Melt For Him

by Lauren Blakely

  …

  God, it was killing him to have her nearby. His muscles tensed and his fingers twitched, eager to touch her.

  He refused to move, to stand, to walk over to her and dust his lips across that absolutely enticing neck, or wrap his arms around her slim waist and tug her close. Nope. He was holding out, so he’d parked himself in his usual spot at the table by the window after they closed for the night, laptop in front of him, reviewing the operations and emailing suppliers about outstanding orders and new inventory.

  But even though she was all the way on the other side of the bar, he had been painfully aware of how close she was as she’d chatted with Jamie for the last half hour. He was a master of restraint, but this would be taxing to any man.

  Thankfully, there was a knock on the window. Becker turned to see that Smith had pressed his face against the glass, smushing his mouth and nose against the pane. Becker managed a laugh, rose, and walked to the door and unlocked it.

  Smith patted him on the back once. “How’s business tonight?”

  “Excellent.”

  “Got your nose in the books, I see? All work and no play…” Smith said, and trailed off his admonishment. Smith was a hard worker, ran his own contracting business, and had recently built out the expanded back section of the bar. But he also was probably a helluva lot better than Becker at letting go of the day and putting work behind him.

  “Nice ass.”

  Smith turned to the bar where Jamie was wiping down the counter and catcalling her boyfriend.

  “Why, thank you, ma’am. I do believe you are its number one fan,” Smith said as he turned and patted his backside.

  Megan swiveled around, joining Jamie in the hooting and hollering. For the briefest of moments, he envied her ease, her free spirit. Out of the corner of his eye, he lingered on the group, wanting to tear his gaze away from her but completely unable to. She caught his stare and flashed a grin in his direction. Lingered, too, her eyes locked on him, like she didn’t want to look away. Hell, he didn’t want to, either. He wanted everyone to leave, to pull down the blinds, lock the door, and lift her up on the bar and kiss the hell out of her. Feel her melt into his arms again.

  He wanted that so much that it nearly pained him to look away.

  “You gonna join us for a drink?” Smith asked him.

  “I need to finish up this inventory analysis,” he said, staring at the computer screen.

  “Then you definitely need a drink, even if it’s only a Shirley Temple.”

  “I’ll catch you later, man,” Becker said. If he closed his laptop and joined them at the bar, he didn’t know that he’d be able to keep his hands off Megan. If he were in the same five-foot vicinity, he didn’t think he’d be able to resist running a thumb over her hip bone, watching the look in her eyes shift from playful to hungry as her lips parted and her breathing intensified. He wouldn’t say a word, he’d just grab her hand, pull her into the supply closet, and have an encore of the other night.

  Numbers became his best friend now, and for the next several minutes he ran report after report on suppliers, on inventory, on the bar’s monthly sales until that was all that was in his head.

  “Working hard?”

  So much for his concentration. There she was, sliding into the seat across from him, fixing that sexy grin on him.

  “Trying my best,” he said.

  “You run a nice bar,” she said, waving her hand around to show the inside of the Panting Dog. “I was thinking about it when I was out for a hike this morning.”

  “Glad you like it. Glad it kept you occupied on the trails.”

  “It did and I do. I’m tempted to have another Chihuahua,” she said, lowering her voice as she mentioned the beer she’d had with him that first night.

  “Yeah? You liked that Chihuahua?” He lifted an eyebrow, cautious about engaging in this sort of banter, but eager, too.

  “I did. I liked it a lot,” she said, her mouth forming a gorgeous O on the last word.

  He shut his eyes briefly, letting the quick bolt of lust roll through him. Then he opened them. “You’re making it hard to work,” he said, lowering his voice.

  “Am I? Making it hard?”

  He swallowed. His throat was dry. “Yes,” he said, his skin heating up. She glanced briefly at the bar. Smith and Jamie were laughing at something as they walked to the back section, leaving them alone.

  “Megan,” he whispered as a warning.

  “Yes?” she said, dropping her hand below the table and tap-dancing her fingers along his knee.

  He drew a deep, fueling breath. “What are you doing to me?”

  The expression on her face shifted from the flirty-playful look to a more serious one. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m supposed to be staying away from you.”

  “Yeah, and vice versa.”

  “My brother even told me to.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yep. He said he thought we were checking each other out at coffee the other day.”

  He chuffed a humorless laugh. Travis was too fucking observant for his own good. Or maybe Becker was just too obvious. “Were we? Checking each other out?”

  “Well, considering that was after you sent me all those naughty text messages, I would definitely have to say so,” she said, wiggling an eyebrow.

  Now he laughed for real. “All those naughty text messages? If memory serves, there were only a few even sent.”

  She shrugged happily. “Maybe then I was just thinking of all the other ones I wanted to send.”

  Desire slammed into him once more, like a punishing wave. He had to stay very, very still, or else he’d have no choice but to get that woman naked and up against the wall.

  “Were you now?”

  “I was.”

  “Like what?”

  She kept her gaze locked on him, never wavering, as she dropped her voice to a heated whisper. “Like how I wanted you again. All the different ways.”

  “What sort of ways?” he asked, playing with fire, but doing it anyway.

  She glanced around, maybe needing her own confirmation that the coast was clear, then leaned closer, her breasts brushing the table, her gorgeous face near enough for him to kiss. “Right now I’m thinking about how much I’d like to be on top of you on that chair.”

  He hissed in a breath. His eyes grew hazy; his sanity seemed to have slunk away. Restraint was walking on a path out the door.

  “I like the way you look on top of me,” he said, low and hot.

  “I like the way I feel when I’m on top of you.”

  “How do I make you feel?” he asked, going on a hunting expedition. But hell, she was a willing partner, and he told himself they were safe enough right here. This was all talk, no action, so it was fine.

  “Like there’s nothing else in the world. Like you want nothing more than to make me feel amazing,” she said, her voice feathery.

  “That’s what I wanted the night we were together. I loved making you feel good. The fact that I only made you come twice pissed me off,” he said, keeping his hands on the table and out of trouble.

  She breathed out the sexiest little sigh. One only he could hear. Meant only for him. Full of need and desire. “But you’ve made me come more than twice,” she said, keeping her eyes hooked on him as she confessed.

  He tried to suppress a grin. He tried to fight off the images dominating his brain, but it was near impossible when all he could see was her alone, legs spread, fingers flying, moans piercing the silence. “How did I do it? The time I wasn’t there.”

  She parted her lips to answer, and he was dying to know what she’d pictured, when a loud voice called out.

  “We’re thinking of doing a little midnight bowling. Who’s going to join? It’s on me since I won the pancake bet and served the most flapjacks at the fund-raiser.”

  Smith had returned with his arm draped around Jamie, and Becker wanted to strangle his friend and thank him at the same time. Because
he was picturing the scene that would have unfolded next. She’d grab at his hair in a frenzied rush, and he’d yank off her shirt, and there’d be little time for anything more than the main attraction. He’d spin her around, hike up that crazy short skirt she was wearing, pull down her panties, and she’d be ready. Hot and wet and inviting. He’d run a hand down the soft, smooth skin of her back, watching as her spine bowed in a ridiculously sexy way that made him harder than he’d ever been, and then she’d say, Now. Take me now.

  Yeah, Becker decided he’d send a thank-you note to Smith. Because there was no way he’d have stopped otherwise.

  “You three go. I need to finish up,” he said.

  Megan rose, shot him a brief look that was both lusty and wistful, then left.

  He was rock-hard, and he was still turned on thirty minutes later when he unlocked the door to his dark and quiet home. But he wasn’t going to give in. He went to bed, keeping his hands to himself, as if that would keep the thoughts of her at bay.

  Becker’s dreams were restless that night, as they were every night. They were bits and pieces—stuck in a building he couldn’t find his way out of, endless stairwells that rose and fell in all directions, paths in the woods that went nowhere and everywhere at the same time. He was used to these demons by now, too familiar with the way nighttime ushered in agitation in his mind.

  He wished he was dreaming of something pleasant, maybe a quiet run in the woods, or a barbecue, even a walk with a dog.

  A light flashed from his nightstand and he reached for his phone. There was a text from Megan.

  Didn’t want to leave you hanging. But it was reverse cowgirl, and it was toe-curlingly good. Good night.

  Well, there went any and all resistance.

  He latched onto the image instantly, and he instructed his brain to stay there the rest of the night, to never stray from her legs, and belly, and long neck that invited kisses. It was far more pleasant than his previous dreams.

  Though “pleasant” wasn’t entirely the right word. More like “too hot to let go of.”

  Pictures raced across his closed eyelids. The swell of her breasts. The curve of her waist. The smooth skin of her belly.

  Ah, hell. Sometimes the brain needed a helping hand. He pushed off the sheets, took his hard length in his hand, and imagined Megan.

  Straddling him.

  Lowering herself onto him.

  Moaning as she took him in.

  He’d grab her hips and bring her down on him hard, filling her completely. He pictured how she’d look riding him right now, her long hair flowing down her back, taking him reverse-cowgirl style, rocking up and down on his cock, her glorious wetness nice and snug, as she braced herself on his thighs with her hands. Back bowed, hair falling, just the sides of those gorgeous full breasts visible from his vantage point. He gripped himself harder, stroking faster, picturing Megan on him, making her throaty moans and whimpers.

  Slamming in and out of her, until she cried out his name, the sounds of her pleasure sending him over the edge. He jacked himself harder, feeling the build start in the base of his spine. God, it felt good, picturing her, imagining her doing this to him.

  Megan, so hot and so beautiful. Megan, a live wire under his touch. Megan, the woman he wanted to fuck, and to lick, and to kiss.

  He groaned, her name a long rumble from his throat as he came.

  Chapter Ten

  Megan parked her bike in the small dirt lot at the base of one of the hiking trails in Hidden Oaks. The single-track trail was rarely used, since it was too bumpy for all but the most resilient of mountain bikers, and it kept away the day hikers, too.

  A long, winding path full of switchbacks awaited her, and she could use a good run to plan the rest of the shoot. Running was the perfect backdrop to review her photo plans. After her brother, Smith had been next in front of the camera. Megan had posed him in a traditional sort of shot—leaning against the fire truck, shirtless, staring off in the distance. He was Jamie’s man, and Megan had no interest in him, but the subject matter sure made for a fun shoot. One of her favorite photographic assignments, it turned out.

  Back in Los Angeles, she’d landed a few quick gigs shooting head shots for aspiring actors, and while she’d wished them all well in their careers, most of them were far too tightly wound to make the shoot fun. But a fireman posing for a calendar? These men had a good time in front of the camera and rolled with it.

  Of course, they all made it seem like they were taking one for the team and only tearing off their shirts and flexing their muscles for the good cause behind it. While that was true, Megan knew better. The chance to be ogled was something most of them enjoyed.

  As for Becker, she had a hunch he wasn’t the preening type. More of the keep-to-himself type. She wanted to find the ideal location for him.

  As she hit the trails in the morning fog, she logged not only miles, but a list of locales. There was the requisite vineyard shot with rolling hills and row upon row of grapes. She’d love a shot, too, of one of the men framed against the wide-open curling roads that wound their way around the county. She lingered on that image for a mile or so, cycling through the most picturesque roads nearby.

  Then there was the river that looped around the outskirts of Hidden Oaks and lazily drifted down through the other towns. She wasn’t far from the river, and the ribbon cut a peaceful image, but a steady one, too. Rocks, water, and a fireman, maybe? She rounded a switchback, heading higher uphill on the trail. She hadn’t yet passed another runner, but that was often the case this early in the morning. These trails attracted only the stalwarts.

  She heard quick footfalls from above. Around the corner came the powerful form of the man she’d slept with. The man she wanted to touch again, but couldn’t and shouldn’t. The man she’d sent that naughty text to last night.

  Megan should have been surprised to see him, but she wasn’t. Because it made all the sense in the world that he came here in the early hours of the dawn, too. He might as well have been carved from solitude. His head was down, and he wore a dark T-shirt that revealed his stunning arms, and running shorts that showed off strong legs. A slight sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. He saw her and slowed to a jog.

  “Good morning, Miss Tattoo Artist.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Bar Owner,” she returned with a wink.

  “How was bowling last night?”

  “Great. I won a round, Smith won a round, and Jamie landed a strike. How was your night?”

  “Restless for a bit. But then my mind wandered to something ‘toe-curlingly good,’” he said, sketching air quotes around her words.

  She tried to rein in a flirty smile but had no luck. “Wish I’d been there to help.”

  “If you were with me, there wouldn’t be any helping going on.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Well, aren’t you Mr. Independent?”

  He leaned forward, dipped his head to her neck, and said in a husky voice in her ear, “If you were with me, I’d be so deep inside you that you’d barely be able to form words.”

  “What would I be able to do?” she asked, her voice feather-thin.

  “You’d have your legs wrapped tight around me and you’d only be able to moan and scream in pleasure,” he said, his lips dangerously close to her skin, so close she was dying for him to lick her, kiss her, touch her. “And incidentally, I love those sounds that you make.”

  She swayed as desire flooded all the corners of her body, goose bumps rising across every inch. Her skin felt electric. Her brain was firing images at her like a movie reel in fast-forward. Flesh against hot flesh. Fingers exploring everywhere. “That’s not fair,” she finally managed to say as he backed away.

  “I know,” he said, his lips curving up. “Nor was your text last night.”

  There was a tight line of tension between them. They were all alone in the world, wrapped in only the mist of the early-morning fog. Fog doesn’t tell secrets. Fog shields stolen kisses. They could veer
off this path and find a spot on the grass, or a tree, and he could take her standing up, as she held on for dear life. They could get tangled up in the woods, surrounded only by the chirping of birds and the quiet murmurs of the river gurgling down below.

  She briefly flashed back to the conversation with her brother, to his warnings. But he wasn’t here now, and she didn’t want to think about him. She didn’t want to worry or fret over what Travis would think if she spent more time with Becker. He’d already made it clear he didn’t want her to. Right now, though, she abolished those thoughts. Because, fuck it. She wanted to think about this man, to touch this man, to talk to this man. She wanted to know more about him, about the things he’d seen, about why Travis had warned her off. And though she had no intention of getting serious with a fireman, her intentions were not on a relationship at the moment—they were on exactly what she’d wanted from him in the first place. A little bit more.

  Rather than jump him right now like her body was begging her to—a damn cheering squad inside her chest was urging her to just do that—she chose a parallel path to her goal.

  “I’m running to the river. I was thinking you might look good there for your photo shoot.”

  He raised his eyebrows playfully, and the expression on his face led to a fluttering in her chest. He was so intense, but then there was that tease, that taunt, as if he wanted to reel her in. Becker had tall, dark, and brooding down pat, but then he chased it with a touch of smart-ass and a full dose of kindness. A potent combination she could get addicted to if she didn’t watch out. “You were thinking about me while you were running?”

  “Yes. I was,” she said. “What do you think about when you’re running?”

  “I run not to think.”

  Of course. Of course he does. “Do you want to run the rest of the way with me or not?”

  “I don’t know that I could keep up with you,” he said, and Megan was surprised. She’d expected him to say the obvious guy thing— I don’t know if you can keep up with me. But he’d turned it around into something of a compliment.