Say You're Mine

by Diane Alberts

  He took the stairs two at a time, and turned the knob. It didn’t budge. Backing up, he was just about to throw himself into the damn door when it swung inward. His breath caught in his throat for the second time that night. When he’d first met her as a kid, he’d thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

  After all these years, and lots of women, his opinion hadn’t changed.

  She wore a tiny blue towel. There were no visible bruises or cuts. Her bright blue eyes were wide and she breathed heavily, clinging to the towel with white knuckles. Her dark brown hair was still damp from the shower, and she was devoid of makeup. She bit down on her trembling lower lip—soft, pink lips that were more tempting than he’d ever imagined possible—and watched him. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

  She’s okay.

  Breathing easily for the first time since he hung up that damn phone, he yanked her into his arms and hugged her, incapable of even trying to resist. She’d scared the shit out of him, and he needed to make sure she was okay. Needed to feel it. Her small frame only reached his chest, reminding him why he called her cupcake. Her size and her fondness for baking—hell, she even owned a small bakery in town now that she was all grown up—had sealed that years ago. But tonight she seemed smaller. More frail.

  He would die to protect her.

  But first, he had to find out what he was protecting her from.

  He breathed in her sweet cupcake scent one last time. Letting go of her, he gave her what he hoped was a small, reassuring smile, and asked, “What happened? Did anyone actually—” He cut off. A few lamps were knocked over, and a broken vase lay on the floor. “Shit. I’m calling the cops.”

  Her lower lip trembled again, and she shook her head. “Don’t.”

  “What the hell do you mean, don’t?”

  “When I heard the crash, at first I thought it was Loki. But I heard the footsteps, and I panicked. That’s when I called you. But then the front door closed, and he was gone, so I came out. And stuff was missing.”

  He frowned at the cat in question, which sat licking his paw and staring at him with condescension. That creature hated him. He was sure of it. “Then why the hell aren’t we calling the cops?”

  She shifted on her feet. He got the distinct impression she was hiding something from him, or maybe even lying, but he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even sure she had a tic. But she knew how he felt about liars. It had to be something else. “I don’t want them here. I want you.”

  He blinked, feeling like he was in some sort of fucked up twilight zone. “Why?”

  “Because…I…” She covered her face. “I think it was Brian. He took a few things, but they were all his, so there’s no real crime to report. He snuck in while I was in the shower, and left.”

  “Why didn’t he just knock?” He tugged her hands down and studied her beautiful face—trying his best not to picture her naked and wet in the shower. It was like trying to outrun an erupting volcano, though. Sooner or later, you were going to get burned. “Why would he sneak in like a thief while you were showering?”

  She hesitated. “Well, we didn’t exactly end on the best terms.”

  “Yeah. He slept with his secretary.”

  “And he…he was jealous of you.” She glanced at Steven, but quickly lowered her head. “Maybe he saw us together earlier, and got angry. He probably knocked, but when I didn’t answer, he came in and got his stuff. Maybe he didn’t even think I was home.”

  He tightened his hold on her. Her skin was so soft and smooth—the opposite of his hardened, calloused palms. His hands had done things she’d never even be able to imagine. And yet she’d stuck by him. And the idea that he was somehow responsible for the break-in…he didn’t like the way it made him feel. “Why would he be jealous of me? We’re just friends. Strictly platonic.”

  Except lately, he didn’t feel platonic.

  He felt horny as hell.

  “I…” She cleared her throat. “I don’t know why.”

  They stared at each other, neither moving. Her tits rose and fell with each breath, and no matter how hard he tried, his gaze kept returning to her abundant cleavage.

  After a few moments, Steven cleared his throat. He couldn’t stop thinking about what she would do if he kissed her. So, instead, he walked over to a lamp and picked it up, setting it in place. Mostly to put distance between them before he did something stupid. “So you’re not scared anymore?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” She hesitated. “I don’t think we need to call the cops on the guy, but it did freak me out. And…and…I don’t want to be alone.”

  That, he got. It was the first time she made sense since he walked in the door. Something was off. He couldn’t place his finger on what, or why, but it was. “You want me to hang out?”

  “Yeah.” She lifted her lashes. When she did, it made his blood heat and his heart speed up. “Can you stay with me for a few days? Please? I don’t want to be alone if he comes back, and I need you. With me.”

  Stay…with her?

  For days?

  He’d spent the night before. Slept on the couch. Hell, they’d even slept in the same bed together once or twice. But to spend days with her, and only her, when his brain was all fucked up? That was asking for trouble. “Why so long?”

  She didn’t answer, her bright blue eyes filling with tears, wringing her hands in front of her. “Steven…” she whispered, her voice soft. “Please.”

  He held his arms open, holding back all the questions he had about her odd request and her even stranger behavior. When she was ready to talk, she would. “Of course I’ll stick around. Come here.”

  Without hesitation, she threw herself into his arms and held on tight, her entire body melding to his flawlessly. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “You know that.”

  She didn’t answer. Just held on to him even tighter.

  He could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen Lauren this worked up over something, in all of the twenty years they’d been friends. Something had her worried as hell, and he was dying to figure out what that something was, but he’d be here for her until it was better. Or until she was ready to talk about it. Or both.

  Tightening his hold on her, he kissed the top of her head. “Shh. It’s all right. You’re all right. I’m here. I’ll stay.”

  She nodded as he spoke, obviously needing the words, so he kept saying them. After a while, he stopped paying attention to what he said. He was too busy rubbing her back and smoothing her hair back from her damp face. She smelled like vanilla and sugar cookies—and for the first time in a while…

  He felt like he belonged somewhere.

  Slowly, she lifted her face to his. The force of their gazes colliding was strong enough to send the entire solar system out of orbit. “You have no idea how much I need you, Steven. You’re the one person I can always count on.”

  His heart wrenched painfully to the left before centering itself again. “The feeling is mutual.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “And anytime you need me, I’m here, no matter how silly you might think it is.”

  She nodded, sniffed, and let go of him. “Okay.”

  He reluctantly did the same, letting her step back. His arms felt empty the second he did so. Until she sniffed and swiped her hands over her cheeks, he hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. Lauren never cried. He stepped forward again, gaze locked on her. “Damn it, cupcake. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

  “I’m fine.” Once she studied him, she let a little laugh out. It sounded hoarse and forced. “I got you all wet.”

  She wasn’t fine, but no amount of pestering would force her to tell him what was on her mind. So he’d bide his time, and do his best to distract her from whatever was messing with her head. “Hey. That’s usually my line.”

  Lauren gasped, her cheeks going pink. “Steven.”

  “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” Steven l
aughed and shook out his damp shirt. “I mean, you practically handed it to me on a silver platter.”

  “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” She grabbed a tissue, shaking her head as she walked into her bedroom. “Give me a second to throw some clothes on.”

  He nodded. Clothes were definitely a good idea. “I’ll be right here.”

  Smiling, she shut the door. When she came out a minute or two later, she wore a skimpy pair of pajamas that barely covered her ass. “I thought you were getting dressed,” he said drily.

  “I did.” She glanced down with a wrinkled brow. “I’m going to have a drink. You’re not getting one. You had enough earlier.”

  “Yes, mother.” He followed her, dragging a hand through his hair as he watched her walk. She was always so graceful. Even when rocked by something strong enough to make her cry, she managed to keep her beauty and grace with each step she took. “I didn’t want one anyway.”

  “Too much already?” she asked, peeking over her shoulder at him.

  Lifting a shoulder, he leaned against the entrance to the kitchen. “Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll tell you in the morning.”

  Instead of laughing, as he’d expected, she frowned, way too somber for his own liking. She watched him as if she knew all his deepest, darkest secrets…and didn’t judge him one little bit. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. He went to great lengths to hide how messed up he was from everyone.

  Especially her.

  She turned away and lifted the lid off the glass container in her kitchen, and he let out a sigh of relief. It had cupcakes in it. It always did. As if owning a bakery wasn’t enough for her, she also felt the need to bake at home. It was her way of self-soothing.

  He drank and fucked. She baked things.

  Not all that different, really.

  “Do you ever worry you don’t have your life as together as you might hope?” she asked, her voice distracted and shaky. “That every choice you make is only messing it up even more, until it’s a tangled mess you’ll never recognize?”

  “Every damn day,” he admitted, even though he didn’t want to. But he refused to lie to her, even if he couldn’t stand the idea of her discovering he wasn’t the strong, resilient man she thought he was. The type of guy she could call on nights like these.

  Even if he could never call her his.

  Chapter Four

  When someone broke into her house while she was naked in the shower, and scared half a year off of her life, obviously the first person Lauren called had been Steven. And when the door shut behind her intruder, and she poked her head out, and the only stuff missing had been the stuff she laid out for Brian…

  Yeah, she’d put two and two together pretty quickly.

  But by then Steven was at her door, and about to come in, and she’d had little to no time to recover from the scare. And when he’d hugged her tight, concern etched all across his handsome face…an idea had come to her.

  One that, once planted, had been impossible to ignore.

  Earlier, she wished there was a way to make sure he was okay. To make him remember the good things in his life. This was the opportune chance to do that, up close and personal. If he thought she was still scared, or was shaken up, he would never leave her side. It would give her the opportunity to remind him how fun life could be…

  If you were with the right person.

  So she rolled with it. Maybe she over-acted on some points, but it had worked. He was here, and she was here, and now all she needed was a game plan of fun.

  But despite her excitement at this opportunity, she couldn’t ignore one cold, hard fact: for the first time in their relationship, she lied to him. And if he found out…

  God, he could never find out.

  She, more so than anyone, understood his hatred of liars. It stemmed from childhood, when his parents had lied about being happy but had been sleeping with other people behind each other’s backs, and continued throughout his adult years. It continued when his one and only girlfriend as an adult had done the same thing to him.

  He couldn’t abide lies of any kind.

  She’d seen him walk away from friendships over them.

  Up until a few moments ago, Lauren hadn’t had a reason to worry. Now, she did. It was a small lie. More a lie by omission than anything else. Brian had come in, and she had been scared…for a second or two. She took a deep breath, staring down at the red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting and red sprinkles as if they held the secrets of the world. They didn’t. She’d know, since she’d made them. They were just cupcakes, and she was just her, and Steven was just…

  Steven was just Steven.

  Her best friend.

  Glancing at him over her shoulder, she took a deep breath. His reddish blond hair—he’d lecture her for calling it that, because it was too feminine, and according to him it was just red—and hazel eyes were topped off by loyalty, dedication, selflessness, strength, and a hell of a six-pack. The rest of his muscles matched that toned abdomen of his, all the way down to his huge…

  Well, really, tight boxers only hid so much.

  Especially on a guy as big as Steven.

  She’d never been as fond of underwear as she had been the first day he came out of her bathroom, wearing nothing but a whole lot of damp skin and form-fitting black boxers. It had been a sight pretty enough to wake the dead. Maybe that was how the zombie apocalypse would come. Steven in a pair of boxers…walking through a cemetery.

  That was part of being friend-zoned—he stripped down to his boxers in front of her as if she didn’t count as a woman at all. Sometimes, she thought he forgot she was one. He certainly didn’t treat her like one.

  Not that she wanted him to, of course.

  She was all too aware that he went through women faster than she went through sugar, and she didn’t exactly have the best track record either. Take her habit of falling too fast and too hard, add a pinch of his promiscuity and inability to commit, and they’d be an undeniable recipe for disaster and heartbreak.

  She knew it. He did, too. Or at least, she assumed he did.

  They’d never actually talked about it…until tonight, when he’d asked her if she ever thought about the two of them. About what it would be like. She had. Lots.

  But she’d never admit it out loud.

  So what if she’d never find out what it was like to have Steven look at her as if he needed her more than he needed air, or water, or life itself? That was a good thing.

  Or so she kept telling herself anyway.

  Plastering on a smile, she turned to him. “Cupcake?”

  “Of course.” He smiled and took it. He always did. “Thanks.”

  When he took the treat, his fingers brushed hers as he tugged it out of her hand, and Lauren clenched her jaw at the inevitable rush of lust that swept through her veins at the touch. That was nothing new. Her inability to ignore it, however, was.

  She blamed his odd behavior from earlier tonight.

  Giving him her back, she pulled out a shot glass. She could still smell the whiskey on Steven. She probably ruined the second part of his evening when she called, but for some reason, she wasn’t sorry. She poured a shot of rum and tossed it back, shuddering at the burn.

  He chewed on his cupcake contemplatively, watching her closely as she immediately poured another, and tossed that one back, too. When she poured a third, he shook his head. “Lauren.”

  “I’m fine. Just one more, and I’ll be good.”

  Steven made a disgruntled sound and covered her hand with his. Gently, he pried the bottle out of her hands. His hand was warm and calloused, and it made her want to ignore the voices in her head for once. To take what she wanted. Him.

  Always had. Always would.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m not about to watch you drink a whole damn bottle of rum.” He eyed her with concern. “That won’t help you with anything.”

  She forced a smile. “It works for you, right?”

  “No.” He flexe
d his jaw. “It doesn’t.”

  She tossed back the shot she’d poured before he took it away, too. Of course, he faced away from her to set the bottle back on the counter, so he missed it, but she didn’t miss the way his navy pants hugged his rear to perfection. Screw Superman. This man had buns of steel. Maybe if she told him that, he would push her against a wall and follow through on—oh, crap.

  The alcohol was giving her bad, bad thoughts.

  Since she couldn’t stop staring at his butt, she turned around and faced the wall, gripping the counter so hard her knuckles ached. “Then why do you keep doing it? And why can’t I? What makes us any different?”

  “Drinking to drown your worries and fears only makes everyone else worry about you more. And it makes me—” He broke off, cursing under his breath. “I…you…shit. Your drinking was all to show me I’m being an idiot and making you worry all the time, isn’t it?”

  Not turning around, she lifted a shoulder. “Ding ding ding.”

  When he came up behind her, his Hugo Boss cologne washed over her, and the heat of his body touched hers. He was so big and hard and comforting, and she was this close to throwing herself into his arms and never letting go…

  Screw the consequences.

  “Well played.”

  A smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “Point?”

  “Yours,” he said, his tone begrudging. “But what did I tell you at the party?”

  That you were going to throw me up against a wall and take me roughly? “Uh…”

  “If you want to talk about my drinking?” Gently, he turned her around and rested his hand on her shoulder. The other reached out and brushed her hair out of her face. “Then your love life is fair game, too.”

  His sweet touch, paired with his soft voice, and the way he looked at her as if she meant a whole lot more to him than she should, warred with his strong and possessive hold on her shoulder. The contrast did things to her it shouldn’t. Things that were a heck of a lot harder to ignore with two and a half shots of rum in her belly.