Knots

by Chanse Lowell

  He moved to get out from under her when she whimpered, “No, please stay!”

  “Anything . . . Anything for you.” She stiffened, so he tacked on, “To help you feel better.”

  He leaned over, keeping hold of her with one hand, grabbed her food and fed her slowly, one bite at a time.

  When she’d eaten it all, she snuggled into him and breathed deep and heavy.

  In no time, she was asleep, and though he knew he should put her to bed, he simply couldn’t.

  So, he held her, sang to her and stroked her back and hair. He kissed her forehead, cheek and temple repeatedly.

  It wasn’t until he considered the fact that she could wake up and realize he was putting his mouth all over her and his hands were starting to roam closer to her breasts, that he reluctantly put her to bed. He didn’t need her feeling violated on top of everything else.

  It took him a good hour to get to sleep afterward. He couldn’t bring himself to jack off, and he was restless, his mind failing to focus when he tried to read or get some work done. What if he woke up and she was gone?

  His heart pounded and ached at the thought, and his eyes stung with tears, threatening at the corners.

  Had he cried today at the funeral?

  Oh, fuck. She had to have seen him.

  The only time he cried was when she blamed herself.

  It’s all my fault . . .

  Christ. It ripped him to pieces to hear her say that.

  He concentrated on how her warm body had felt on him while sitting on the couch, on how her hand had been in his so many times today, and most of all—the content expression she wore when she stood on that beach.

  He wanted to see that look on her face again, and he’d do anything to put it there once more, even if it meant building her a goddamn beach house in that exact spot where she stood today.

  In the end, he lay in bed and listened to some music until sleep finally claimed him.

  Chapter 3

  Dark. Oh Jesus, it was so dark a chill ran down her spine.

  She reached out to touch Pono, but he was missing.

  Her heart wrenched.

  Alone.

  This was how it might be from now on.

  Her bed was empty, and it smelled like Mark.

  The guilt was back like a suffocating wet blanket. She took off her wedding ring and shoved it in her purse on the floor next to the bed.

  After a few steadying breaths, she tiptoed down the hallway to the other side of his house.

  His door was slightly open.

  It creaked when she pushed it open wider.

  It was cracked, so that meant this was okay, right?

  Her feet slid over the floor, and instead of feeling foreign and scary, it felt so right that it was even more frightening.

  She climbed into bed with him, slipped under the covers and found his body heat right away.

  He was always so warm, putting a permanent smile on her body and into her heart.

  “What’re you . . .” He shifted closer to her, half-asleep with a groggy voice as he mumbled something about how she’d had a long day.

  “Shit, sorry. Can I . . . ? Is it—I’ll go,” she said, ungluing her body from his and turning away.

  His hand reached out and pulled her back. “No. Stay.” He swallowed and licked his bottom lip. “I’ll be a gentleman, I promise. You need this, and so do I.”

  “I’m sorry, but I . . .” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “You helped me so much earlier today, and I . . . God, why can’t I stop crying now when I didn’t even do this at the funeral?”

  “You’ve been through hell. It’s understandable, and you don’t need a reason to cuddle with me. I like it.” He nuzzled his nose into the top of her hair. Christ, she loved it when he did that. “Mmm . . .” He hummed and tightened his arm around her.

  Her insides exploded with a heat to match his body. “You’re so warm. I know this sounds crazy, but you’re the exact body temperature I seem to need. It’s so weird. Pono would make me sweat, and I’d get annoyed. I never told him that, though,” she blurted, sounding mortified with her admission at the end when she realized what she’d just shared.

  He probably thought she was incredibly calloused to say that about her husband and his deceased friend.

  “It’s fine, Jean. You never have to worry I’m going to judge you. I understand completely.” She started to say something else to justify and defend herself, but he covered her lips with a finger and shushed her. “No more talking. You need your sleep. I’ll help you relax.”

  A moment later, he had her half-draped over his chest with his hands caressing her back and combing through her hair, making her scalp tingle and zing. He did it over and over while he hummed.

  Her body was a sponge, soaking up every drop of affection he gave her.

  He took several deep breaths, and she sighed as she melted into him.

  So comfortable to sleep on for a man that was nothing but slabs of finely honed muscles.

  He whispered something about how glad he was she was here, or at least that was the last thing she remembered before falling off to sleep.

  * * *

  When Mark woke early the next morning, the sheet was tied in knots around his legs, but he didn’t care—she was still here with him, her body all over his.

  Her scent permeated the air, and her hair was fanned out across him. Her lips were smooshed up against his chest and somehow, sometime in the night, his shirt had disappeared.

  Good Lord—had he done that? And why couldn’t he remember it?

  If he’d done that, what else had he done?

  Did he touch her and make advances on her?

  He exhaled and blinked.

  What was he going to do? Keeping away from her was going to be damn near impossible after sleeping next to her last night. He wanted more—had to have more of her.

  He glanced at the clock and fought off a groan. Four-thirty—the usual time he woke up and headed to the gym before work.

  Well, today he’d skip it.

  Work, too.

  And for as long as she was going to stay, he’d start working out in the small fitness center located at the other end of the office building, during his lunch hour, rather than go to the big fancy one he paid a large monthly fee for. He wasn’t going to waste a minute being without her, including early morning hours.

  He blinked and stared at the clock.

  Hopefully it wouldn’t wake her when he called the office in a few moments.

  He had already debated calling in last night to tell them he wouldn’t be in today, but he wasn’t sure if she’d stay or not.

  Now, with her in his bed? There was absolutely no way he was going in.

  She needed him.

  His fingers walked down her spine, ghosted over the expanse of exposed skin on her lower back, and then tickled at her Venus dimples. She had an amazing ass—so curvy and tempting.

  She was what every woman should be—feminine, soft and round in all the best ways. He didn’t feel like she would break if he unleashed on her.

  Tia was tiny, and he always worried he’d inadvertently hurt her. He was always cautious with his touch when they’d played together.

  His throat constricted as he thought about how Jeanie would react if she knew all the shit he was into and all the dirty things he wanted to do to her beautiful body.

  Her pale skin would probably pink easily under his hands.

  His mind wandered into dangerous places, and his hands seemed to follow. They were under her shirt, stroking across her shoulder blades, drifting over her ribs toward the edge of her tits.

  She sighed and trembled under his touch, and his hands automatically pulled back out.

  He stuck to over-the-shirt for the next few minutes, and then she stirred awake.

  “God, I slept like the dead,” she said, then suddenly cupped her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She muffled her voice as she cursed herself for
being so insensitive to her dead husband’s memory.

  “When you’re around me, I don’t want you to worry about or censor anything you say, okay?” He tilted his head down with his chin angled so he could see her reaction.

  “’Kay,” she agreed.

  “Good. I’m gonna go make you breakfast. Go shower if you like, and then we’ll plan the day.”

  No one moved.

  He kept touching her, and she stretched a little.

  He wanted to bark out orders to get her to move since he was clearly incapable of doing anything other than be as close to her as possible.

  “Why are you being so nice to me, Mark?”

  “Why? Are you sick of me already?”

  “No.” She chuckled and patted his arm. “I just don’t like being a burden.”

  “Don’t you ever think you’re a burden to me. I want you here. It can get lonely in this place, so it’s nice to have you here. I want you to stay.” Jesus Christ, he sounded like a desperate woman begging—but, fuck, she really needed to quit worrying about this.

  And if this was what it took to get her to stick around, then he’d do it.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He kissed the top of her head. Shit. He needed to stop doing that when she was awake.

  “You’ll tell me if I start to annoy you?”

  “Never gonna happen,” he said, his voice low and husky.

  “Never gonna tell me, or never gonna get annoyed?”

  “Never gonna get annoyed. Impossible.”

  “Why? Because you have such amazing control over your emotions? Pono used to tell me that . . .”

  “What did he say?” His head moved to get a better look at her.

  Her cheeks pinked. “Well, he said you were too rigid at times—like a robot.” She blushed a little on the apple of her cheeks.

  “Do you think a robot would let you snuggle in bed with him all night long?” he teased.

  “No,” she chirped and looked away.

  He laughed. “Okay, breakfast. Lighter conversation would probably be better as well.”

  “Control—it’s back,” she said.

  Was she mocking him?

  He smacked her right ass cheek and chuckled harder. “Breakfast—it’s important.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said, sounding like she was taking military orders.

  Oh, fucking Christ. He was throbbing now. She had no idea what she’d just done to him.

  He swung himself out from under her and left the room in a rush.

  The second he was locked in the bathroom, he turned on his shower. And before he could even consider washing up, he had to stroke one out, imagining her saying those two words to him over and over again as he made love to her and showed her what she meant to him.

  When he was done cleaning up, he could hear the water running through the pipes in the wall. She was showering in her bathroom on the other side of the house.

  He got dressed, called in sick at work and made them breakfast.

  Twenty minutes later after the water had shut off in her bathroom, she still hadn’t emerged.

  He went after her even though he knew it was really early in the morning and most people weren’t as energetic as he was at this time of day.

  Rap, rap, rap.

  “Jean, you okay?” he asked through the door.

  “Fine.”

  “Fuck,” he growled to himself. There was that accursed word again. “Let me in so I can see for myself.”

  “No, really, I’m okay.”

  “Open the door,” he repeated, leaning into the door frame.

  The door opened, and her eyes were red-rimmed, her hair wet and a tangled mess, and once more, her nipples were poking through her shirt.

  Cold. Again.

  He could warm her up.

  Fuck, that would be bad.

  The only way he’d be able to control himself was if . . .

  “What can I do to help?” he asked softly.

  His hand reached out, and the backs of his fingers traced down her cheek, chasing after a tear.

  “Nothing.”

  “I can hold you—would that help?”

  She nodded, bit her upper lip and limped her way over to his waiting arms.

  “Did I make you cry somehow?”

  “No,” she said, her voice tight.

  “Liar. What did I do? Was it because I got out of bed and left abruptly?”

  “Why do you have to be so direct and ask me such piercing questions?” She smacked her hand on his chest and slid her forehead across his left pec.

  “Answer me first—what did I do?”

  “Yeah, I thought . . . Well, you took off, and I thought you regretted allowing me to sleep with you last night.” She gasped and covered her mouth again like she had earlier, then released it. “I didn’t mean, fuck—I mean, goddammit, it was—well, it was not like that . . . I meant sleeping, not sleeping with you . . .”

  He imagined her luminous eyes going wide in mortification. Once more, she made him smile.

  “It’s okay.” He pulled her back into a tight hug. “I knew what you meant, and you’re really cute when you get flustered.”

  “I am?”

  “You are.” He kissed the top of her head again.

  Fuck. He needed to be muzzled or some shit.

  His mouth was wet from her dripping hair.

  When she pulled away, giving him a weak smile, he wiped the back of his mouth.

  “Oh, shit! Sorry—I’m making a mess all over your pristine hardwood floors and getting you wet, too. I should’ve blown dry my hair.” She reached out and ran the pad of her thumb across his lips.

  Her touch, even as slight as it was, sent the majority of his heated, very male blood, directly to his dick, making him ache uncontrollably.

  His right eye twitched, and then his lids went heavy—his breathing went shallow.

  “I don’t mind my floor getting wet. It happens . . .” His mind flooded with dozens of ways he’d like her dripping fluids onto his floors and elsewhere in his house.

  He swallowed.

  “Breakfast?”

  “Breakfast,” he agreed.

  He took her hand, pulled her toward the kitchen, and after she sat down, a guilty expression swam in her eyes.

  “You made all this?” she choked out.

  “Too much?”

  “No, not too much for a former football player, but I’m just . . . My God—I’ll be eating this the entire week I’m here,” she said.

  “Week?” he blurted.

  “Oh, I . . . Well, I’ll be here a few days . . . Right? Is that okay?” Her voice was soft and faint at the end when she was asking his permission.

  He grabbed the two plates off the counter and started to serve her up some breakfast. “I already told you—I’d love you to stay as long as you want.”

  “Even if that’s indefinitely?” she joked.

  “Sure—why not?”

  Her tongue darted out and moistened that dip on her bottom lip. She pressed her mouth into a tight line, then exhaled through her nose. “Uh, because you’re a bachelor with needs, and no man wants to have a female roommate around when he’s bringing chicks back home to his place for—”

  She cut herself off, swallowed and stared with a blank expression at her breakfast.

  “Continue.” He smirked.

  “I don’t think I should,” she said, reaching for the generous plate of food he dished up for her. “Eggs? Wow. I love them, but Pono was allergic.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, you ordered them once at a restaurant, which I thought was odd. You almost drooled on them, then inhaled the things, and he told me why you did that afterward.”

  “God, why am I so ill-mannered around you? You must think I’m disgusting,” she said with a groan and rolled her eyes, then covered them with her right palm and settled her head into her hand.

  He pulled her hand away and kissed the b
ack of it. “Not. At. All. I told you—you’re honest and refreshing, and you go ahead and inhale those eggs. See if I stop you.”

  She shoved the toast aside off her plate. It landed on the dark granite countertop. After an outburst of adorable giggles from her, she curved almost protectively around her plate like a starving animal and ate those eggs so fast he hoped she was still breathing.

  He plated her up some more.

  She ate those, too.

  “Did you want some bacon?” They were still in the pan. He didn’t want to offend her because some women were horrified if he even mentioned bacon around them.

  “God . . . bacon? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  He grinned and cocked an eyebrow at her. Dirty mouth was right—when she was shocked by something. Oh, how that made him want her even more.

  “I love bacon!” She leaned over, tried to grab two pieces and his instincts kicked in.

  Swaaaat!

  He smacked the back of her hand.

  Her face immediately dropped. “You hit me.”

  “You deserved it.” He smiled bigger.

  “To be hit?”

  “To be taught.”

  “With hitting?” She leaned away from him.

  “With correction. Did it hurt?”

  “My feelings, yes.”

  “Did I hurt your feelings when I smacked your ass in bed?”

  She turned dark red instantly. “Well, no, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “Okay, yes, it did hurt my feelings because right after that is when you ran away.” She frowned. “Sometimes I don’t understand you.”

  “Ask me when you don’t understand, and I’ll explain.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and stood up, moving off the breakfast stool.

  “You know what, it’s fine. I made a mistake. I can see that now. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just thought that . . .” She started to walk away. He grabbed her by the arm, then pulled her back for round three.

  She was in his arms, pressed up against his chest.

  “In my world, when something’s not right, it’s corrected. I didn’t want to hurt you, just teach you. Can you understand that?”

  “I guess.”