by Jill Shalvis
“Seems like.”
He pulled into her apartment complex, got out of his truck and came around for her just as she was getting her feet beneath her. “I’ve got it from here, sailor.” She patted his cheek. “But thanks.”
“Uh-huh.” Instead of walking away, he took her arm and led her to her front door.
“This isn’t necessary.” She unlocked her door and blocked him from coming in. “See you in a few days.”
Putting his hands on her arms, he gently but firmly pushed her inside, then followed her in, kicking the door shut behind him.
“Look, I just want another shower with hot water this time, and my bed,” she said, sounding cranky now. “And I’d add sex to that list, but you’ve already shot me down on that score, so get the hell out.”
He’d been inside her place a few times. A nice couch, a small TV, shelves with a few books here and there, and a plant that was either coming back to life or halfway dead. “Where’s your Christmas tree?”
She didn’t answer him.
“You said you were having a thing. You turned down all the invites you got because you were having a thing.”
“I am having a thing.”
An alone thing. He got that now. She’d lied, which he hated.
As if too burned out even to move, she sank to her couch and covered her eyes.
The soft, exhausted sigh did him in.
“Get up.” He held out a hand. “Come on.”
She opened her eyes and stared at his fingers. “For what?”
“Shower. Bed.”
“Is that an invitation?”
Rolling his eyes, he pulled her up himself and took her down the hallway to her bathroom. In his experience, a woman’s bathroom was her holy sanctuary, filled with all the mysteries of feminine beauty: bottles, creams, tubes, brushes, lingerie hung to dry.
Not Cristina’s bathroom. As always, it was clean and unlike the woman herself, devoid of life. “I’ve always wondered. Where’s all your stuff?”
“What stuff?”
“Your girl stuff.”
She pulled open a drawer, revealing a brush, a tube of mascara and a bottle of body lotion. “Here.”
“That’s it?”
“No.” She pulled open her other drawer, which held an unopened box of tampons and an opened box of condoms.
He stared at the condoms and thought down boy. Telling himself it didn’t matter how many condoms were missing, he cranked on the hot water and turned to her.
She was looking at him curiously. “You’re doing it again.”
“What, breathing?”
“Being assertive.”
“Yeah? How’s this for assertive. Strip.”
She stopped in midyawn and raised a brow.
“Strip,” he repeated. “Shower. And then if you’re a good little girl, I’ll tuck you in before I leave.”
Now those eyes narrowed. “So you’re being all sexy for what, just to tease me? Get out.”
“Sure. As soon as I take care of you, since you’re too stubborn to do it yourself.”
“Seriously, what the hell is your problem this morning?”
The box of condoms was open, that was his problem. “Take your damn shower.”
“Fine.” She pulled off her shirt.
She wasn’t wearing a bra. “Jesus, Cristina.”
“Hey, I’m just following directions.” She shoved down her sweats, revealing a miniscule black thong. Then that was gone, too, and with a smug look on her face, she stepped into the shower and shut the curtain in his face.
He let out a slow, long breath. “Good. I’ll just…” stand here as hard as a rock “…leave you to it.”
“Oh, no. You promised to tuck me in.” She stuck her head around the curtain and eyed him, her hair stuck to her head, framing her face, which was pale with dark circles beneath her eyes. Still, she batted them for all she was worth.
Spinning on his heels, he forced himself to leave the bathroom rather than strip down and join her. In the kitchen, he put water on to boil and searched the cupboards, which were pretty bare, but he found some tea bags.
He heard the shower go off while he was waiting for the tea to get good and dark, the way she liked. Then he drew a deep breath and headed back down the hall, reminding himself that he was only going to give her the tea, tuck her in and walk away.
No matter how freaking fantastic she looked naked, and no matter how much he wanted her.
No matter what.
* * *
CRISTINA STOOD beneath her shower and let the hot water pound at her sore muscles. She’d held up pretty well in front of Dustin, but she felt a telltale tightness in her chest, and the burning in her throat told her she was an inch from losing it.
If Dustin had stuck around for another minute he might have caught on, but this was a pity party for one only. Work had been tough over the past few days, but that wasn’t what had gotten to her.
It was Christmas.
She hated the third-wheel feeling, hated how it made her feel like a stupid, unwanted kid all over again. She put her face right into the water and told herself that the prickle behind her eyes was simply from the spray, nothing else, but only when she ran out of hot water did she step out of the shower, grab a towel and go into her bedroom. She planned to pull on a big T-shirt and a pair of boxers and get into bed for at least eight straight hours.
But then Dustin walked into her bedroom, holding a mug of tea that smelled so good she nearly jumped him for it.
He handed over the mug but stayed in the doorway, carefully not looking at her bed, which meant he got a good look at her face, far too close a look for her own comfort.
“What’s the matter?” he asked quietly.
Was there anything worse than someone asking that question when you were so close to losing it you could taste the tears? “Other than you won’t do me? Nothing.”
Stepping closer, he snagged her arm, reeling her in, staring into her eyes for a long moment.
“Let go of me.”
He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She felt her belly hitch for no stupid reason at all, except he wasn’t being his usual laid-back, easygoing self today, but a new aggressive and assertive Dustin, and combined with the frustration simmering in his voice, it all equaled too much sexy for her. “I’m just tired.”
His thumb glided over her jaw, his fingers slipping into the wet hair at the nape of her neck. “Cristina.”
God, the way he said her name, as if she mattered a whole great big bunch. “Look,” she managed in a bored voice. “If you’re not going to get naked, then get the hell out. I said I’m tired.”
He sighed, then lifted his hands with a quick shake of his head. “Fine.” And then, just as she’d wanted, he turned away.
Good.
Perfect.
She could feel those unwanted tears stick in her throat so she ruthlessly held her breath. But he walked so damn slowly! By the time he got to the doorway, she had to suck in air or suffocate.
He whirled around. “What was that?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.” I’m fine. Look at me being fine…
But then he took a good look at her face and said her name softly, and she shocked the hell out of both of them by covering her face.
“Ah, Cristina.”
“Go,” she managed in a perfectly even, perfectly pissed-off voice.
But his footsteps came closer instead of heading out the door. And the next thing she knew, he’d tugged her hands from her face and looked her right in the eyes. “You’re not okay.”
“Why the hell won’t you just go?” she asked, baffled. “You want to, you know you do.”
Grimly, he began to pull her in, though she resisted. The mild-mannered Dustin would have backed off, but he wasn’t his usual mild-mannered self at all.
She could have fought him and won, but her fight had left her, gone south for the winter. Instead she sagge
d into him and pressed her face to his throat.
CHAPTER FOUR
DUSTIN HAD no idea what was going through Cristina’s mind as she stood there in his arms. He couldn’t possibly guess, but he did know he wasn’t going anywhere until he found out. He had a reputation for being quiet and easygoing, but being with this woman made him the opposite. Only she could do this to him, make him feel so revved up. “Talk to me.”
She made a sound, a low, breathy sound that, if it had been any other woman, he’d have said was crying.
But this was Cristina. Kick-ass, rebel-queen Cristina, who never cried. She’d once proudly told him she hadn’t cried since second grade, when one of her mother’s boyfriend’s dogs had eaten her one doll, and she’d only lost it because the dog had choked and died. “Cristina.”
“Bite me.”
He would, gladly. That was the problem. “Spill.”
She muttered a long string of various four-letter words at that, and if she hadn’t been so serious about it, he’d have smiled.
But then a soft sound escaped her, and he knew she wasn’t anywhere close to smiling, and it tore a hole in his heart. “Baby, you’re so tired.”
“Just shut up a minute,” she whispered. “Just shut up and stand here and hold me.”
He could do that, for now. He had his arms around her, one hand in her hair, the other on the small of her back, fisted in the towel around her. He was hugging her. Comforting her.
That was it.
But suddenly in the huge, overhanging silence surrounding them, he became aware of the silky disarray of her wet hair, and how good it smelled. Of the imprint of her small body against his, covered only in that damp towel, which didn’t matter because he could still see the picture of her in his mind dropping her clothes before getting into the shower.
Then her hand wriggled up between them, flat against his chest as she lifted her gaze to his.
In that very second, the embrace went from simple comfort to something else.
And he wasn’t alone.
Slowly, she came up in tiptoe and touched her mouth to the corner of his. He went instantly hard.
Her mouth still touching his, she went still, preternaturally still, and then shivered.
And not from the cold.
He slid a hand down her side, reaching for her hand, entwining his fingers in hers, moving their now-joined hands to the small of her back because he couldn’t bear her touching him and not having her.
But the motion arched her spine just enough to have her breasts pressing into his chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh, and he groaned, unable to hold it in, the sound more a plea than anything else.
Her lips parted, answering that plea, and that was it for him. Ripping off his glasses, he opened his mouth on hers, kissing her, hard and long.
Not having her.
God, what a big, fat lie that was. He was going to have her, here and now, and he knew it.
They both knew it.
The kiss was everything, hot and giving, sweet and unbearably sexy, sending waves of desire and hunger through his body, pooling between his thighs in his groin.
He was lost, a goner, drowning in the sensations, the feel of her body against his, her sweet tongue in his mouth, the way they fitted against each other as if it’d been meant to be. Even when the kiss finally ended, he kept his mouth against hers, going still, just breathing her in.
Then she lifted her head, her eyes meeting his, filled with a question mark.
He moved his hand against the sleek strength of her back. She was small-boned, petite against him, almost fragile, but he knew that was deceptive. In reality, she was the strongest woman he knew.
Walk away now, he told himself. Run, or this time you’re going to fall all the way, and she’ll stomp all over your heart.
Again.
And yet he knew that with only the slightest encouragement from her, he’d pull her down to the couch and do something completely crazy and stupid and totally amazing, like yank off the towel and kiss every single square inch of that glorious body until she made those sexy little sounds in the back of her throat that she made, the ones that grew progressively more desperate right before she came, the ones that teased him into a sexual frenzy such as he’d never known.
“Dustin.” She put her hands on his face. “How is it that you’re always there when I need you?”
Yeah. He wasn’t going to run or even walk. No way in hell. Not when she needed him.
“Dustin.” She was still staring deeply into his eyes, which was the thing about Cristina. Everything about getting too close to him terrified her, and yet she didn’t look away.
Nothing less than utterly direct at all times, she took his hand and turned, leading him back to her bedroom.
And he went willingly.
* * *
CRISTINA STOPPED at the foot of her bed and glanced at Dustin. God, the slightly befuddled, extremely turned-on expression he wore made her knees weak. Everything about him made her knees weak. Made all of her weak.
And wasn’t that just the problem?
She didn’t do weak, at least not knowingly. And yet…and yet this man. God, this man. When she was with him, she could give in, could be weak, because he was there for her.
Always.
She needed him, and she didn’t understand why, when she’d never needed anyone in her entire life. Her vague anxiety about that wasn’t going to stop her, not when she finally had him here again. Slowly she dropped her towel at their feet.
He squinted, focusing hard to see her, looking both adorable and sexy as hell. “Cristina—”
She put her fingers to his lips, not wanting to hear yet again why he wasn’t going to do this with her. She knew all the reasons why they shouldn’t do this again.
But she needed him, needed him like air, needed his mouth hot, his tongue wet. She needed—God. She needed so much that each touch stroked her from the inside out, and she stepped close and kissed him to get more.
Dustin lifted his mouth from hers.
“No,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”
With a low, ragged groan, he cupped her face and shook his head. “I’m not stopping. I’m not strong enough for that.”
Actually, he was one of the strongest men she’d ever known, but she wasn’t going to quibble, not when he was going to give her what she wanted.
Him.
Just him.
He pulled her in for another hot, wet, drugging kiss, her incredibly sexy EMT, a kiss that had her—no softie herself—quivering. He had a way of touching her, of looking at her, good Lord. She wanted this kiss to last until Christmas.
Of next year.
But then he stepped back.
“Dammit!”
“Shh…”
Oh, no he didn’t.
But he only wanted to drag his shirt over his head, giving her a quick glance at sleek skin and hard sinew which made her melt, though not as much as his naked piercing gaze did as he yanked her back against him. “Where were we?”
“Right here.” She slid her fingers into his hair, straining to reach his mouth, but he held her off, just looking at her, his eyes so dark and sexy her knees wobbled. “What?”
“You’re beautiful.”
“You’re blind without your glasses.”
“I have you memorized.”
She sighed. God, she was a complete sap if that was working on her. “You’re beautiful, too,” she admitted. “And your eyes…”
“As blind as you said.” He squinted with exaggeration and used his hands as if he couldn’t see, copping a quick feel.
That made her laugh, but it backed up in her throat when he rubbed her up against him. Oh, yeah. Her soft, sweet, sensitive Dustin wasn’t showing his usual side, and she loved it, both that and the slight rough edge to his hands as he kissed her again, his mouth binding her to him while he undid his jeans, letting go of her long enough to grab a condom from his wallet and shove the jeans off.
&nb
sp; She sat on the bed, scooting back to make room for him as he crawled up her body and reached for her hands, holding them in his on either side of her face as he leaned over her. “Be sure,” he murmured. “Be damn sure.”
She looked up at him. He was so gorgeous, so much more than she’d let herself see, and so much more than she herself could ever be, and suddenly she faltered. For her this was a release, a great one, but nothing more. It wasn’t the same for him, she knew that. What she didn’t know was if she could do it to him—
“You’ve changed your mind, it’s okay—”
“No.” God, no. Her insides were trembling, making her fingers far too unsteady for her taste, and she uncharacteristically closed her eyes as she touched his jaw. “You don’t understand. I—” You’re too good for me, for this…
As if he understood, he touched his forehead to hers, his breathing rasping in and out roughly as he took in some air. “Cristina.”
In a rare moment of cowardice, she squeezed her eyes tighter.
“Look at me.”
Obeying that ragged command, she managed to open her eyes and meet his.
“It’s just you and me. Just us. And we already know how good that can be. Let me show you how good this can be, as well.” And he kissed her shoulder. Her collarbone. A breast, which he softly sucked into his mouth. When she gasped, he continued his little tour of her body, heading farther south, kissing a rib, her belly button, a hip…
Shifting, he ran his hand down her leg, gently nudging it open so that he could kiss first one inner thigh and then the next.
And then in between.
She stopped thinking then and stopped breathing, too, while he took her straight to implosion in five point four seconds.
When she came back to planet Earth, he was working his way up her body, looking quite hot and bothered. Once again, he laced his fingers with hers as he slowly eased her legs apart. “You do have the most beautiful eyes. Keep looking at me.”
She could feel him hard and heavy between her legs, gliding against her throbbing and already very wet flesh. “I’m looking.”
“You see me.” He held her gaze as he slowly pushed into her, hard and thick, filling her so completely that she couldn’t stop the small cry of pleasure from escaping her throat.