because of the dress, and not knowing what we were doing, and I’m the hostess. I was going to be bending and standing and sitting and it just seemed—”
“You don’t have to explain.” That she’d combined a gorgeous dress with a practical set of underwear made him smile. “I like it. You’ve got the sexy on top,” he said, tracing the cup of the strapless yellow bra, “and the practical down on the bottom. It works.”
“Only you would be seduced by practical underwear,” she grumbled. She popped one foot up behind her and reached for her heel, but he stayed her hand.
“I’m going to be the shallow one for a second and ask yo
u to keep them on.”
That lit her eyes up. “Why, Josiah . . . do you have a heel fetish?”
“I’ve got an Anya fetish right now, and Anya looks damn good in those heels.”
That turned her gaze a little gooey. She finished unbuttoning his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. He let her, tossing it aside while she stepped out of the dress and picked it up. Instead of tossing it aside, she smoothed it out over the chair in the corner. “I like it,” she explained. “I want to keep it nice.”
Her back was still turned when he grabbed her from behind, swung her up and tossed her on the bed. Her shriek of surprise and laughter did something to him inside, loosening some knot he didn’t know had been there. He multitasked, kicking his shoes off while unclasping her bra. When it sprang free, his hands were on her, cupping and teasing the nipples, pulling until they stood in little peaks.
Anya’s face remained a serene lake, almost as if she were asleep. But the sounds she made told another story. Throaty moans, little gasps, excited puffs of breath . . . she was as connected to the moment as he was.
“These are probably the sexiest things I’ve ever seen on a woman,” he said, dipping one finger below the waistband of the spandex running shorts.
“You’re so weird,” she whispered, grinning at him.
“Probably. But you seem to like my kinda weird.”
“I must be weird, too.” She kissed him, then arched her hips so he could pull the bottoms off. She was bare underneath, and she seemed to suddenly realize she was all the way naked.
“Take your jeans off,” she said quickly, turning to her side and bringing one knee up to shield herself from his eyes. “Now.”
“What?” He couldn’t stop looking at her. Her hair, still in its bun, was working its way free and starting to frame her head on the pillow.
“I can’t be naked while you’re not. Just do it.”
He smirked, but stood and removed his jeans and socks, grabbing his wallet and setting it on the nightstand before coming back. She shook her head and pointed to his boxers. “All or nothing, bubba.”
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