He smiled. “You sure about that?”
She stared at him, her eyelids heavy. “I’m sure. I’ve avoided you—”
“Ever since your mother showed up. I know. But before that…” He left the sentence hanging. He’d felt her gaze linger on him while he worked. Let her imagine the hard lines of his body under hers.
Her tongue slipped out from between her lips. “Before that…” She swallowed.
“There’s something between us, Storie. You can’t deny it.”
She ran her hand over her wet hair, gathering it into a bunch between her fingers. “There’s not—”
“There is.” He continued without giving her a chance to respond. “I think you’ve been thinking about me just like I’ve been thinking about you—”
“I think you’re thinking way too much,” she interrupted, but her gaze met his and a thread of understanding passed between them. She felt the connection, too.
She fluttered her hand under the water, the bubbles in the tub growing. A nervous action, he realized.
“Are those magic bubbles?” he asked, laughing. “Making you deny what you’re feeling?” The thin layer of bubbles had foamed into airy white fluff, covering her chastely. More chastely than he liked, but he knew what was underneath it all.
“Yeah, something like that.”
He shrugged. “You can’t get anywhere in life unless you take the bull by the horns. I’ll wait for you out here, if you’d prefer.”
“I’d prefer it if you’d go home.”
He held up the wineglasses again. “And let a good bottle of red go to waste? No can do, darlin’.”
“Is that what you do? Take the bull by the horns, knocking down everything in your path? Reid, this isn’t a good idea.”
He clenched his muscles against the physical ache he felt for her. Covered with bubbles or not, she was his fantasy come to life. He gave her a half-cocked grin. “That’s right. Knock-down, drag-out, hands on, full frontal assault. Whatever it takes. And it most definitely is a good idea.”
She stammered over her words, finally saying, “I’d like to finish my bath.”
He grinned. “No problem. See you when you’re done.”
He kept his eyes glued to her as he slowly backed out of the bathroom. She moved her arm, under the water, and then she smirked as the broken door to the bathroom slammed shut.
How the hell had she done that? Maybe he’d imagined it being broken. Maybe the bubbles and his ache for her had clouded his mind.
The minutes crept by. He sipped his glass of wine while he waited, taking the opportunity to scour the loft for any possible hiding places. He didn’t hold out much hope that there’d be hidden nooks up here, but he’d pretty much exhausted everything else he could think of, and he was out of options.
With one ear listening for the creak of the bathroom door, he searched. He started in the kitchen, peering under the sink and into each cabinet. He examined the walls in the combined living space/bedroom, but the solid brick facings were intact, without so much as a crack in the mortar. Unusual given how old the building was. He ran his hands over the brick interior wall behind the boxes, searching what he could see of the floor for a loose board or removable grate.
He groaned. Nothing.
The floor was last, but with all the boxes piled up, he couldn’t get a good view of the whole thing. Still, nothing raised suspicion.
“Find what you’re looking for?”
He cursed under his breath. So much for his alarm—he hadn’t heard the door creak. “Caught me, darlin’.” He held his hands in the air like the bandit she thought he was.
He turned to face her. He’d half-expected her to shut down his fantasy by bundling up in sweats and a fuzzy robe, but the Texas heat worked in his favor. She’d put on sleep shorts and a matching spaghetti-strap top with some sort of white cotton trim. Little yellow flowers decorated the fabric, and only the slightest curve of cleavage plumped from the V-neck of the bodice. But it didn’t matter what she wore. She could be layered to kingdom come, and he’d still think she was the most interesting, alluring woman in Texas. Hell, anywhere.
He watched her, mesmerized by the sway of her body as she moved, almost imperceptibly. Enraptured by every inch of her. She wasn’t one of those women who flaunted her beauty or figure, but she emitted more sex appeal wearing conservative pajamas like her little floral set than if she’d been in some sort of saucy stripper get-up.
Although he wouldn’t turn away if she were in a sheer black teddy edged in red satin.
He moved toward her, more slowly than necessary, trying to keep his focus on her eyes instead of the indignant pucker of her pink lips.
Not that focusing on her eyes did anything to deflate his attraction. The gold flecks in them were like magnets, drawing him in, holding him captive. He swallowed the desire rising in him, gathering his control before he said, “Love what you’ve done with the place.”
She clutched a towel in one hand as she angled her head, looking like she was ready to fire off a retort. Her hair was nearly dry, he noticed, but he hadn’t heard the hair dryer. Another benefit of the heat, he guessed.
Her gaze settled on the bottle of wine and glass he’d set on the nightstand. She made a beeline for it, knocking back a healthy swig. “I’ve been a little busy downstairs,” she said.
The glass was half-drained, he noticed. Not good. Yes, he wanted her mood to soften, but he didn’t want to ply her with alcohol and have her regret anything later. A one-night stand was only fun if both parties were on board with it and had no expectations.
“And it’s looking great down there. Almost ready.”
She brought the glass to her lips and took another sip, slower this time. Her tongue slipped out, curving up and over her top lip, holding the position for a few seconds. He wondered what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of that tongue, to feel the warmth of it against his mouth, meeting his. He’d had the briefest taste and it had left him aching for more.
“Yes,” she said, breaking the spell. “Thanks, again.”
She turned and set her wineglass on the nightstand, bending over to towel-dry the last bit of moisture from her hair. His pulse ratcheted up. He dragged in a ragged breath, working hard to steady his urge to ravish her right here, right now.
She flipped her hair back, meeting his gaze, smiling sweetly. “You can go now, Reid.”
Oh, but he couldn’t. Those lips, and those eyes. Even her voice drew him in. She couldn’t possibly know what she was doing to him.
Or did she?
Chapter 12
Oh boy. She was playing with fire. Her mother had made it clear. People were not always what they seemed, and she’d implied Storie didn’t know what Reid wanted. From the hungry look in his eyes, it seemed absolutely clear. An undeniably sexual energy sizzled between them. She was trying hard to ignore it, but how much longer could she hold off?
Then again, he’d come up here while she was in the bathtub, bringing her wine to…to…what? Loosen her up so he could get her into bed? That seemed to be one of the things he was after. No mystery there.
She ought to be appalled, but instead, she was more drawn to him. He’d been right when he said she’d fantasized about him since that day at the lake. She had, over and over and over again.
She downed half her glass of wine before setting it down and running the towel over her already dry hair, more as a distraction than anything else.
He looked good. Enticing. Ravenous.
“What are those dresses for?” he asked, pointing to the two outfits she’d been considering for the grand opening.
She dragged her gaze from him to the dresses, trying not to think about how her skin heated when he looked at her. She could sense his desire, as if he wore it like an aura.
She tossed her towel on the bed frame and picked up the first dress, holding the dark pink, black, and yellow silk in front of her, letting it hang to show how the whole thing was split up the center and how the
hem angled down in the front.
Since he was here, she might as well get his opinion. She’d made her decision—get through the grand opening, make sure everything was in order for Harper, then leave with her mother. If her siblings needed her, she had a duty to go to their aid. But she couldn’t let on to Harper that she was leaving. She couldn’t muster a good-bye, and so the party would go on and she’d pretend that all was well.
“This is option one,” she said.
He didn’t say anything for a minute, and then nodded, just once. “Nice.”
Okay. So maybe that one wasn’t the best. She tossed it on the bed and snatched the other one, holding it up. It was a teal-colored floor-length maxi dress with a halter top.
“Eh,” he said, unimpressed. “Hard to say unless I see you in them. Try them on.”
Right. Like that was going to happen. “Never mind.” She grabbed the scarf dress off the bed and hung them both back on a portable rack she used to hold her clothes. “I’ll just wait for Harper.”
“Seriously. Try them on. I’ll be more honest than a woman will,” he said. “Harper won’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“And you certainly don’t care about that,” she said, only mildly miffed. She actually liked the idea of a man being honest and telling her what he thought, and part of her wanted to just have her moment with Reid. Her whole life was changing, and she was losing everything she’d worked so hard for. She knew there was no future for them—a witch and a mortal man—but…
He didn’t answer, instead moving next to her and pulling the two dresses off the rack, holding them out to her. “Try them on.”
His voice seeped under her skin and took hold, as if he’d exercised some magic spell on her instead of the other way around. Her brain stuttered, not sure what to do. Making him exit the bathroom had been hard enough, given that he’d wanted to stay rooted to the spot. She couldn’t make him go against his will, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to. Their hot and cold flirtation had solidly embedded him in her mind. She could go a bit further and model for him.
Why not? “Okay,” she said, taking the hangers from him.
“Great.” He flashed her another one of his cocky half-grins. “Then we can make a list. Pros and cons for each dress.”
She stared at him, her jaw slack. “Are you mocking my list-making?”
He feigned innocence as he glanced at the rack. “Not at all. I think your lists are helpful. I can think of all kinds of things we could make lists about. Why you should let me up here to work. Why we should finish this bottle of wine. Why you should let me into your bed.”
Her breath stalled at his last sentence. She’d thought it, but hearing him say it sent her heart into a frenzy. “What?”
He’d zeroed in on a sheer lacy number with a creamy underlining from her rack of clothes. He grabbed it and handed it to her, taking back the other two. “And why you should wear this to the opening.”
She arched one eyebrow. “That dress?”
“It’s perfect.”
She swallowed, met his gaze, and stumbled back. He burned with a sexual energy so strong it almost knocked her down, the heat emanating from him palpable. This thing between them, this thing she’d been trying so hard to avoid…maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she shouldn’t. She had two nights and then she was giving up her business, her dream of settling down in Whiskey Creek, and her life. Would it be so wrong to give in to the desire she felt for Reid Malone?
“No,” she choked out. “I mean, yes.” She didn’t do one-night stands, and she wasn’t about to start now. “No sharing my bed,” she managed.
“And this dress?” he said, holding up the sheer number. “It’s yours, so why the hell not?”
“Because,” she said, “I’ve never even tried it on. It was one of those impulsive buys that made sense at the time.”
He held it out to her. “And it still makes sense. This is the one. Try it on.”
She was tempted. She couldn’t give in to the other request, but this was tame enough, and she was curious to see how it would look. Or maybe she was just curious to see his reaction to seeing her in it. “Okay,” she finally agreed, a deep-seated yearning coiling inside her.
He smiled as if he’d won a battle in a waging war. Which he had. She’d caved and was going to give him a private viewing of one of the sexiest dresses she owned.
She took it from him, turned on her heel, and hurried off to the bathroom before she changed her mind.
She had her PJs off and was just getting ready to slip the lace cami dress over her head when a quick rap came on the door. “These, too.”
She hid behind the door, cracking it open just enough to see what it was he wanted to add to her outfit.
He glanced over her shoulder, his jaw tightening, as he handed her a pair of short brown-and-pink cowboy boots studded with pewter beads.
She took them, but frowned. “Boots and this lacy number?”
There was a heavy pause and his voice was raspy as he said, “Just try them.”
Without another word, she closed the door. She was very definitely playing with fire.
He leaned against the wooden frame of the bed and waited, trying to block the image of her he’d seen in the mirror, but her naked backside was seared into his memory.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” she called out a second later.
He summoned up his control. “Like a fox.”
“I can’t wear these boots with this dress.”
“You can pull it off.” He knew she could, and he couldn’t wait to see her in them.
Nothing but boots would be a good look, too, but he’d save that image for later.
A minute passed, but finally she opened the door and stepped out. The light from the fixture behind her created rays of light that fanned out and made a soft glow around her. His breath caught in his lungs for a second as he looked at her. The top layer of the dress was sheer cream-colored lace and completely transparent. The layer beneath, with the light shining through, was the same tone as her skin and sheer enough that he could see the V rising between her legs and the outline of her waist. The fabric hugged her shape, accentuating every curve. Both layers hit her a few inches above the knee. Oh God, he was in trouble. With the boots, she looked like a freaking angel sent down from heaven just for him.
All his desire for her took hold. “That looks damn good,” he said thickly, the lust balled up in his throat.
“Yeah?” She didn’t seem to pick up on the strain in his voice. Moving to the full-length mirror propped up at the far end of the bed, she looked at herself head-on, turning to the side, then to the back and peering over her shoulder. “I, uh, need a slip.”
Facing front again, her cheeks had blushed. She had her arms crossed in front of her, and she kicked one leg out. “The boots actually work, though,” she said, sounding amazed.
The whole thing worked. He hadn’t been planning on making a move, not really, but now he couldn’t stop himself. He reached her in two strides, coming up behind her and looking at her in the mirror, the heat from his eyes burning as he admired her.
She met his gaze in the reflection, but didn’t speak. It was as if she knew what he was going to do before he did it, as if he were under a spell that he didn’t want to break.
He moved a little closer, closing the gap between them until her back was pressed up against him. Her lips parted and her eyes closed. Then, as if she made a split-second decision to go with the impulse of the moment, she opened her eyes, lifted her arms, laced her fingers behind his neck, and leaned back against him. “We shouldn’t do this,” she whispered.
“But it’ll be fun.” His hands skimmed her sides, snaking around her waist. His fingers spread on her stomach, moving over the flat surface and something hard. A belly button ring. Christ. He ached to touch her skin underneath.
He dipped his head, pressing his lips against her neck, never taking his eyes off her. Her breath caught as he slowly spread his fi
ngers. His head swam, weighed down with the fog of desire coursing through him, but he didn’t want to scare her. Baby steps.
This was what she wanted, he could feel it in his bones, but he held back. Patience. The word kept circling in his mind. They couldn’t start something tonight and not finish it, and he wanted to make this last. Make her want him as much as he wanted her.
He was going to give her just enough to make her want more. Beg for more. Fun and merriment. That’s what he’d called it, but really it was a far more serious game they were playing.
He watched her in the mirror as he caressed her breasts with one of his hands, slowly sliding the other down across her belly again, fingers spread. She arched her back against him. She was his. “No regrets,” she muttered, her half-mast eyes meeting his in their reflection.
“No regrets,” he agreed. He held her gaze as his hands dropped to her sides, the fabric of the dress layers bunching in his grip. He played with the hems until he pulled them both up, exposing the flesh above her knees. Higher, exposing her thighs.
“No regrets,” she said again, this time barely audible.
Higher, revealing a glimpse of the white thong in the mirror.
Her breath ragged, she gasped as he touched her. So gentle, but the heat from her burned against his skin. She moaned, deep and low and sultry, and that was it. He was gone. She was dragging him down to the depths of his deepest desire, finally fulfilling the need simmering inside him for too long.
Irresistible. He couldn’t wait any longer. His lips found her neck again, his eyes still glued to her reflection. She broke the connection, turning her head up to him until her lips brushed his. He’d dreamed of this moment. Spent far too many years settling for substitutes while he longed for Storie. And now here she was, finally.
He pulled back. Pushed her dress up, running his hand across the soft flesh of her stomach, his gaze hitching on the silver swirl at her navel before sliding up to her breasts. He kept his other hand busy, lightly teasing her. A slow torturous burn until she came undone.
He kissed her neck, nudging her face forward until he held her aroused gaze in the mirror again. Her body called for his touch. His mouth. His tongue. His full attention.
Storiebook Charm (A Spellbound Novel 1) Page 12