by Lacey Black
Boy bands are life.
As I pull into my brother’s driveway, I note Free’s car in the street, along with my brother Samuel’s. Rhenn’s here too, which means they’re probably torturing the poor guy for dating our youngest sister. I should go save him.
Or join the fun.
I don’t knock (I never do) and push my way into my younger brother’s small house. It’s the perfect size for him and my nephew. Two bedrooms with a decent-sized backyard. “Hey,” I holler as I enter the living room and head for the kitchen.
“Hey!” they all reply, the sound of poker chips being thrown onto the table.
I walk up to Jensen first, throw my arms over his shoulder and kiss his head. “Don’t mind if I crash, do you?” I ask, knowing he’d never say yes.
“Do I have a choice?” he teases, noting I’m already sitting down in the empty chair across from him.
“She could leave and take Freedom with her,” Samuel says beside me, glaring at my best friend. She just smiles sweetly in return, tapping the top of the massive pile of chips in front of her.
“You’d miss me, Sammy.”
“Samuel,” he growls, shooting eye daggers her way. She doesn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, I’m one-hundred-percent confident she gets off on ruffling his feathers. It’s sort of her thing.
“I see Free’s cleaning house again,” I state, motioning to the stack of chips in front of her.
“Doesn’t she always,” Garrett grumbles, his own stack looking fairly small.
“I don’t mind the competition,” Rhenn says, taking a drink of his beer bottle. His stack of chips is pretty hearty, and so is the stack in front of me.
“Did you know I was coming?” I ask, taking the chip from the top and throwing it in the pile.
Jensen just gives me a look and shakes his head.
“How was the date?” Free asks, picking up the five cards thrown in front of her.
“Date?” Samuel asks, turning to face me. “With who?”
Always the protective big brother.
“A guy from the gym,” I reply nonchalantly, picking up my cards and giving them a look. Two kings and a queen. Not bad.
“Does this guy have a name?” Jensen asks, throwing a chip in the middle of the table.
I follow suit, throwing my own to match, and reply, “Don’t most people have names?”
“Don’t we a wisenheimer. We may need to check this guy out,” he adds, asking for two cards.
“No need,” I reply, setting two cards down on the table too.
Rhenn is the dealer, so he tosses me two new ones as he makes his way around the table. “There’s always a need. We always check out who our sisters date,” Jensen says, picking up his two cards.
“You had me checked out?” Rhenn asks, looking up from his hand.
“Hell yes, we did,” Samuel says, looking across to the man dating our youngest sister.
“Anyway, you have nothing to worry about. It was one date,” I say, throwing more chips down on the table.
“Date?”
That voice.
My body responds instantly.
“Yep, our girl Harper had a date tonight,” Free answers in my place.
I glance up and find Latham standing in the doorway, his dark chocolate eyes boring into me. There’s an intensity to him tonight, one that has my body buzzing and my mind a little fuzzy. The way he’s watching me makes me squirm a little in my seat.
“Did she now?” he says casually, but his jaw is full of tension.
“Hottie from the gym. Big muscles. Bigger dick.” Samuel chokes on his beer at Free’s brash words, making her giggle.
I feel him towering over me, yet I refuse to look up. I keep my eyes trained on my cards, pretending to think about my next bet. “You’re in my seat,” Latham says low and huskily.
“I didn’t see your name on it,” I sass, throwing another chip in the middle when it’s my turn. “Call.”
Suddenly, I’m moving. Latham lifts me in the air as if I weigh nothing and sets me down on his lap. I freeze as soon as my ass makes contact with his thigh. His very hard, muscular thigh. Like the kind of thigh that makes girls everywhere swoon and turn into crazed sex fiends.
“My seat,” he growls in my ear, taking the cards from my hand. “Mine,” he adds as he splays his large hand across my lower back, his finger grazing over my ass. Suddenly, I’m not sure if he’s talking about the cards, the chips, or…me.
But do you know what I don’t do? Move.
I sit right there, my ass snuggled against the best thigh in the world, and watch as Latham commands the table with the hand I set up for him. He wins, of course, and motions for me to rake in his winnings. There’s a low hum in the air, and it feels a lot like sexual tension. It’s dark and dirty and makes my nipples tight in my bra. It also makes me acutely aware it’s the man I despise who makes me feel this way.
I just pray no one else notices.
Chapter Ten
Latham
Her ass.
It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen and is currently pressed against my thigh. Just a few inches off from where my quickly thickening cock is resting. I thought for sure she’d jump up the moment I picked up her from my chair and set her on my leg, but she didn’t. She hasn’t moved. Not after the hand she won and not after the two that have followed. If anything, she seems to have settled in for the long haul, wiggling that perfect ass against my leg and playing her cards.
She’s killing my concentration.
Thank God she’s into the whole poker game, trash-talking her best friend and family like a pro. It’s quite comical to watch, actually, and a small part of me is pretty fucking grateful her taunts and torments are aimed at someone else for a change.
The front door opens and we all turn to see who the latecomer is. Marissa, Harper’s little sister comes in, the sweet scent of cinnamon and sugar following in her wake. “Hey, guys,” she hollers as she enters the room and sets a pan on the table. The moment it’s out of her hand, Rhenn pulls her into his lap and kisses her as if he hasn’t seen her in weeks.
“Gross, stop,” Jensen mumbles goodheartedly.
“It’s worse than when Mom and Dad used to do it,” Harper chimes in, throwing a disgusted face at her little sister.
After several long seconds, Free throws in a catcall, making the scowl lines around Samuel’s eyes much more pronounced. I think he even growls before mumbles, “Okay, that’s enough.”
“I’ve missed you,” Rhenn whispers softly, running his hand up Marissa’s cheek and into her hair.
“It’s been two hours,” Harper teases, wiggling once more on my leg. My dick twitches. She does it again, as if she can’t seem to get comfortable. That or she knows the effect she’s having on my body and wants to prolong the torture as long as possible.
Probably that.
After another few minutes of wiggling, my pants start to feel dangerously tight. My cock is aching, raring to go in my pants. My imagination starts to run wild, even though I try to think about anything other than the fact I’d love to strip off her capris, pull my cock from my own jeans, and slide her just a little to the left until I’m buried balls deep inside her sweet pussy. My hand grips her hip as she moves again, her legs shifting just a little. When she does, her thighs fall open and her left leg brushes my cock.
Jeezus, I’m going to explode in my pants.
Harper doesn’t say a word, but keeps her leg pressed firmly against my cock. There’s no way she can’t feel the impact she has on my body, no way of hiding the truth, because the truth is I want her.
Bad.
When I turn and look at her, those bright blue eyes are wide with something that makes my blood boil. Need. And I shouldn’t get excited at the way she looks, all hot and bothered, probably picturing the same things I’m fantasizing about. Well, that or she’s picturing maiming me with a butter knife. You never know with this little minx.
“I’ll be back. I need
to use the restroom,” Harper says, slowly getting up from her perch on my leg, grazing her left hand over my swollen cock as she goes. Oh yeah, she definitely knows what she’s doing.
I give her exactly thirty seconds, and then pull my phone from my pocket, pretending to receive a message. Free is dealing the next hand, but I throw mine out to stop her. “Don’t deal me in this one. I have to make a quick call,” I say, standing up carefully and quickly turning my hips to hide my erection. As I head toward the hallway, I can feel the eyes on the back of my head, probably those of her oldest and most protective brother.
In the hallway, I slip my phone into my pocket. I can hear the water running in the bathroom, which tells me she’s about finished. As soon as the door opens, I pounce, pulling her across the hall and into the first open door I come to. I ignore the baseball posters and the Lego creations and press my body into hers, caging her against the wall. My hands thread into her hair, the soft red curls sliding effortlessly between my fingers. Her eyes are still wide, wild with desire.
“What’s this I hear about a date?” I whisper, my lips dangerously close to hers.
Her chin rises challengingly and her eyes narrow. “Is that a problem?”
“Fuck yes, it is,” I confess, hating she has me this tied up in knots over the prospect of her dating. “Is it serious?” I ask, running my thumb over the shell of her ear and down the column of her neck.
She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it. The wait is killing me. If she tells me it’s serious, I’ll back away, both figuratively and physically. I’m not about to jump headfirst into some sort of love triangle bullshit. If she’s with someone else, then I’m out. I don’t play games and I sure as fuck don’t share. “No, it’s not serious. It was just one date. There won’t be a second.” Her words are breathless, her body sagging into mine. The first thing I notice is how easily we fit together, like puzzle pieces.
With one hand tangled in her hair, the other hand slides down her side, gripping her hip. Her eyes are wide, yet hungry, probably mirroring my own. She opens her mouth to speak, but I silence her. With my lips.
My kiss is firm, hungry, and full of every ounce of pent-up desire I try to fight when it comes to Harper Grayson. Her sassy little mouth opens immediately, allowing me to sweep my tongue inside and dance with hers. My entire body is on fire, a live wire charged to the max. One little spark and I know we’ll explode.
A throat clears behind me, but I ignore it. My hand tightens on her hip, digging into her flesh. She moans against my lips, her body swaying more, grinding against mine. I’m one second away from slamming the door and taking her on the bed when I hear, “I hope Max doesn’t see you like this.”
The words are like a bucket of ice-cold water thrown over our heads.
Harper gasps and jumps back, only to encounter the wall. My hand instantly goes to her head to see what kind of damage she caused when it slammed against the drywall, but she quickly pushes my hand away. The fire I once saw dance in her eyes is quickly replaced with shock and, unfortunately for me, a bit of embarrassment.
“Max isn’t even here,” Harper whispers to her older brother, clearing her throat and looking anywhere but at Samuel or me.
“No, but he could have been.”
“Stop being a stiff,” she grumbles, pushing against my shoulder until I move. My body weeps when it’s no longer pressed against her. I miss the feel of her skin, her curves, her lips instantly.
“Is that a mortician joke?” he asks, straightening the tie around his neck. Yes, the man still wears a necktie to play poker.
“It’s whatever you want it to be. I’m an adult,” she replies, straightening her back and raising her chin.
“You are. You’re an adult who’s making out with someone in her nephew’s bedroom,” he says, piercing her with a look. He doesn’t even glance my way.
“The only thing I apologize for is that you interrupted,” I say, earning a glare from both Harper and Samuel.
“Zip it, Douglas. You got me into this mess.”
“No mess, Grayson. At least, not yet,” I reply, wiggling my eyebrows in the way that infuriates her. I can practically see the steam rolling from her ears.
Harper turns toward the door. “Thank you, Samuel, for coming to get me. I’m sure it’s my turn to deal.”
“It is,” he replies, spinning on his expensive shoes and heading back out to the dining room.
“That was a mistake. Don’t ever kiss me again,” she says, her voice stern, yet I catch the hint of uncertainty.
“I can’t promise you that, Sweetheart. Especially when you throw yourself at me and kiss me back the way you did.”
“I did not throw myself at you!”
“But you did kiss me back.”
“Lapse of judgment. It won’t happen again,” she counters, crossing her arms. My eyes immediately shift to her chest, which only makes me think about that kiss once more.
“Stop it!”
“Stop what? I didn’t do anything.”
“You’re staring at me.”
“Guilty as charged. Maybe you should stop wearing low-cut tops that make my dick want to come out and play.”
Harper gasps. Her eyes also fall to my crotch. “Pig.”
As her eyes return to mine, we continue to glare at each other. The sexual tension is so thick, you could cut it with a knife. My body craves hers, and if the way her nipples are poking through her top are any indication, I’d say she craves me too.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I’ll let her think about that kiss.
About how good it will be when she lets go.
Because there’s one thing I’m as certain about as the sun rising over the Atlantic every morning, it’s that my time with Harper isn’t over. This attraction isn’t going anywhere. I’ll have her.
Again.
“I’ll let you have your moment, but know it won’t be long.”
Her voice is wobbly. “Won’t be long for what?”
I take a step forward until we’re chest to chest. Her breathing hitches when I grab her hip and pull her against me once more so she can feel what she does to me. “Until I’ve got you pinned against the wall again. Only this time, there’ll be nothing between us but air.”
Harper’s eyes darken into deep blue sapphires, but she doesn’t reply. I let go of the hold I have, saddened to break the contact once more. She tries to calm herself, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. Then, she turns and starts to head out the door. When she reaches it, she stops, but doesn’t turn around. “Latham?” she whispers.
“Yeah?” I reply, clearing my throat and trying to will my erection into submission.
“Were you really jealous? Of my date?”
Her question catches me off guard, but I won’t lie to her. “Yeah. The thought of him touching you made me want to put my fist through the wall.”
She finally glances over my shoulder and quietly asks, “Why?”
“Because we have unfinished business.” About fourteen years’ worth of it.
Her eyes never leave mine, and after a few very long seconds, she finally nods and walks away. She didn’t argue with me, which is a miracle all in itself, but she didn’t counter my statement. Probably because she knows it’s true. We have something to finish. To settle. A discussion that should have happened years ago, but never did. An apology too.
But not tonight.
I don’t know when the right time is exactly, but I know it’s not when we’re surrounded by her family and friends. Soon, though. Because this damn sexual tension between us isn’t going away as I had hoped. If anything, it’s getting worse. It’s like it has merely been simmering on the back burner for all these years, waiting for that little spark to set it ablaze once more.
And tonight?
Tonight, the match was lit.
* * *
It’s Friday. It’s been a crazy-long workweek filled with long hours and even longer nights. Nights filled with
images of the woman next door as she kissed me back last Saturday night at her brother’s house. It’s those images that have me taking longer showers than normal.
Today, I’m dealing with Felicity. She’s already broken the printer, and now I’m trying to clean up a paint mess since she didn’t close a lid completely before placing the gallon in the mixer. If it were anyone else but her, I’d already have fired her ass. Twice. And that’s just today. I’d been on the verge of getting her out of my store just about every day this week.
But my dad won’t let me.
By four, I’m tired, hungry (since I skipped part of my lunch to clean the mixer machine), and irritable. I had to throw on an old hardware store T-shirt, since my polo was trashed by the paint, and apparently, I’m a little behind on my laundry. Just my luck this one smells like it’s been in the back of my drawer for the past decade. I keep myself busy restocking the shelves by the north wall, as far away from Felicity and her endless chatter as possible. She’s set to close with me tonight, which means I’ll be doing just about everything, including counting out the register.
The bell chimes over the door, and I opt to keep plugging away at my restock, instead of running over to help the customer. Felicity will holler if she needs me. The customer approaches the counter, and it’s a voice I immediately recognize. “Hey, Felicity,” Harper says somberly.
“Oh. Hi.”
“I need to buy a few building supplies,” she says politely.
“Building supplies?” Felicity snorts. “You?”
“Yeah, me. Do you see anyone else around?” Harper barks, her annoyance evident.
“I’m just surprised is all. A supermodel who builds?” Felicity laughs.
“I’m not a supermodel,” Harper says softly, and something catches in my throat.
“Oh, that’s right. You didn’t make it in New York,” Felicity retorts. I can practically picture her flipping her hair over her shoulder.
“Can I just purchase this stuff on my list?” Harper asks, the sound of a piece of paper rustling barely audible.
