Say You're Mine

by Diane Alberts

  “One night.” He tightened his grip on her. “That’s what we agreed to.”

  “I know. I was there.” She smiled, pulled free, and headed toward the bathroom again. “So stop looking at me like I’m going to break. You’re not that good, Steven.”

  Oh…but he was. He really, really was.

  The jerk.

  “Is that a challenge?” He rubbed his jaw. “I can’t resist a challenge.”

  She forced a laugh and grabbed her robe off the bathroom door. After shrugging it on and pulling it shut so he could no longer see her boobs, she felt a bit more in control of the conversation. “Call it what you want. I call it fact. We had sex, it was fun, but now we can pretend it never happened, and go back to our regularly scheduled lives as best friends.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked, right above where his fingers rested. “That easy?”

  “That easy.” She added a shrug for good measure. “We’ve slept in a bed together before. Let’s treat it like that’s all that happened.”

  His shrewd gaze was way too intent for her liking. And she was probably imagining it, but it was almost as if he was…pissed. When he caught her staring, he replaced the expression with a bland look and a smile. “All right,” he said, stepping back and dropping his hands to his sides and scanning the floor. Bending over, he picked up his boxers. “Consider it done.”

  She swallowed hard as he stepped into his underwear, his muscles flexing and stretching and—oh my God, he caught her staring. Plastering a smile on, she nodded once. “Excellent. Glad it’s settled. Now if you’ll excuse me…?”

  “Good night,” he called out.

  “Night!” She slammed the door shut behind her.

  Leaning against it, she breathed heavily. The only thing she could think about was all the magical things he’d done to her with his tongue, and his hands, and his big hard— “Stop it,” she whispered to herself.

  Shaking her head, she washed up and walked back into her room, but tripped over her own feet. Her bed wasn’t empty. She stumbled forward, but caught herself before she hit the floor. “W-What are you doing?”

  “Sleeping.” He yawned, covering his mouth. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

  “Lying in my bed,” she pointed out, hugging herself.

  “Like you said, we’ve slept together tons of times before, so if we want to go back to normal”—he shrugged and yawned again, but she didn’t miss the challenge he issued to her, it was written all over his expression—“I figured we might as well sleep together again tonight. Get the awkward part over with right away. If what we did meant nothing to us, we wouldn’t hesitate to sleep together, right? We wouldn’t think it was weird. We’d just go on and have a fun sleepover.”

  Yeah. Fun. “Right. Of course. Good thinking.”

  Without another word, she climbed into the bed, rolled away from him, and yanked the covers over herself. He lay directly beside her on his back, his body heat emanating toward her like a freaking beacon or something, and let out a soft moan. Her heart picked up speed at the sound. It was undeniably sexy.

  “Night, cupcake.”

  “Good night,” she whispered back, staring blankly at the wall while trying to pretend she didn’t even notice he was there.

  “Oh, by the way?” He rolled toward her and ran his fingers over her cheek from behind her, his touch gentle and almost nonexistent. “That’s how I would have done it.”

  She swallowed, not saying anything.

  Quite frankly, she had nothing to say to that in the first place. Steven’s breathing evened way too fast, like usual, and soon he was asleep. She lay there a little while longer, trying to shut him out of her mind. It didn’t work. Every time she closed her eyes…

  He was there.

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning, Steven woke up before Lauren, even though he hadn’t slept more than an hour or so, after she basically told him that last night meant nothing to her. From any other woman, this would be great news. The last thing he needed was his one-night stands falling in love with him.

  But she wasn’t just a fling.

  The fact that she could fuck him and forget him like he meant nothing—well, it kinda pissed him the hell off. No matter how much he denied it, or how many times he acknowledged how wrong he was for her, all he could think about was what she did to him with that damn tongue of hers…

  And when they could do it again.

  For the first time in his adult life, he woke up craving more from a woman. There was no denying that his usual wham, bam, thank you ma’am wasn’t enough with Lauren. This was an entirely new feeling for him. One he couldn’t handle, quite frankly.

  Sleeping in bed with her had been impulsive. There had been booze, and kisses, soft touches, long repressed desires let loose. But he hadn’t planned it.

  And now he had no damn clue what to do.

  Rolling out of bed, he stretched and yawned, glancing over his shoulder at the clock. It was seven thirty, and he didn’t have to work today. Neither did she.

  So why the hell was he so damn awake?

  He turned back to Lauren, frowning. She slept peacefully, her back to him, and she hadn’t moved all night. He’d pretended to fall asleep, giving him a chance to think in some peace and quiet. He’d lain awake throughout most of the night after they…what? Made love? Fucked? What should he even call last night? It had been different than any other experience he ever had. And he couldn’t stop thinking about it—or her. Or how she made him feel. What they could be, if only he dared to find out.

  And if he forgot all the reasons she deserved better.

  As if she could sense his thoughts, her brow wrinkled and she squirmed, letting out a soft sigh. She mumbled something under her breath, squirmed some more, and rolled over, reaching across the bed as if she sought him out. He waited to see if she would wake up, but she settled back in and breathed evenly once more.

  Over the span of his adult life, he faced bombs, bullets, war, and death. He could kill another man without blinking an eye, if it was for a good cause. He could shoot, bomb, fight, fuck, and drink. But when it came to living, to taking a chance on something like him and Lauren, he hesitated. When it came time to try maybe being happy…

  He wasn’t sure he could do it.

  If that wasn’t dysfunctional, he didn’t have a clue what was.

  Crawling back into the bed carefully, he lay completely still, staring at her nightstand, while trying not to freak the hell out about all the “feelings” shit going through his head. What he’d seen inside of it, through the glass lid, had triggered a memory…

  One long forgotten.

  It was nine years ago, when he’d just gotten back from his first tour overseas, and he and Lauren were alone—just the way he liked it. They hiked to their favorite pond in the woods, because he told her he needed some peace and quiet.

  She instantly helped him get it.

  After a few drinks and a couple of hours, she rested her head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly. Even now, he could still remember the way the sunlight hit her hair, and the way her blue eyes sparkled, like it was yesterday…

  Reaching out, he smoothed her soft hair out of her face. She watched him closely, biting down on her lower lip. “What was it like over there?”

  “Awful. Bloody. Hot.” Steven shrugged and turned away, not wanting her to see him. He lifted the beer to his lips and took a swig, but it tasted bitter. “I don’t know how people do stuff like we do over there, and come home to their wives and kids. How they just…go back to normal.”

  “Do you wish you had a wife to go home to?” she asked, still staring at him as if she read his thoughts and knew him better than he did. Sometimes, he thought she just might. “Or kids?”

  “I don’t need a wife. I have you.” He scooted closer and threw his arm over her shoulder. She rested her head on his chest again, snuggling in. He immediately felt at peace with the world. He had her in his arms. “That’s much bette
r.”

  “What if that changes, though?” She tilted her face up to his. Her mouth was inches from his. His heart rate increased, though he didn’t understand why. “Even worse, what if neither of us gets married? Like, ever?”

  He snorted. “Why would that be bad?”

  “We’d be alone.” She sighed. “That’s sad.”

  “We wouldn’t be alone, we’d be together.” He laughed, gripping his beer bottle tighter. “Hell, if we’re still single at thirty, we might as well get married.”

  She chuckled. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

  “I’m serious,” he said, sitting up straight. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the yellow twist tie off the bread they’d brought for sandwiches. He made quick work of turning it into a ring shape, holding it out to her with a silly grin. “Lauren Brixton, if you’re single when I’m thirty, will you marry me out of pity?”

  She stared at him, all wide blue eyes and soft pink lips. After a long, pregnant pause, she extended her left hand. It trembled. “Yes. It would be an honor.”

  Well, he’d turned thirty a little over three weeks ago…

  And they were both single. Fuuuuccccckkkkkk.

  She rolled over again, her lids drifting up. For a second, she smiled and stretched. When she reached over and felt skin…she froze, the smile slipping away. Slowly, she turned her head toward him. Her eyes were the same bright blue they’d been that day at the pond. Her nose was still small and pert, and she still had freckles across her cheeks. But she was older. Wiser. More beautiful.

  And she looked as if she would rather be anywhere but here.

  With him.

  “Hey,” he said, giving her a small smile, when he really would rather pull her in his arms and kiss her again. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

  “Morning,” she squeaked, pulling the covers up to her chin and hanging on to them with a death grip. “You’re up early.”

  “Yeah. I woke up when a truck beeped outside, and I couldn’t fall back asleep. So, I just waited for you to wake up.” He paused. “Which you did. Now.”

  She blinked at him.

  He smiled back at her.

  Swallowing hard, she cleared her throat. “So, uh…”

  Cocking a brow, he asked, “Yes?”

  “This is so weird,” she finally said in a rush, laughing and scooting into a sitting position. She dragged the sheet with her. “Which is stupid, right? I mean, it was sex. We’ve both done it before. Just not…with each other. You know?”

  She was clearly nervous.

  “I’m pretty sure I’d remember all the things I did to you last night,” he agreed. “So, yeah, I do.”

  Her cheeks pinked. “I’d hope so.”

  “Oh, I would,” he said, dipping his voice down low. “The things I did to you, cupcake, aren’t something I’ll forget.”

  She stared at him, not blinking, mouth ajar.

  He grinned.

  Another nervous laugh escaped her. “Yeah…so now we go back to normal, right?”

  “Right.” Reaching out, he tugged on a piece of her hair, still smiling. “It’s not like we’re dying to rip each other’s clothes off again, or like you’re gonna fall at my feet begging for more. I wasn’t that good.”

  She swallowed hard, her cheeks going pink. He turned her own words back on her, and then laughed. “Uh…right. No offense.”

  “None taken. That would be foolish,” he said, tugging harder. “Even if it would feel really, really good. The things you do with that tongue—damn, cupcake. That was like artwork. I’m not gonna lie, I wouldn’t mind feeling that again, despite it all.”

  A small moan escaped her, but she killed it off quickly, her cheeks going even pinker. But he’d heard it. “Perhaps it’s best not to talk about that kind of stuff?”

  “Oh.” He let go of her hair and stood, stretching his arms high above his head, smiling innocently. She watched him, her breaths quickening and her nostrils flaring, desire clear in her eyes. “Yeah, you’re probably right. And I probably shouldn’t mention how much you liked it when I licked your—”

  “Steven.”

  He laughed. “Right, right. Sorry.” He wasn’t. “So sorry.” Still wasn’t.

  She scooted out of bed and tucked her hair behind her ears. “You have to work today, right? And I have to go into the bakery and—”

  “It’s Sunday,” he reminded her. “We’re off.”

  “You might be, but I’m not.” She let out a short, musical laugh. “I have to go in and make a cake. It’s getting picked up at four.”

  He cocked a brow. “You didn’t mention this to me last night.”

  She glanced at him quickly. “Last night, we weren’t exactly talking, were we?”

  “That’s not true,” he said, picking up his pants. “I did a lot of talking.”

  There she went again with the blushing. “Oh my—” She cut herself off, throwing a quick glance his way. “I mean, yeah. I guess you did.”

  He knew exactly that she was thinking about. He was, too.

  They were both thinking about last night, and the things they did to each other, and that made his dick harden and his gut tighten. It took all of his control not to grab her and kiss her. It would be so easy to remind her what exactly it was she was trying so damn hard to forget. “What can I say? I’m a talker,” he said, shrugging.

  “I noticed,” she said drily. “I was there, too.”

  He grinned. “I also noticed.”

  A small laugh escaped her. “Okay, well, I’m going to shower and head into the bakery.” She walked backward toward the bathroom, her gaze still locked on his. “You can hang out here, if you want, and wait for me to get—”

  “Nah.” He buttoned his pants. “I’ll go back to my place, grab some clothes for the next few days, then meet you at your shop so I can help you out. It’ll go quicker that way, and when we’re finished, we can go together to meet up with everyone for drinks at five.”

  She froze, half bent over, pert little ass in the air, and dropped the shirt she’d pulled out of her drawer. Turning slowly, she eyed Steven like he was this unrecognizable thing. “You want to bake with me? In my shop? All day long?”

  “Yeah,” he said, pulling the zipper up. “Sure. Why not?”

  “You’ve never asked to go to work with me before.” She stood up straight. “You don’t like baking. And you don’t like how hot the kitchen gets when the oven is on. So why now?”

  Last night she’d made him travel through space and time with her mouth and her soft touches, and he’d be damned if he was going to walk away after that.

  “Why not?” he asked, shrugging into his dress shirt from last night. He didn’t bother to button it. “Besides, you said you didn’t want to be alone, right?”

  “I did say that, didn’t I?” she muttered, blowing her hair out of her face with a breath. “All right. Hey, I might have some clothes here, if you don’t feel like going home on a walk of shame.”

  He frowned. “I left clothes here? When?”

  “No, they’re from Max—the guy before Brian. With the beard.” She quirked her lips. “He was about your size, and he never came back to get them after we broke up.”

  Wear her ex’s clothes? Yeah, he would rather walk down the street in a pink fucking tutu. He scowled at her, gripping his bow tie with his left hand, while he mentally imagined strangling Max with it. He’d hated that prick even more than he’d hated Brian. “Hell no. I’m not wearing his shit.”

  “Okaaaaay,” she said slowly, eyeing him weirdly. “Suit yourself.”

  He forced a tight smile, trying to hide his irritation. “I’ll just run home, change, and meet up with you at the bakery. Deal?”

  “Deal,” she said, picking her gray shirt up again.

  As he walked past her, he stopped by her side, hesitating.

  He almost leaned in and kissed her, but nothing had changed between yesterday and today, so he settled for a shoulder squeeze. “See ya soon, cupcake.”

>   “Yep,” she said, her voice soft. “Bye.”

  He grabbed the rest of his shit, stepped into his dress shoes, and went out the door. The second he rounded the corner, and started down his own street—he lived three blocks away from her, because they planned it that way—he pulled his almost dead phone out of his pocket and dialed number two on his speed dial.

  It rang three times, then, “Hello?”

  “Holt, I’m going to fucking kill you,” he growled.

  A shuffling sound. “What did I do this time?”

  “You were right.” Steven glared up at the sunny sky. “That’s what you did.”

  “I usually am, but you’ll have to be more specific.” Holt cleared his throat. “I was right about…?”

  Steven gritted his teeth and waited to cross the road, saying the one word that would tell his buddy everything he needed to comprehend the situation at hand. “Lauren.”

  Chapter Ten

  Lauren paced back and forth, nibbling on her thumbnail until there wasn’t much of it left to chew on. When a knock sounded on the front door, she sprinted to it, peeking out before opening it all the way. After her Brian “scare” last night…she was still a little on edge. “Oh, thank God you’re here.”

  Her friend Daisy blinked at her. She held two to-go cups of coffee, and appeared to be still half asleep. Her red hair stuck up in the back, as if she’d forgotten to brush it, and she had bags under her eyes. But she was there, and that’s all that mattered. “What’s so important that you called me at eight o’clock with an SOS message on a Sunday morning to—”

  “I slept with Steven,” Lauren blurted out, stepping back so Daisy could come in. “And it was incredible. Life changing. Earth shattering.”

  Daisy gasped and came in, kicking the door shut behind her. “Oh, holy crap. That’s totally SOS worthy. Tell me everything. And don’t you dare leave out a single detail.”

  Lauren flopped back on the couch—in the same spot that Steven had been sitting in last night when she found him jerking off. That did things to her. Things she had no right feeling since last night had been a one-time thing, and it was just for fun, and God, she was so sick of that word. “I will, but the bad stuff first. I kind of sort of lied to him.”