For Seven Nights Only (Chase Brothers)

by Sarah Ballance

  It seemed ages ago.

  “Seriously, Marmaduke. What was I thinking?”

  The sleeping dog lifted his head slightly, then plopped right back down, all without cracking an eyelid.

  Nice.

  A knock rattled the door.

  Even better.

  She glanced at her shirt to make sure she wasn’t covered in the evidence of yet another disaster of a meal, then opened the door.

  And stopped breathing.

  Sawyer stood there looking unfairly gorgeous in a suit. And holding the biggest bunch of flowers she’d ever seen outside of a florist’s shop.

  “Are we going to the opera again?” she asked.

  Immediately, his expression turned to worry. “Would you like to?”

  “I’m not sure we’re allowed back.” She didn’t bother telling him there were other venues—ones in which they had not nearly had sex. She nodded toward the flowers. “I think my sister has fewer flowers planned for her wedding.”

  At the mention of her sister’s wedding, his face fell a notch, but he didn’t mention the wedding or her date…or lack thereof. And it was then she realized just how much their agreement had backfired. Making plans with another guy while “dating” Sawyer, however artificially, felt wrong.

  She wanted him.

  “Hopefully you won’t decide to kick them into the hallway,” he joked.

  She managed a weak grin as she accepted the bouquet and stepped out of the doorway so he could come inside. “Just don’t give me a reason. God, Sawyer, this must have cost you a fortune.”

  “Rule number…whatever we’re on. Don’t second-guess a gift unless you want to make a guy feel like he’s done something wrong.”

  “Maybe I just want to distract you from what became of the meal I cooked,” she said warily. Dazed. She wanted him. How could she after what he’d said to his brothers? He was the opposite of what she wanted. He was…not living up to his well-earned reputation. Estelle said he hadn’t been to his usual haunt, picking up women, and Kelsie hadn’t seen him stumble out of the elevator with anyone but her. But that didn’t mean anything had changed. Just that he was respectful enough of her not to have sex with anyone else.

  At least not yet.

  “I’m sure the food is fine. But if you want distraction,” he said with a grin, “I can absolutely provide distraction.” He took back the flowers and put them on the table, then walked her backwards until the backs of her legs touched the sofa. “The best kind of distraction.”

  “Don’t those flowers need water? And…my…gravy…” His lips on her skin made finishing the thought impossible.

  “I think,” he said, “we need to take this time to consider a few important skills that might come in handy in the future.”

  “For someone else?”

  His eyes darkened, and for a moment she regretted the jab. Then he said, “Sweetheart, give me thirty seconds, and I guarantee you won’t be thinking about anyone else.”

  She shook her head. “I think the problem was you thinking about someone else.”

  “Actually,” he countered, “I think it’s you thinking about me thinking about someone else.”

  “Are you?” she asked. Shyly. Stupidly. Because there was only one answer she wanted to hear, and she wasn’t sure it was the one he would give.

  But he did.

  “You,” he said. “Only you. All the time you.”

  “I don’t want to hear your lines,” she said. “I’d rather you just come right out and say you wanted me because you were bored or didn’t have other options, rather than pretend I’m your first choice.”

  “I always have options,” he said, oh-so-helpfully. “But I’m not pretending. I told you that.”

  “And then you practically shoved your brothers away from me, one by one.”

  To his credit, he faltered. “What was I supposed to say? You couldn’t get a date and begged me to help you out?”

  She scowled. “You could have said I’m a friend with definite girlfriend potential.”

  His eyes darkened. “Well, I’m sorry, but I wanted to enjoy our last two dates without feeling like a placeholder for someone else. Is that what you wanted? For me to hook you up with one of my brothers?”

  Yeah. Not really. Maybe about ten orgasms ago, but that ship had sailed. She folded her arms across her chest, determined to put some kind of wall between them. “You also told me you don’t date.”

  “Yet I clearly committed to seven. And you need to relax. I have an idea for that.”

  “I just bet you do.” Sarcasm littered her tone.

  Before she’d finished the sentence, he pulled something out of his pocket. She’d barely figured out he held a condom before he tossed it her way. She caught it, barely, and stared.

  “Put it on me,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Condom. On. Now.” He grinned devilishly. “If, of course, you accept the challenge.”

  “You want me to…do that?”

  “It’s a basic life skill,” he said with a hapless shrug. “You have to know how to use them. It’s one of those things every responsible adult should know.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

  He offered no help, leaving her to unzip his pants and drag out his erection. He hissed when her hands made contact, so she grinned and took her sweet time moving up and down his shaft.

  “That’s not part of proper application technique,” he said.

  “Sorry,” she lied.

  “Are you wet?”

  She eased her palms along his length. “That’s not proper conversation for the kitchen.”

  “I think we’re closer to the sofa than the sink. And if you’re not, tell me now.”

  With an exaggerated sigh, she released him and tore into the condom. She’d only managed to roll it about halfway down his shaft before he scooped her up and tossed her onto the sofa, tearing at her clothes as he came down on top of her. In one swift motion, he rolled the rest of the condom on and plunged inside her.

  “Shit, you’re wet.”

  She wriggled her hips and pretended she didn’t already see an entire constellation of stars. “And getting bored.”

  Surprise hit his eyes, then was lost to a smirk. “Challenge accepted?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. But he was already driving inside her, his hips rocking so hard the sofa squeaked and edged across the hardwood. She realized he had one foot on the ground and made a mental note to compliment his use of leverage because Christ she was dizzy. She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, only half seeing them through the blur of sex, then gave up and shoved her hands under the hem and held on. She probably left claw marks in his back for days, but the feeling of holding on to him, the muscles of his back and ass flexing and bunching as he throttled hard against her, would be well worth the apology. The air echoed with the smack of skin and someone—probably her—making the kind of noises that would put the opera lady to shame. And then somehow he managed to get a grip on her clit, and his ever so casual grip sent her flailing. Every cliché in the world happened at that moment. Fireworks, starbursts, cannon fire… And her vaginal walls must have squeezed the hell out of Sawyer, because when he came, he jolted so hard against her G-spot that he sent her fumbling down yet another proverbial flight of stairs or into the abyss or depths or whatever the in thing was now.

  He slid off of her and hit the floor. On the way down, he muttered, “Fuck.”

  She laughed. Sort of. Mostly she was gasping for air.

  After a long moment she spent trying to catch her breath, he reached to find her hand and wound his fingers through hers. She peered over the edge of the sofa and was rewarded with a lazy, sated smile that made her feel all gooey inside. “I think you have my pants,” he said.

  She glanced down and found that she’d somehow managed to work her leg into them. “This is unusual,” she said, and immediately regretted it. Unusual for her was probably an everyday thing for him.


  She attempted to kick her leg free and only managed to dislodge a trio of condoms from his pocket, which landed on his chest.

  “I guess you thought I needed a lot of practice,” she muttered.

  Using her hand for leverage, he sat and focused those brilliant green eyes on her. “Baby, you don’t need anything.”

  “Except a date to my sister’s wedding.” Maybe he’d offer. It was, after all, just one date. On a boat. In the harbor.

  But no dice. He completely ignored her reference, instead cradling her face and kissing her so sweetly and thoroughly that she ached all over again. When he broke free, the look in his eyes was not that of a man who’d just had another bout of casual sex on the premise of giving dating tips.

  It was the look of someone who cared.

  It was freaking relationship sex. Sex in which they’d moved furniture and he’d fallen on the floor. And…

  “Tell me my dog is not humping my throw pillow.”

  Sawyer turned to follow her gaze, and sure enough, Marmaduke was going to town on a pillow that had, until very recently, been on the sofa.

  “Is that what I looked like?” Sawyer asked. “Because that’s some nice hip action.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Hey, don’t hate. For a little guy with no balls, he’s rocking it.”

  Kelsie rolled her eyes and fell back on the sofa.

  “I’ll be right back, sweetness. Might want to deal with whatever is happening on that stove.”

  Great. It had taken her half the day to make something even remotely resembling what his mother had whipped together in considerably less time, and already she’d ruined the gravy. Now her caramelized onions were probably mush.

  Not. Unlike. Her.

  With a sigh, she stood and made a half-assed attempt to straighten her skirt. She washed her hands in the kitchen sink, then surveyed the damage to the meal. The roast was still in the oven, and it looked okay, but she’d completely forgotten to start the baked potatoes and hadn’t begun to prep the salad. That was probably the one dish she could make, but it hardly counted since it didn’t require heat.

  Her gazed touched on the flowers, and they took her back to the night they’d met. It felt like a lifetime ago, and in truth he’d dominated every moment since. He’d so fully made himself a part of her world that she couldn’t remember what it was like before him. Just her, Marmaduke, and her sister’s endless wedding details. Not that they had much to do with her. As maid of honor, Kelsie probably should have been overrun with obligations, but her sister was such a control freak that she had to handle every detail herself.

  Except the stupid bachelorette party. Kelsie had managed to book the club, but she wasn’t looking forward to attending. There was no way she could ever hit that scene again and not think of Sawyer. Or climb a wall. Or walk her dog. Her little affair—scratch that, arrangement—had ruined everything, and his latest lesson had only proven that. At no previous point in her life had she had sex without some measurable degree of self-doubt, but they’d just gotten tangled and moved furniture across the room while dinner failed and her dog humped a pillow and she ended up with a leg threaded in his pants. Some part of that should have been awkward, but it had been…perfect.

  At least until she started overthinking it, and once it was over, she’d have nothing to do but think. And remember what he said about her to his brothers. She wandered into the bathroom and took out her contacts. She felt a smidge of comfort putting her glasses back on, but the edge of clarity they provided wasn’t enough.

  By the time they’d both reentered the room, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry or kick something. “Can I ask you something?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  She studied his face, so playful and devilish and…warm. God, he was like home, only what would hers be without him in it? Empty. Cold. Inevitable. “How do we go backwards from here?”

  His brow furrowed. “Backwards?”

  “To being strangers. How do I forget what we’ve shared?” She was nearing tears, and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to care. But she did care, and that pissed her off, not that he deserved it. He’d said from the beginning the only entanglements he did involved sheets. And now he wore that same guarded, pitying expression he had the night they met when she was flailing.

  Back when he’d made a promise to help her find someone.

  She’d never dreamed that someone could be him.

  And it’s not.

  “Kelsie—”

  “Sorry. I forgot. We haven’t shared anything. We’ve hung out. And we’ve fucked.” She let the words hang in the air, stupidly hoping he’d correct them. Soften them. But all he did was stand there and look stricken.

  Well, that was something.

  She reached over and snapped off the heat to the oven. “What, exactly, do you have against relationships?”

  He looked at her for a long time before he responded. His voice meticulously even, he said, “My parents have been married for almost thirty-five years. It’s a little hard on the ol’ expectations.”

  He couldn’t have been vaguer. Her mind scrambled to fill in the blanks, then she realized she didn’t need to fill in anything. The blanks didn’t matter. What did was that he wasn’t giving anyone a chance. He didn’t even want to try. “How are you going to find thirty-five years if your romantic life is nothing more than a series of one-night stands?”

  “I’m not finished,” he said quietly. “My brother Ethan married his high school sweetheart. She died two years later of lymphoma. He was devastated. He still is. It’s been two years, and he’s still eighty percent zombie.”

  Her heart ached at his words. “And with good reason. I’m sure that was absolutely a devastating loss. Most people don’t get married expecting less than forever.”

  “Right. But how many people get it?” He pushed a hand through his hair, adorably tousling it. “Losing Amy destroyed Ethan. And the same thing is going to happen to whichever of my parents is here the longest.”

  “Sawyer, that’s life. That doesn’t mean you run away from it.”

  “I’m not running. I’m facing reality. I don’t want to end up in a bad relationship, and I don’t want to lose a good one. If I go down that road, one of those two things is bound to happen.”

  “So being alone is the answer?”

  “Sweetheart, I’m never alone for long.”

  Cocky bastard. The words stung. Her fault for taking them personally, but she was sleeping with him. And she never once imagined she’d be with a guy who’d look her in the eye and remind her he’d have someone else in his bed soon enough.

  What the hell was she doing?

  Not falling for him. That’s what.

  Fighting to keep her voice steady, she said, “So this is date six, I guess. I learned an alternate way to move furniture and figured out I still can’t cook.”

  The hint of a smile disappeared before it had fully formed. “This wasn’t supposed to be date six.”

  “Maybe it should be date seven. I mean, really, what else do I have to learn?” He opened his mouth, and she held up a hand. “Let me rephrase. You’ve given me a surprisingly decent cache of tips and advice. We’ve had a great time. I’ve learned a lot. In fact, Sunday morning I turned down a date—”

  “Wait. What?” Something surprisingly akin to jealousy sparked in his eyes.

  She shrugged, feigning nonchalance but secretly enjoying his reaction. “I was out walking Marmaduke when I ran into a guy I worked with on a job but couldn’t go out with at the time for professional reasons. That conflict is no longer an issue, so he asked me out.”

  Sawyer’s eyes had darkened to a dangerous hue. “What did you say?”

  “I said it was complicated.”

  “It didn’t occur to you to say you knew just the date and time?” His voice was sour with sarcasm. Or was he mocking her?

  Either way, his reaction angered her. “Are you kidding
me? Don’t you think I should let the sweat dry after you’ve fucked me before I accept a date with someone else?”

  “Jesus Christ, Kelsie. All you’ve wanted this whole time is a date with someone else.”

  She wanted to yell no, that at some cruel, pivotal point something had changed. But that didn’t matter, because she sure as hell hadn’t changed him. Oh, he’d tolerated having sex more than once, saint that he was, but he was clearly ready for her to move on. He clearly wasn’t one to let the sweat dry. Silly her for forgetting it. “And you,” she said, “wanted sex. And you got sex, and well before the seventh date. You said yourself, you don’t go back for seconds, and I don’t want to cramp your style. People might start thinking you’re in an actual relationship or something. And with someone with zero girlfriend potential.”

  His eyes burned dark and cold. “Yeah, heaven forbid anyone make the mistake of thinking I goddamned cared about you.”

  Hot tears tore at her eyes, but she forced them back.

  “I think you’re right,” he said as she stood there, dumbstruck because he’d mentioned her and caring all in one sentence. “Screw date seven. Screw all of this. You clearly don’t need anything else from me.”

  “Oh, that’s interesting,” she said, suddenly angry all over again. “Because I don’t know what I’ve gotten except screwed. Dog park? Granted, I hadn’t thought to look for a guy there, but I would have eventually. I proved I’m a damn good dancer, handled the rock wall—and, I might add, you to your great satisfaction—and you braved the opera only to tell me my taste in men sucked and I should only go for guys like you. Then you take me to meet your family, but you didn’t let me talk to your single brothers. But you sure as hell talked to them, didn’t you? Because if I recall correctly, you told them I’m a total waste of time.”

  Sawyer paled visibly, but he stood stoically, without saying a word.

  As if he had a damned thing to say.