Playing It Safe

by Lisa B. Kamps

  "Yeah, not happening."

  "Day-glo, I swear to fuck—"

  "Why are you punishing yourself?"

  "What?"

  "You heard me. Why are you punishing yourself?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You can be a parent and have a life, too, you know. They're not mutually exclusive."

  "I told you—"

  "You told me what your ex did. Somehow, I don't see you foisting the girls off every night to go out partying. There's a difference. A big difference."

  "You don't understand."

  "You're right, I don't. I saw you with Savannah, saw the way you watched her, so don't tell me you're just friends with benefits. I know better." Harland grabbed Aaron's empty beer bottle then rose to his feet. "Punishing yourself, denying yourself happiness, isn't going to make up for whatever your ex did. It's just going to make you a miserable old bastard. Is that how you want your kids to see you?"

  "I'm not—"

  "That was a rhetorical question. Just think about it. I'm grabbing another beer. Want one?"

  "Yeah, sure."

  He watched Harland disappear inside, thought about everything he'd just said.

  Was he punishing himself? No. Putting his girls first wasn't a punishment. But what about everything else Harland had said? Was he turning into a miserable old bastard? Is that how the girls saw him?

  And fuck. If that was the case, what the hell was he supposed to do about it?

  He didn't have the answer to that. And he was still searching for it an hour later, when Harland and Courtney took Noah home. And later still, after the girls were sound asleep and his mother had decided to spend the night in the guest bedroom instead of driving home.

  Telling him she'd keep an ear out for the girls in case they needed anything. In case he needed to step out for a little bit.

  Christ. Even his own mother was convinced there was something more going on than there was.

  But that didn't help with finding an answer. Any answer.

  And he was still searching hours later, at one in the morning when the headlights of Savannah's car drifted across his living room wall, lighting up the dark room as she turned into her driveway.

  Chapter Nineteen

  "Savannah."

  She spun around, a scream lodged in her throat, and lashed out with her keys. The quick movement caused her to wobble in the ridiculous heels and she stumbled back, falling against the door as a dark figure emerged from the shadows.

  Aaron, his face wreathed with concern.

  Her throat finally cleared, the stuck scream leaving in a breathless rush of air. But her heart didn't stop its frantic race. If anything, it sped up even more—and not from fear.

  "Damn you! Are you trying to scare me half to death?"

  "I thought you heard me."

  "No, I didn't hear you. How could I hear you when you're sneaking around like that?" Savannah sucked in a shaky breath, the strength finally returning to her legs. She studied his face, the angles somehow sharper in the light and shadow falling over him. His eyes were hooded, his gaze too…too focused. Too intense.

  Her heart slammed against her chest once more and she forced herself to look away, to jam the key into the lock of her door. Her hands were shaking so much, it took her three times to get it unlocked. "What are you doing out here anyway? It's past midnight. Don't you have a game tomorrow?"

  She pushed the door open and stepped inside, expecting him to be right behind her. But he wasn't. He hadn't moved, not a single step.

  "Aaron, if you want something, out with it. I'm tired, my feet are killing me, and all I want to do is take this stupid outfit off, throw it in the trash, and go to bed." Her voice was sharper than she had intended, both from the fright he had given her and from the horrendous evening she'd just suffered. She should have never gone to that stupid party wearing this stupid costume. It was supposed to be a sexy costume party, attended by adults.

  Technically, she guessed it had been. Most everyone in attendance had been wearing variations of sexy costumes. And yes, everyone had been over twenty-one. That didn't mean they were adults.

  They sure as hell hadn't acted like it.

  She'd spent most of the night with a napkin held in front of her, glaring at the men who kept making lewd suggestions and talking into her chest.

  "Bad night?"

  "You could say that, yeah."

  He finally moved forward, stopped with one foot on the bottom step. "I'm sorry."

  "Why? It wasn't your party. And it wasn't your fault I stayed so late."

  "Not about the party." He climbed the first step, then the second and the third, finally stopping at the threshold. But he didn't move closer, didn't try to follow her into the house.

  She stepped back, her hand curling around the edge of the door. A tingle danced along her spine, pebbling her skin. Not from fear, never from Aaron. No, this was much deeper than fear.

  "Then—" She stopped, her tongue darting out to wet her suddenly dry lips. Aaron's gaze dropped, something flaring in his eyes as he stared at her mouth. "Then apologize for what?"

  His gaze slid from her mouth to her eyes. "For being an ass. For being a miserable old bastard."

  "I—I don't understand."

  He finally looked away and ran a hand through his thick hair, those broad shoulders slumping in defeat. No, not defeat—it was like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, and he was struggling to hold it up by himself.

  He looked back at her, those full lips curling in a humorless smile that did nothing to banish the shadows from his eyes. "Never mind. Goodnight, Savannah."

  "Aaron, wait." She moved toward him, grabbing his arm before he could leave. "Why don't you come in and tell me what's going on?"

  "I can't."

  The rejection stung, even if she did understand the reason for it. "The girls. I forgot—"

  "No." He shook his head, that humorless smile stretching his lips once more before quickly fading. "No, this has nothing to do with Brooke and Isabelle."

  "Then why?"

  "Because if I come in, it won't be to talk."

  Savannah gasped, unable to hide her surprise, helpless against the sudden desire that washed over. Hot. Sharp with need. She glanced down at her hand, still wrapped around his arm. Muscle, hard as steel, bunched under her palm, humming with tension.

  If she were smart, she'd let go. If she didn't, things would change between them. She wasn't sure how she knew that, wasn't even sure how they'd change…but they would. She had never been more certain of anything in her life.

  Yes—if she were smart, she'd let him go.

  She tightened her hand on his arm instead and pulled him inside.

  "Savannah—"

  "No. Don't talk. Not now." She didn't want words, not right now. She didn't need them, not with the way Aaron was looking at her, not with the desperate need burning in his eyes.

  She trailed her hand up his arm. Across his shoulder. Traced his lower lip with the tip of one finger, felt the heat of his breath against her skin, heard the pounding of her heart echo in her ears. She moved closer—

  And Aaron pulled her into his arms. The embrace wasn't gentle, and neither was his kiss. This wasn't a shy meeting of lips and tongue, or a hesitant seeking of permission. This was Aaron, claiming her. Demanding. Possessing.

  His hands closed around her head, his fingers tangling in the strands of her hair as he tilted her head back and drank from her. Hot, deep, his tongue thrusting against hers, demanding she respond in kind.

  And she did. Oh, she did.

  Her hands twisted in his shirt as she rubbed against him, reveling in the feel of his hard cock straining to meet her thrust. She needed to get closer, her skin dancing, burning, yearning for his touch. Desperate, so desperate she felt like she could crawl out of her skin and into his. She moaned, the sound a whimper of need in the back of her throat, and ran one foot up his leg.

  "Please."

&nbs
p; Did she say the word out loud, or only think it? It didn't matter, not when Aaron lifted her in his arms and carried her upstairs. The muscles of his chest and arms bunched and moved against her. Strong. Smooth. Powerful. Igniting a frantic yearning that intensified with each step he climbed, with each second that passed.

  She expected him to ease her down onto the bed but he didn't. Instead, he let her body slide down against his, steadying her as she balanced on the too-high heels. He pulled away, his gaze burning into hers, and reached for the black string—nothing more than a long shoelace—holding the front of her costume together.

  The tip of his finger grazed her skin as he freed the lace from each hole. Slow. Agonizingly slow. Her lungs burned with each deep breath. Her breasts pulled tight, her nipples so hard, so achingly tender, the brush of fabric against them was almost painful.

  But Aaron never looked away, his gaze searing her. It was too much, too…too powerful. Too demanding. Too intense. She started to close her eyes, needing to look away, needing to break whatever spell he had on her.

  "No."

  Just a single word. Not a command. If it had been a command, she would have been able to ignore it. But this was a plea. Harsh. Desperate.

  And she couldn't ignore it.

  She stood there, held captive without being touched. Aaron stepped back, pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it to the side, baring his chest to her. Broad, sculpted, hard. Marred by scars and bruises, both old and new, but no less perfect. Her fingers itched to touch each inch of skin. Her palms tingled with the need to stroke, to caress, to memorize.

  And then he shed the sweatpants, kicking them off to the side, and she forgot about everything else, nearly forgot to breathe.

  She had seen him without clothes before, had reveled in the hard contours of his body. But this…this was different. There was something about the way he stood before her, baring himself to her. Proud. Strong.

  Vulnerable.

  How could a man be so rugged and so beautiful at the same time? Flat stomach, lean hips. Strong thighs, thick with muscle. Not muscle-bound, the way weightlifters were muscle-bound. But solid, powerful.

  Her gaze wandered from his legs, up to his cock. Hard, thick, the smooth tip glistening in the dim light. She wanted—needed—to touch him. To taste. To feel. To ride.

  And then he closed one large hand around the thick length and stroked. Slow, from the base to the tip, back and forth.

  Savannah's knees buckled and she fell against the edge of the bed, catching herself at the last minute. It was the shoes, it had to be the shoes. It couldn't have anything to do with the unexpected sight of Aaron stroking his own cock.

  The beautiful, magnificent, sight.

  And oh, God, she was such a liar.

  Her mouth watered with need. She swallowed, reached down to pull off one shoe, her eyes never straying from that wondrous sight. But she must have blinked, must have looked away, because Aaron was suddenly right in front of her, his hands on her waist, his eyes boring into hers.

  "No. Leave them on."

  She blinked, her mouth parting in a silent gasp of surprise. He claimed her mouth, his tongue sweeping against hers until she fell against him, her fingers digging into his bare shoulders as she struggled to stay upright.

  He dragged his mouth along her throat, nipped at the corded muscle between her neck and shoulder, teased the lobe of her ear with his teeth.

  "Were you serious about throwing this in the trash?"

  Savannah frowned, her mind struggling to make sense of the question. The costume. He was talking about the costume. She nodded, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. "Y-yes."

  "Good." He grabbed the plunging neckline and pulled. The sound of material ripping apart echoed around her like a shot, not stopping until the gown hung around her, gaping open like a ragged robe. She gasped, her muscles quaking with sharp need as liquid heat pooled between her legs. Wet, so wet.

  Aaron pushed the remnants from her shoulders, his callused hands following the fall of the material until she stood there in nothing but the stockings and heels. The tip of one finger traced the cleft of her ass, the flare of her hip. Then he reached between her legs and cupped her with his palm, gently pressing.

  The climax crashed over her, stealing her breath, so sudden and surprising. Unexpected. She called his name, the sound of her voice odd to her own ears. Strangled. Breathless.

  Pleading.

  He swallowed her cries and dropped to the bed, pulling her down on top of him. She expected him to plunge inside her, needed to feel his thick cock filling her.

  His hands closed over her hips and he lifted her, dragging her further up his body until his head rested between her legs. She reached for the edge of the headboard, the wood digging into her palms as she struggled to balance herself. And then his mouth closed over her and there was no balance. No thought. Just sensation, sharp and biting in its clarity. She flew apart, her body exploding into a million shards as Aaron demanded response with each taste, each touch, each softly whispered command.

  And then she was on her back, struggling to breathe, clinging to him as he drove into her. Hard, deep. Over and over, until she could no longer tell where she ended and he started.

  Until she truly and completely lost herself.

  Aaron called her name, his voice a hoarse cry of need as he pumped into her. Once. Twice. His body stilled, his head thrown back, the muscles of his neck corded with strain. Savannah reached for him, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down, forced his gaze to hers.

  His body convulsed, his hips thrusting with his own climax. He fell on top of her, his harsh breathing mingling with her own. She could feel the heart pounding in his chest, could feel her own heart beating in the same heavy rhythm.

  Minutes passed by, maybe longer. She might have dozed, she wasn't sure. But Aaron finally shifted off her, moving to the side. He leaned down, removed her shoes and stockings, then stretched out beside her and pulled her against him. She turned her head, sighed when his mouth closed over hers in a soft, sweet kiss.

  He had to leave. She knew that, understood it. But a part of her wanted him to stay, needed to feel his body next to hers as she drifted off to sleep.

  She opened her eyes, expecting to find him watching her. But his eyes were closed, his face relaxed as he breathed in the deep rhythm of sleep. He looked so relaxed, so peaceful. She didn't want to disturb him, didn't want to wake him.

  But she had to.

  "Aaron." She placed one hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. "Aaron, you need to wake up."

  One eye peeled open and he stared at her. "Why?"

  She blinked in surprise. "Because—Brooke and Isabelle, aren't they home?"

  "Yeah. Sleeping."

  "Don't you need to get back over there?"

  "My mom's with them."

  "But—"

  Aaron opened his other eye then propped himself up on one elbow. He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss against her mouth. "I just need to be back home before they leave for school."

  She was afraid to read into whatever he was saying. She couldn't—under any circumstances—read into it. If she did, she'd starting hoping…and that was the last thing she could afford to do. "But aren't you worried they're going to wonder where you were?"

  His gaze was steady on hers, pulling her in, deeper and deeper, fanning the hope to life. "No."

  It was the answer she had wanted to hear…and the answer she was afraid of hearing. She looked away, her gaze resting in the middle of his chest.

  "Did you want me to leave?" His voice was quiet, filled with uncertainty. She met his eyes, saw the same hope she felt blossoming in her chest flare in their depths.

  "No."

  "Good." He kissed her again then pulled her against him, guiding her head to his shoulder. She curled closer, feeling safe and protected in his arms.

  She had just started to drift off when he spoke again.

  "Are you d
oing anything Friday night?"

  "No." She yawned and grabbed the edge of the comforter, pulled it up to her waist. "Why?"

  "Would you like to go out with me? On a date?"

  The words, so unexpected, so shy and hesitant after everything they'd done, pushed her over the ledge she had been teetering on for weeks, for months. Maybe longer. She felt herself falling, fast and hard. But there was no fear, not when Aaron held her so securely in his arms. And instead of panicking, she simply smiled a sleepy smile and pressed a kiss against his chest. "I think I'd like that very much."

  Chapter Twenty

  Aaron tilted his chin up, watching his reflection in the mirror, focusing on the deft movement of his fingers as they went through the motions of tying the silk tie. He saw Isabelle's reflection behind him as she kneeled on the edge of his bed, bouncing up and down as she watched him. Brooke stood just inside the room, leaning against the doorframe.

  Both girls were frowning.

  He finished the knot, straightening the tie before pulling the shirt collar down. Then he turned and faced both girls, a knot forming in his stomach. "Why are you both staring at me like that?"

  They exchanged a quiet look, neither one of them saying anything. He sighed and moved over to the bed, sat on the edge and wrapped one arm around Isabelle's shoulder. He patted the mattress next to him, motioning for Brooke to join him.

  She looked like she wanted to refuse, like she wanted to shake her head and run from the room. He held his breath, waiting…

  She finally heaved a sigh, a heavy one filled with all the teenage drama she could muster, then shuffled over to the bed.

  Aaron took a deep breath, let it out in a rush, then asked the question that worried him the most. "Are you sure you guys are okay with this?"

  "Would it matter if we weren't?" The question came from Brooke, her voice injected with a combination of sulkiness, disbelief, and just a hint of attitude. Aaron shifted, his gaze meeting his oldest daughter's. She looked so much like her mother, with those deep blue-green eyes and thick golden hair. She was already showing signs of the stunningly beautiful woman she'd become, with those slightly exotic eyes and her mother's slender curves.