Walk the Line

by J. Kenner

  He told himself it was no different than when Jenna helped. That, of course, was a lie for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was that he didn't want to sleep with Jenna. And he did want that with Elena. More and more each day, actually, despite his best efforts to shut his libido down.

  Now he stood, planning to go inside for some of the beer and barbecue that Elena had suggested he provide for the adults. He didn't make it that far, though, as Reece sidled up beside him, then handed him a Sam Adams lager. "I was just coming to get one of these."

  "Guess I read your mind. What are friends for?"

  They clinked the bottles, then both took long draws. Brent noticed that Reece looked in Elena's direction, but he said nothing about her. Instead, he nodded toward Landon and Taylor.

  "They make a good couple," Reece said.

  "They do," Brent agreed, but there was a wariness in his tone. He knew the parallels to him and Elena as well as Reece did. An interracial romance. A younger woman.

  And he wasn't at all surprised when Reece said, "Your dad would never have approved of them."

  He turned to his friend, knowing full well that Reece was really talking about him and Elena. "No," he said. "He wouldn't. But I never agreed with the old man much anyway."

  "True that, and I'm glad to hear it. Would be a shame to let a stupid prejudice get in the way of something that could be good." He turned to face Brent. "More to the point, it would be a shame if a stupid fear got in the way, too."

  "You've been talking to Jenna," Brent said.

  Reece lifted a shoulder, the tattooed sleeves on his arm seeming to dance with the motion. "Well, she's my wife. We talk sometimes." They'd been married in a small ceremony a few weeks ago with a justice of the peace, and they'd kept that news mostly to themselves, intending to have a bigger ceremony with a reception after the baby was born.

  "Landon doesn't have a kid," Brent said. "If Taylor pulls an Olivia, the only one she's hurting is him."

  Reece nodded slowly. "That's true. But how long are you going to hide behind what ifs?"

  And then, before Brent could respond, Reece stepped away and slipped among the children, leaving Brent behind, still tasting those words.

  Chapter Eight

  The week before, Brent had hired one new guy for his security team. And although he couldn't fully shift back to a managerial role until he had both new men in place, the addition of Owen meant that he could at least go home early on a few nights.

  And Sunday, thank goodness, was one of them.

  He'd told Elena, of course. And although he would miss seeing her asleep on the couch when he arrived home after three, he couldn't deny the anticipation he felt at knowing she'd be awake when he walked in the door.

  What he hadn't expected was to find her in the kitchen surrounded by an explosion of flour, and his little girl wide-awake and bouncing gleefully on her countertop perch.

  "Daddy!" Faith shrieked.

  "I am so sorry," Elena said at the same time, wiping her nose and leaving a white streak across her skin. "Faith forgot to mention that her class is having a party for her birthday on Monday, so I'm making her cupcakes to take. And when I mentioned that my birthday is tomorrow, she insisted on helping with the cupcakes so that I could take one home as a birthday treat."

  "Happy birthday," he said, amused. "I assume that Hurricane Faith was the cause of all this." He indicated the room.

  "We had planned to get it all clean before you got home, didn't we?"

  Faith nodded. "We made a mess."

  "And it's past your bedtime." She looked up at Brent. "I'll still clean it. Just let me get her to bed first."

  "It's really okay."

  "No." She sounded both flustered and determined. "I've got it. You just, um, have some coffee." She poured him a cup and shoved it toward him. "Enjoy."

  "Right. Got it. Will do." He felt his lips twitch with amusement, and looked down before she noticed. "Give me a hug," he said, then set his coffee down so he could catch the little girl who threw herself into his arms. He squeezed her tight, then kissed her forehead. "Night, sweetie. Go with Miss Elena."

  "Okay, Daddy," she said, then disappeared down the hall with her flour-smudged babysitter.

  The coffee was fine, but he thought the evening called for wine, and he grabbed a bottle from the small wine fridge he had tucked in the corner. A nice red, which he poured for both himself and Elena. He was halfway through his glass when she returned.

  "I think she's finally asleep," Elena said. "About all of this--"

  "It's nothing," he said, interrupting what was sure to be another apology. "Here. We'll toast your birthday."

  She grinned. "Yeah?"

  He'd never seen her look frazzled before. Now her short hair was mussed and her makeup smudged. He'd thought she was beautiful before, but now she looked vulnerable, too. And he wasn't sure that was a good thing.

  "I'm really sorry she wasn't asleep when you got home," she added. "I know how late it is. But she wanted to watch another cartoon, and we picked The Incredibles, and I think it just got her all worked up. I had no idea she'd get out of bed to start building a fort for her stuffed animals while I was making the cupcakes. And then when we were taking it apart, I mentioned about my birthday tomorrow, and that's when all hell broke loose in the kitchen."

  She glanced around the room, frowning. "I think there are one or two spots where we managed to not get any flour."

  "No worries," he said with a small chuckle. "Truly. That kid has a talent for making messes. And I assure you I'm prepared for massive crankiness tomorrow."

  He saw her horrified look and wished he'd stayed silent. He didn't like seeing Elena Anderson upset. And every time he'd seen her that way, he'd had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss the worry right off her face.

  And that definitely wasn't the direction his mind needed to be going. Not with her. Not with his boss and friend's daughter. And definitely not with his babysitter.

  No matter how tempted he might be.

  "Seriously," he said to reassure her, "it's no big deal. Kids stay up late. They sneak out of bed. It happens. And I really appreciate you helping me out like this. I know childcare wasn't what you had in mind when you started graduate school."

  "Well, in case you forgot, you're paying me."

  He laughed. "Good point. Even so. There are times when there's not enough pay in the world." He glanced around the kitchen. "I'm thinking today is one of those days."

  "It's definitely up there," she admitted. "But really, I'm happy to help. She's a great kid, and the job works with my schedule. You know how grad school is."

  "I don't actually. Cop. Security specialist. Now bar owner and partner to your father," he added, because he really needed to say that out loud. A reminder to them both. Because even though he'd been telling himself for months that it was his imagination, he knew damn well that Elena was attracted to him, too.

  He kept trying to push it from his mind, but the truth was that lightning had positively crackled between them the first time they'd met. And more than once he'd caught her looking at him, the desire so palpable that he'd had to turn away and imagine cold showers and other non-sensual things.

  He was a wreck, and it was no good telling himself that because it had been so long since he'd had a woman in his bed, he was starved for any woman.

  She flashed a sweet, almost shy smile, and his stomach flip-flopped.

  No. This was all about Elena. Only Elena.

  "This is nice," she said. "Chatting, I mean. Usually I'm either comatose when you get back or else I rush out the door so I can get home and crash."

  "Well, I can't let you risk ruining the cupcakes."

  "That's something else I'm sorry for. I should have called to clear it with you. So I hope you don't mind."

  "I don't mind at all. I just..."

  "Yes?"

  How could he say that the room seemed too small, but he knew damn well that it wasn't because of
the heat from the oven?

  "Nothing," he said instead. "Forgot what I was going to say."

  She cocked her head, a question in her eyes, and for a second he thought she might be about to call him out on his lie. He almost hoped she would.

  Bing!

  "Done," she said, her voice a little too bright, as if that would combat the tension in the room.

  She bent to take them out, and Brent forced himself not to study the perfect curve of her ass in her Lucky jeans.

  Lucky. Wasn't that ironic?

  She put the cupcake pans on trivets, then took off the oven mitts. "Well. There. I guess I should get going."

  "Don't they need to cool?"

  She nodded. "I figure you've done this before, right? Faith can frost them in the morning. I didn't make fresh, but I saw you have a couple of cans of frosting in the pantry."

  "It's one of the major food groups," he said.

  She rolled her eyes. "So you frost them, then put them in some Tupperware."

  "Right. I could do that. Or you could stay and make sure I don't put them away too soon."

  She swallowed. "Well, yeah. If that would help you out."

  He took one step toward her, and in the small kitchen that put them only inches apart. "Or you could forget about the cupcakes and just stay."

  "I--Brent." She licked her lips, and his whole body tightened with desire. "What are you doing?"

  "Honestly? I'm thinking about kissing you."

  "Oh." He saw both surprise and pleasure in her eyes. "What about it?"

  "How much I want to. How much I shouldn't."

  "Why not?" The question was breathy, almost a whisper.

  "For one, you're younger than me. You're my boss's daughter. My friend's daughter. Not to mention that I'm a single dad who needs to be careful about the signals I send to my kid. Plus, you're the babysitter."

  "Those are all bad?"

  He sighed. "I thought so. I'm starting to lose perspective."

  "I can help with that."

  "Can you?"

  "Yeah." She took a step toward him, then rose up on her tiptoes. Gently, she brushed a kiss over his lips.

  Then she backed away, biting her lower lip as she looked at him, as if challenging him to do more.

  Dammit, he took the challenge. Maybe he'd go straight to hell, but he had to have this woman. And without any more hesitation, he pulled her close, then claimed her mouth in a kiss that seared through him, long and hot and deep.

  Chapter Nine

  Elena melted against him, shocked that she'd been so bold as to take the initiative and wildly happy that he'd stepped up to the plate once she had. This kiss was ... well, it was everything. For months, she'd been imagining his lips on hers, his tongue warring with hers, his hands touching her everywhere. And now--oh, dear Lord, he was doing to her exactly what she'd imagined. Touching. Tasting. Teasing.

  Taking.

  "Christ, Elena, you taste like ambrosia." He broke their kiss only long enough to murmur those sensual words, and then his mouth closed over hers again. It was already hot in the kitchen, but now the air between them sizzled. He cupped his palm on the back of her neck, holding her head in place as he explored her mouth. Tasting her lips, her teeth, then brushing soft kisses along her jawline.

  "You're so beautiful," he murmured. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to taste you?"

  He pulled away long enough to meet her eyes, and she actually whimpered from the depth of desire she saw there. A wild, almost violent need. And oh, yes, that's what she wanted. She'd waited too long for this to be polite. At least as long as he had.

  "I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you," she confessed. "Remember that day? When I walked into the bar to find my father?"

  "How could I forget? It's etched into my memory. You were--you are--the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. I couldn't take my eyes off of you. And I practically had to sit on my hands so I wouldn't reach out and touch you."

  Her pulse skittered, and the breath she drew in felt shaky. "You can touch me now," she whispered. And then, because she couldn't stand not having his hands on her, she added, "Please touch me now."

  "Oh, babe." She heard the heat in his voice, and she expected his hands on her right away. He surprised her, though, by moving slowly. His fingers trailing lightly over the loose material of her T-shirt.

  She'd never thought of a non-touch as being erotic, but the more he didn't touch her, the more aroused she became. Her nipples peaked against the thin material of her bra, and she felt her core go hot. Wet.

  And still, that wasn't where he touched her. Instead, he traced the neckline of her shirt, then he followed the seam at her shoulder. He kept his attention on his fingers. On the way they danced along with barely any pressure. Just enough to hint, but not enough to satisfy.

  "Please," she whispered, then watched as his fingertip brushed ever so lightly over the swell of her breast. And when he grazed her nipple, she arched back and gasped, then clasped her hand over his, forcing a more solid connection.

  "The lady wants it wilder. Harder."

  "The lady wants everything," she clarified. "The lady's not even sure what she wants." Her cheeks warmed. "I'm not very experienced."

  He cupped her face. "Elena, are you a virgin?"

  She shook her head, glad for her answer, because she had a feeling that he would have backed off if she'd said yes. "I'm not," she said, just to be clear. "But I also haven't been with a lot of guys."

  "Never apologize for that," he told her.

  "It's just that I don't know--"

  "Yeah," he said. "I promise that you do. If you didn't, how do you account for this?"

  He took her hand and pressed it against the erection that strained to escape his jeans. She drew in a breath, her body longing for the connection he was offering, but wanting more, too. So much more.

  "Is that what you want, Elena?"

  "Yes." The answer came without thought or hesitation. "But not yet. First I want--"

  He pressed his fingers over her lips. "Let me play," he said. "And if I don't get it just right, you can set me straight, okay?"

  She nodded.

  "But first, I think we need to move our venue. I don't want to be interrupted when I have you naked and writhing beneath me, do you?"

  She swallowed. "No. But you're teasing me."

  "Of course I am. But I'm still telling the truth."

  She thought of that. Tried to anticipate the pressure of his body on hers. The feel of his cock pressing against her core. The power of the thrust when he found a rhythm and drove it home. She wanted to wake up tomorrow with her thighs aching from being spread so wide, and she wanted to be able to close her eyes and remember what it felt like to be filled by this man.

  "What are you thinking?" he asked as they walked to his bedroom.

  "That I want you inside me," she said boldly.

  "Well, then. I guess it's both our lucky days."

  He closed the door, then turned to her. "Take off your clothes."

  She lifted a brow, then lifted it higher when he sat on the foot of the bed his mouth cocked up in a grin. "Go on," he said. "I want to watch."

  Instinct told her to decline. But desire made her comply. She wanted to strip for him. Wanted to see the heat build in his eyes. Most of all, she wanted to see the breaking point when he couldn't take it anymore. When he went from watching to touching to taking.

  Her heart fluttered. Yes. Oh, God, yes. That's what she wanted. To be taken by this man, claimed by him. Worshipped by him.

  She lifted her hands to her shoulders, then moved them down, lower and lower as she grazed her fingertips over her collar bone, over the swell of her breasts, over her nipples.

  She gasped from her own boldness. From the exotic caress that he was witnessing. But she didn't hesitate, and she didn't close her eyes. And when she finally reached the hem of the shirt, she grasped it between two fingers and gently tugged it up.

  It was mo
re awkward than she'd anticipated to take off a shirt slowly, but she never lost control, until finally she stood in front of him in only her bra. That was when she took one of her fingers, slipped it into her own mouth, then slid the slick finger down inside her jeans, biting her lower lip as she got closer and closer to her core.

  "No," he said, and for a moment she thought that he wanted her to stop. Then she realized that she'd started to close her eyes. "Look at me. Eyes right on me."

  She did as he said, then saw when the break came. The moment when he couldn't merely watch anymore. When he had to touch her.

  She saw it--and she felt the power of it, too. Knowing that she'd compelled him. That his desire for her had propelled him toward her so that now he was on his knees in front of her, his hands at her hips as he drew her jeans down, slowly revealing the tiny pair of cotton panties.

  He bent forward, then closed his mouth over her core, sucking her through the cotton and making her gasp from the wildness of it all. "I have to taste you," he said. "All of you." And before she knew it, he had her on her back on the bed, the jeans pulled all the way off, so that she was laid out like a present, wrapped only in a bra and panties.

  "Tell me what you want," he said. "Should I get undressed? Or should I undress you?"

  She looked at him, still in the jeans and button down he'd worn to work. He looked sexy as hell, and she couldn't wait to see him naked, the hard planes of his chest and abs. And, yes, the hard length of him, evidence that he wanted her.

  She wanted that. But she wanted more to be his. Only his. Unwrapped like a present for his pleasure.

  She licked her lips, unsure what answer he would prefer, but then she took the plunge and said, "Undress me, Brent."

  His slow smile proved to her that she'd made the right choice, and when he bent forward and whispered in her ear, she thought she might just come right then.

  "Babe," he murmured, "you have no idea how hard you just made me. But I promise I'll show you soon."

  She was so damn beautiful. So damn responsive. And when she'd told him to undress her, Brent had feared that he was going to come right then.

  He'd called on depths of control he didn't even know he had. Anything and everything to keep himself together until he was ready--until they both were. He wanted them on edge. Right on the precipice. And then, yes, he wanted to take her to the stars with him.