* * * *
“Please kill me now,” Micah moaned into a cold, wet rag in the passenger seat of her car, her other hand holding a plastic bag just in case the short ride to Leo’s place wasn’t short enough. “And tell me I didn’t just throw up during my wedding proposal.”
I leaned in and smoothed her hair back while Leo went back for his backpack and keys and cleared it with his boss to leave his shift early and leave his bike there because his new fiancée was spewing toxic waste like a demon.
“Was your last proposal with Jeremy perfect?” I asked.
“It was,” she sobbed. “It was sweet and beautiful and probably the only genuine thing he ever did.”
“Well, see?” I said, rubbing her head. “That led to disaster. That means this one goes the other direction and you’re headed straight for perfect.”
Micah laughed through her tears, and gripped her belly as she did. “Oh man, don’t make me laugh. And don’t ever let me eat—” She made a motion of a circle. “That thing I’ll never speak of again.”
“I hear you,” I said. “I feel the same way about a certain lemon cocktail.”
She just pointed at me and buried her face in the rag again.
“You need to get your money back from Jimmy’s,” she said, her voice muffled. “Or my money back. They poisoned me. I didn’t even get to see my ring yet, and they poisoned me.”
“The fuckers,” I said.
“Motherfuckers,” she whispered into the rag. “I never liked Jimmy. His eyes are weird.”
“I won’t order from him again.”
“That’ll show him.” Micah lifted her head. “Do you want us to bring you home?”
I totally should have said yes. It was my chance to breathe some Thatcher-free air and keep my head clear. Keep my hands from wanting to touch him so badly it hurt. Had that just been last night? Sweet Jesus.
“It’s okay,” I said instead. “I think I’ll stay for a bit. I’ll get a ride or call an Uber.”
Because—me.
“Did all of you know?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I think the guys decided we all talk too much.” I laughed and reached in to squeeze her arm. “It may not have gone quite as planned, but guess what?” I said in a whisper. “You’re gonna marry Leo.”
She dropped the rag in her lap and smiled weakly through happy tears.
“I’m gonna marry Leo.”
Leo came back and fist-bumped the guys and hugged the girls, grinning from ear to ear in spite of having to deal with someone else’s puke. She’d said yes, and that was all that mattered in his world right then. All that mattered in hers. That was love. That was the thing that was so amazing and yet so paralyzingly terrifying. They’d both been way more than burned in their pasts. How could they trust like this again?
“Proud of you, man,” Nick said, doing the manly hug thing with Leo. “That was awesome.”
Leo grabbed his brother’s head playfully, and that whole exchange warmed my heart. It wasn’t long ago that they were completely estranged, years of their lives missed. They’d come a long way. I met Drew’s gaze, and kind of wished for a second that she’d miss something.
“You coming back in?” I asked her, smiling. A full three feet away from Thatcher. I knew that because my body was measuring the inches in magnetic energy.
“Nah, I have to get going,” she said.
We all watched Leo and Micah drive away, like watching newlyweds take off.
“Calling it a night already?” I asked. “You can’t be tired yet, you had one drink.”
“I didn’t say I was going home,” she said coyly. “I’m just leaving here.”
“Such mystery,” I said.
“Please,” she said, laughing out loud and then lowering her voice. “Mystery? You’re one to talk.”
My palms itched, and it was all I could do not to look over my shoulder to see if Thatcher could hear me. I could hear him talking with Jackson and Bash and Nick and the girls and not listening, thankfully.
“What are you talking about?”
She smirked. “Your guy from the divorce group?”
Shit.
“Hot Guy?”
Drew quirked one eyebrow and flitted her gaze to Thatcher and back to me.
“Yeah, Hot Guy,” she said, giving a mini-eye roll. “Gabi. Seriously. Come on.”
“I don’t know—” I began, but Drew’s expression of complete I’m not buying this BS drained the rest of the sentence from my lips. I gave her a beseeching look and steered her farther away from the others. “You can’t say anything,” I whispered.
She laughed. “Who am I going to tell? But Gabi—”
“I know,” I said. “It’s a cluster fuck. Especially after last night.”
Her eyes widened with interest. “What happened last night?”
I sighed and shook my head minutely. “Not that. But more than I can tell you right now.” I glanced over my shoulder at him standing with one hand in a pocket, chuckling at something Bash was saying as he slapped him on the arm. “Suffice it to say, this morning’s meeting with him was quite the shocker.”
“You really didn’t know?” she asked.
“Neither of us did,” I answered, distracted, caught up in the image of him so at ease in my world. “And now we have to turn it all off.”
“Why?”
Her blatant question turned my attention back to her.
“What?”
“Why turn it off?” she said.
“He’s Thatcher Roman,” I said. To me, that was crystal clear.
“So?” she said with a shrug. “Y’all aren’t Romeo and Juliet. Our families won’t go to war. Your business won’t explode. It’s not illegal. What’s stopping you?”
I stared at her. Sometimes I wondered how we were related.
“Drew, if it went south, hell even if it didn’t, we are business partners,” I said. “And his sister is my best friend. There are so many reasons—”
“You’re overthinking it,” she said, tapping the side of my head. “As usual. Besides, you said you only wanted sex, so—”
The sensation of Thatcher standing behind me rolled over me like warmed honey, sending tingly messages to all the good places, and silent alarms to my brain. He hadn’t even touched me. Good God.
I turned and backed out of his aura a step, crossing my arms over my chest as I smiled up at him.
“They’re all heading home,” he said. “We should, too, but Jackson’s in no condition to drive a bicycle, much less a car.”
We all turned to see him holding the building up with his back while holding the blonde from the front. She wasn’t much better off.
“I thought you were the stellar drinker,” Drew said.
“I’m not falling down stupid,” Thatcher said with a laugh. “Doesn’t mean I should get behind a wheel. I originally thought we’d crash with Micah, but I don’t want to invade them right now.”
“I was going to call an Uber,” I said.
“Just stay upstairs,” Drew said.
I gave her a look. “I’ll call an Uber.”
“Gabi, it’s literally right there,” she pointed. “Why not?”
I scoffed. “I refuse to stay there one second before I have to.”
“Oh, good grief, suck it up, Gabi,” she said, aiming us down the sidewalk. “Get the key to the other room from the shop, put Jackson and Thatcher over there, and crash in your room tonight. They can drive you home in the morning before your mover people come.”
I met her gaze as she very subtly quirked an eyebrow. I returned it with an equally subtle head shake. I know what you’re doing. It’s not happening.
Drew smirked and looped an arm through Jackson’s when we got to him, pulling him off the wall.
; “Come on, lover boy,” she said. “Tell the pretty girl goodnight.”
“We’re gonna get married, too,” the girl said, slurring a whisper. “Live in Jalooly.”
“Is that right?” Drew said, laughing.
“It’s Jolly,” Jackson corrected, kissing the girl. “Jolly Beach. Don’t forget.” He stumbled alongside Drew. “Don’t forget!”
“I’ll never forget, Jack!” she called back, taking up his spot on the wall.
“Oh, Lord,” Thatcher muttered.
“Rose!”
“Seriously, her name is Rose?” Drew asked.
“No, it’s Sherry,” Jackson said. “But when I told her mine, she started talking—in Titanic pop culture.” He flitted a hand. “Who am I to argue? I’ll find you, Rose!”
I turned to where she’d been and saw empty space. “I think Rose already went for that floating debris, Jack. She’s not sharing, she’s moved on to marry someone else and live in Jalooly.”
“Not cool, man,” Jackson mumbled. “Not cool. They always marry someone else.”
“What does that mean?” I asked Thatcher as we took up the rear, walking a respectable distance from each other.
He shrugged. “I try not to know these things.”
We got inside the shop and Drew opened a few drawers till she found the keys. Reading the tags, she held one up.
“Room Two,” she announced, handing it to Thatcher. “Sleep wisely.”
“Really?” I said under my breath as Drew chuckled at her own joke. “You know you could drive me home before you go wherever you’re going.”
“I don’t have my car,” she said. “I got dressed here, and someone is picking me up back at Rojo’s in a minute.”
“Someone?”
“Someone,” she confirmed. Nothing more.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “Go have fun.”
“Ditto,” she said out of the side of her mouth as she passed me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It wasn’t happening. I wasn’t drunk, but I was a little loose and overly primed from Thatcher’s hands on me all night. I was wayyyyy too ripe for the taking. So, after giving both boys the bathroom tour, I gave Jackson the vacant room key and opened mine for Thatcher. Wasn’t even going to walk in.
Nope.
“Planning to tell me where everything is?” he said, turning around.
Everything was within viewing distance, stacked here and there with things I’d brought over ahead of time. Things I didn’t want movers dealing with.
It wasn’t fair, I thought, looking around. Any of it. My stuff shouldn’t be in here. I shouldn’t be in here. Everything looked sad. Out of place. Kind of like me.
I pointed in a circle. “Couch, kitchenette, table, closet, bedroom’s in there, and you’ve already seen the glamour of the bathroom. All the comforts of home.”
Thatcher’s gaze fell around the room, landing on a box of photo albums that would probably stay right in that box. There was certainly nowhere to put them in here. He ran a finger along one of the spines and then looked up at me.
And my heart squeezed.
The way he took in the room, the meager surroundings, the true reality of the situation, I knew in that instant he was picturing having to take his home down to this. It wasn’t pity. It was empathy.
“Gabi,” he said.
“I know,” I said, clearing my throat. I hadn’t gone there yet, down the fuck-my-life road, I was saving that for tomorrow and Sunday. “It sucks. I’ll survive.”
“Come here.” He held out a hand.
“I’m good,” I said, leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed.
He walked back to me and pulled one of my hands free, tugging me to him. “Come here,” he repeated.
I put up about as much resistance as a ragdoll, letting him wrap me up in his arms. His smell filled my nose as my arms went around his waist and my face was buried in Thatcher’s chest. It was dizzying. It was intoxicating. It was safe and warm and for two seconds felt like I could curl up in the protection of his arms forever and never hurt again.
That was my warning bell.
“This can’t—it’s—” I began.
“I know, it’s a bad idea,” he said, his voice rumbling through his chest. “I get it.”
I lifted my head to find his face entirely too close. “And yet,” I said softly.
Thatcher let a breath go as his gaze dropped to my mouth. “And yet,” he echoed.
My hands moved slowly up his back as his divided, one moving up into my hair and the other traveling south.
“I should go,” I whispered.
“Or stay,” he said, his fingers tracing maddening lines on the skin just under my shirt at the top of my jeans.
I closed my eyes as his lips brushed my temple and my resolve weakened. “Friends—”
“This feel like friends to you?” he said, his hot breath against my ear sending waves of desire rippling over me.
“Shit,” I breathed.
I slid my hands back down to move up under his shirt, and he swore under his breath as my fingers traced the hard muscles along his sides.
My head spun with need, a little bit of whiskey, and all the reasons I needed to leave that very second. And then his head dipped to drop a hot wet kiss on my bare shoulder and my knees nearly buckled. I felt that kiss everywhere.
Everywhere.
My fingertips dug into his skin, and he inhaled sharply.
“Thatcher,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said on an exhale, tasting me in small kisses up my neck.
“This—”
“I know,” he repeated, his teeth grazing the skin over my pounding pulse.
I was spiraling. He felt too good. Everything felt too good. When his lips moved up my jaw, I felt the magnets daring me to fight them, but there was no fight left.
“I need to kiss you,” he breathed. “I’ve needed to kiss you all night.” He dropped kisses on my cheek, my nose, all around my mouth without touching my lips. Teasing me. Tantalizing my already frayed resistance. “Tell me you don’t want me to.”
“Yes.”
That word could have meant anything. It could have meant stop, go, or anything in between. I didn’t know and I didn’t care, because his mouth claiming mine was the holy grail. I moaned into his mouth as that kiss became everything we were. Soft and desperate. Sweet and hungry. Maddeningly slow and deepening with frenzied need.
I couldn’t think the thoughts anymore. I couldn’t—anything. It was all touch and smell and sensation. The sound of the door shutting as he kicked it closed. His hands roaming my body, mine exploring his fire-hot skin, his scruff scratching my face. The sound of our erratic breathing, and clothing hastily being discarded.
Suddenly, nothing was enough. My hands on his bare chest wasn’t enough. I needed to taste him, know him, and I dragged my mouth away from his to do just that. Plus, I was swirling down the rabbit hole too quickly. Kissing my way down his chest to his abs while he groaned and fisted his hands in my hair might not sound like a way to calm down, but something about getting lost in this man’s mouth terrified me. It was too much, too good, and too fucking real.
Physical. I needed to keep it physical. I had to get us on equal ground. He had me with my jeans unzipped, in my strapless black bra, and Thatcher was now shirtless, but I needed more. Shaking with need, I licked my way back up as I unbuttoned his jeans and went for the zipper, my breath catching as his massive hard-on filled my hands.
Sweet Jesus, buttoned-up conservative Thatcher Roman was commando.
“Fuck,” he growled, spinning us around, pressing me against the door. “Gabi.”
We needed to slow down. I couldn’t slow down. I needed all of him, and now. I stroked his length as his mouth crashed down on mine, as my bra left my bod
y and my breasts filled his hands. I only let go of him as he bent to strip me of one leg of my jeans and panties, the two of them dangling off me like rags, and I bucked as his mouth closed on my nipple and fingers circled my clit at the same time.
“Thatcher!” I cried.
“God, you’re so wet,” he groaned against my nipple, the vibration zinging through me like a runaway train.
My whole body began to shake. I was going to come right there if he didn’t hurry. I was off the rails, my head rolling from side to side. I’d never felt this out of control in my life, and I was barely hanging on. I needed—I needed—
“Hold on to me,” he rasped, his voice thick with raging need.
I wrapped my arms around his head as he picked me up and leveled me against the door, meeting my gaze. His dick was sliding against me in a mock fuck that took over from his fingers, and his eyes were glazed and heavy with desire. I knew mine had to be the same, because I was out of my mind. I was so close. I was about to fuck Thatcher Roman against a door, and wanted it with every atom in my body. Nothing else mattered. I pulled his head to mine to show him how much I wanted it, and his responding kiss broke me.
It wasn’t the crushing, I’m gonna fuck you kiss I expected to go with the grind between my legs. It was soft and intimate and wet and oh-so-sexy, and my heart went battering around my chest with abandon. He was promising and asking and promising again. His tongue making love to my mouth, exploring at the same rhythm that his dick moved against my wetness.
I was lost. I was shattered into a million pieces, all swimming in the sensation of his mouth and his hands and his body and these crazy feelings I’d never known existed all together at one time. I wanted it all. I was so ready—
The knock behind my head made me yelp.
“Thatch? You still awake, man?”
Jackson.
Seriously.
Thatcher’s forehead dropped to mine as we froze all movement, his eyes shut tight. “No,” he whispered. “Don’t say anything. Don’t breathe.”
My whole body was on the verge of exploding. Breathing was the last of my worries.
A Charm Like You Page 14