Touch & Go

by Mira Lyn Kelly

  She’d barely hit the first knuckle on his middle finger before Sam cleared his throat and those worn-denim eyes lifted to hers. “Uhh, Ava, you sure you want to play this game?”

  Not really. But Ava didn’t get one-upped by anyone. And what was the worst that could happen? Steven—who’d pretty much been watching nonstop from whatever corner of the room he’d camped out in—would get an eyeful of Ava happy and in love with Sam. He’d have to give up.

  Another generous sip of her drink and she purred, “I’m sure you’ll cry ‘uncle’ before I do.”

  Sam stared a few seconds longer, amusement etched deep in the lines of his face.

  Clinking her glass with his own, he knocked back what Ava could only consider a telling gulp of liquid courage. “Bring it, Schnookums.”

  Sucker. “As you wish, Fern-tip.”

  Thirty minutes later Ava had endured Sam’s knuckles running lazily up and down her spine while they chatted with some law school friends. A score of butterflies to the man.

  She’d earned a few points herself, brushing an imaginary bit of something from Sam’s bottom lip as she wet her own while a couple of Trust guys they’d been talking to got caught up in a debate about the Bulls’ last season.

  Those darkening eyes…score, thank you.

  Sam took the next point by violating the inside of her wrist with teasing circles from his thumb while a handful of Bankruptcy girls dished about the highlights of the previous year’s event. And yeah, that feather-light business was knee-meltingly effective.

  Which meant Ava needed to get serious. She’d already garnered more hands-on experience with Sam’s skills in the art of seduction than a woman in her situation should ever have.

  One more bold move and she’d have him backing down for sure.

  Twining Sam’s tie—a gorgeous weathered blue that matched his eyes—around her finger a few times, she pulled him down so she could reach his ear. Then, letting her lips come in soft contact with the shell, she murmured, “Just give up. I always win.”

  The arm that slid around her shoulders was notably tense. And Ava moved to step back so she could see Sam fold.

  Only instead of giving her space, Sam pulled her in closer, shifting so it was his mouth against her ear.

  Oh no.

  One breath, warm and wet, and a tremor sliced through her.

  A shift of his head, and the slight scrape of his jaw skimmed along the column of her neck, waking the sensitive stretch of skin with a prickly awareness that stole the air from her lungs.

  His words washed over her in a low rumble. “You only win because I always let you. But not tonight.” Oh God, she was done for. He was right. Of course in this case it probably had more to do with the handicap she was playing with, but whatever her excuse, Sam had her.

  Literally. She wasn’t sure her legs would hold her if she didn’t have that hard, solid arm pinning her in so close to his body.

  And right then Ava was wishing like hell she were one of those women with enough confidence in the sanctity of their personal space to keep a vibrator on hand. But Sam Farrow had been burrowing through her crap for two decades, so anything she didn’t want him to find, she didn’t keep at home. And secure as her lockbox was at the bank…well, a vibrator wasn’t happening there either. Which sucked, because she was in a sorry state and something told her taking the edge off tonight was going to be a monumental undertaking.

  Stupid Stalker Guy. This was all his fault.

  Even as she thought it, she caught sight of him from across the room. Eyes locked on her like he didn’t believe a second of what he was seeing. Which was pretty ironic, actually, considering the last moments were probably the most honest Ava had allowed in too many years to remember.

  But whatever.

  “Jesus, this guy doesn’t give up,” Sam growled, following her eyes with his own. “How bad do you want to get him off your back, Ave?”

  An entire evening of seeing her with someone else and he was still watching? “Bad.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Here, come with me a second.” Smoothly, Sam guided her over to the terrace door and stepped outside.

  The wind had picked up and despite the half-dozen strategically positioned heaters, it was cold enough that they were alone. Ava shivered and without missing a beat, Sam slipped off his suit jacket and draped it across her shoulders, pulling her toward a remote corner.

  Suddenly Ava was wondering if she’d made a serious mistake.

  “Sam, okay, you know I want to lose this guy. But whatever you’re planning out here is making me nervous. You can’t threaten him or try to scare him away. The whole point was to be passive. If I need to be direct, I’ll do it myself.”

  She felt bad even saying it, because that was so not who Sam was. Not anymore. But—

  “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong. I’m not even going to talk to the guy.”

  Ava breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Good.” Only there was still a tension in the air. In Sam, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the doorway since they’d gotten out there. “So what are you going to do?”

  Sam squinted down at her with a look she recognized as typically preempting some fool move sure to torque her off. Only instead of the usual, “Don’t be mad,” this time he said, “Don’t freak out.”

  Steven stepped through the door and Sam kissed her.

  Chapter 3

  Ava was giving it her college best, really she was, but there was no stopping the freak-out in progress.

  Sam was kissing her.

  His lips were on hers in a soft press that, based on its closed-mouth properties alone, should have been benign. But this was Sam. And he was in strict violation of a no-fly zone their friendship never breached. Sure, she and Sam were touchy-feely friends of the highest order. He always had an arm around her. Her legs draped over his. Something. She was a cuddler, so contact in and of itself was no big thing. But there were lines friends didn’t cross. Lines that started above the knee and ended below the belly button. Panty lines. Bust lines. And most important, lip lines. Which meant the intimacy of that taboo contact, even as chaste as it was—well, it was crossing wires Ava had spent twenty years trying to keep straight.

  So the freak-out?

  Yeah, it was on.

  Because now how was she supposed to look at Sam’s hands without thinking of them warm at the sides of her face as he lowered his mouth to hers? How was she going to look into his eyes without seeing that last instant when they dropped to her lips? And how the heck was she supposed to look at that gorgeous, easy smile of his and hide the fact that after twenty years of wondering what his kiss would taste like, she wished the only one they were likely to share through the course of their entire lives had lasted just a little longer, gone a bit deeper, been a smidge more real?

  Because already it was over.

  Five beats of her heart and Sam was withdrawing. Slowly.

  Really slowly, actually. And then after a point, not at all. The contact that had been a soft press was still there, but only in its most minimal form.

  “You’re freaking out,” Sam stated quietly against her lips, one big hand moving from her cheek to brush back through her hair.

  “A little.” No point in denying it. He knew her too well to miss the tension radiating off her in waves. They’d be lucky if Steven couldn’t catch it from where the ass was still watching them from the door.

  Sam let out a low laugh, his mouth curving against her own and making that place deep inside her heart ache from the overwhelming pleasure of it. Another light caress through her hair, and she had to remind herself this was for show before she did something crazy like melt into a touch that felt altogether too real, but wasn’t.

  “We can stop now,” he murmured against her lips. “Let the guy believe what he will. Or…”

  The ache in Ava’s chest ceased with all other activity there. Her heart stalled, her breath caught on that single dangling word. Two lette
rs she knew deep down to her core were trouble, but tempted her too much to ignore.

  “Or,” she prompted, her whisper hardly reaching her own ears.

  The corner of his mouth hitched hard on one side. “Or you let me kiss you for real…and you kiss me back.”

  The obvious answer here was to leave it at the single kiss and let Steven draw his own conclusions. That would be the smart thing. The safe thing.

  “But Ave, if you can’t handle it, just say the word and we’ll end it here. Cut out and go back to your place to watch The Hangover.”

  If she couldn’t handle it?

  Ava blinked up at her best friend of more than twenty years, her hardest crush and best-kept secret, about 98 percent certain the guy had just thrown down the gauntlet. Intentionally.

  Giving in to her own laugh, she looped her arms around Sam’s neck and flashed him a merciless grin. “Do you want to kiss me?”

  Sam met her stare with that same easy confidence he brought to everything else. This guy wasn’t ruffled. He wasn’t concerned. He was just…Sam. Taking whatever opportunities life granted him and having fun with them. Not taking things too seriously, and reminding her not to either.

  “Come on, you can’t tell me you’ve never wondered what it would be like? To try it. Just once.”

  Tonight, in this context, it was a truth she could afford to share, even if the flippant, casual tone she wrapped it in was a lie. “Sure, I’ve wondered…you know, what all the fuss is about, because girls talk and with you there are a lot of girls and, well, a lot of talk. And heck, I mean we’ve been friends a long time. So yeah, I’ve wondered. From time to time. A little.”

  A lot. For years. But it was a curiosity she’d kept under control.

  He was nodding, keeping his tone low. “And here we are with the perfect excuse. We won’t even have to worry about it being weird after. What do you say, Ava?”

  “One real kiss and then we’re done?” God, this was what she wanted, but the way her heart was slamming against her ribs made her think it might be a mistake with catastrophic potential.

  “Yeah. One kiss and then we’re done. But it’s got to be the real deal. No chintzing out on me.”

  He was right. This was the perfect justification. Her one chance at living out a fantasy with zero risk of the repercussions that had kept her in check for more than two decades.

  “Okay,” she whispered, half breathless at the idea alone. Because she was in. “Show me what all the fuss is about.”

  “Brace yourself, Ave,” he warned, giving her his cockiest, most devastating grin.

  The first thing Ava figured out was “the fuss” was about more than the kiss itself. It was a complete package that began with an intensifying of Sam’s focus. His eyes seeming to drink her in as his hands started a slow, migrating roam through her hair, down her neck, and across her back, with his arms picking it up from there. The tightening embrace bringing her into a full body contact so warm and solid and right, this time there was no choice but to melt into it.

  And why resist? This was her chance. Her stolen moment.

  In fact, what the heck was she doing just staring up at him like some passive, waiting recipient?

  This was her chance.

  Unlinking her hands from around Sam’s neck, she speared her fingers deep into the tousled mess of golden-blond temptation previously allowed to her only under the pretense of determining the need for a cut. But not tonight. Tonight that unruly bit of wave was hers for the taking and as she sank, full-fingered, into the silk of it she couldn’t contain the soft purr of pleasure slipping past her lips.

  That too-telling sound at any other time would have left her terrified by the prospect of being discovered, but tonight they would simply chalk it up to being a part of the show. Just like Sam’s answering groan when her fingers tightened, burying themselves deeper still in the thick strands she never wanted to be free of.

  Sam’s brows pulled together, his eyes darkening beneath the glittering backdrop of the nighttime cityscape behind them. And the fluttery awareness in her belly promised this was it. No more teasing. No more opportunities to back out.

  No more waiting.

  When Sam’s mouth came down on hers, there was nothing gentle about it. The kiss he delivered was hungry, an insistent pressure so crazy right, all she could do was open beneath it. Welcome him into her mouth with the soft flick of her tongue, and then cling to the solid anchor who had been there through every rocking event of her life as he thrust deep, groaned, and then, pulling her impossibly closer, thrust again. It was as if a bolt of lightning speared straight through the center of her, overloading every circuit with twenty years’ worth of want, desperate for release.

  She couldn’t hold back. Her hands were everywhere at once. Cupping the hard line of Sam’s jaw, running over the packed muscles of his chest, and gripping the shoulders strong enough to carry stacks of two-by-fours and any personal burden without letting it bow him.

  Tongue sliding over and around his, Ava didn’t know how to stop. She didn’t care about the lines she’d so painstakingly avoided all her life because the hot rush of blowing past them was better than anything she’d known before. Sam was kissing her like her mouth was his, holding her like he didn’t know how to let her go. Like he didn’t want to let go.

  Another hot thrust and her whole body shuddered with need. With—

  “Jesus, Ava,” Sam growled against her mouth, his hands wrapping firmly around her shoulders and holding her tight. Holding her away when he took a step back and her body tried to follow. “Talk about fuss. Holy fuck, woman.”

  She blinked, too confused to follow what was happening, because the only single-minded thought in her head was more.

  “And let’s just say it’s a damned good thing I never got a taste of that in high school or something tells me we’d have been getting married on the wrong end of your dad’s shotgun…Uhh…Ave?”

  Okay, and that cut through the thick haze of her lust, bringing clarity back in an icy rush.

  Sam was staring down at her, concern in his eyes as he ran one big hand over his mouth and jaw while continuing to hold her at arm’s length with the other. This was bad.

  “Ava, you okay?”

  And the look he was giving her, like everything might not actually be the way he thought it was, couldn’t be allowed to take root. She needed to think fast. Actually, screw that. What she needed to do was draw on the twenty-plus years of experience she had acting like there was nothing between them but friendship, like she was as breezy and cool as he was. And she needed to do it now.

  “Whew!” she laughed, fanning herself dramatically, as she shoved her features around until her smile and eyes weren’t giving anything more away than she’d just had a nice bit of carefree fun. “I’m going to need a glass of water after that one. Nice work, Sam. You know how picky I am, but that was some grade-A technique.”

  Sam blinked and then, dropping his arm, took another step back, letting out a relieved laugh himself. “This surprises you? Please.”

  And like that, they were good.

  “Looks like Stalker took the hint too.”

  The ballroom doorway was empty, thank God.

  “Yeah, I snuck a peek before we wrapped things up.”

  “Thorough too.” Pulling the lapels of Sam’s jacket around her tighter, she tried to warm the rapidly cooling spot inside her chest. “Think it’s safe to clear out of here?”

  Sam checked his watch and then, draping an arm around her shoulders, nodded. “Yeah. Our work is done.”

  The gesture was easy. Unconsciously smooth. An affectionate move Sam had been making for so long, Ava couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t felt the weight of his arm across her shoulders. It was normal, which meant everything was going to go back to the way it had been without even so much as a bleep.

  Good.

  That’s what they’d agreed to. It was what she wanted.

  Because it would be stupid
to hope for Sam to be uncomfortable after a kiss that didn’t mean anything. To wish that maybe he’d feel like things couldn’t just seamlessly slide back into place. To disrupt a norm she’d spent the majority of her life conditioning herself to accept.

  Sam wasn’t going to suddenly start to love her because they’d gotten their kiss on for five incredible minutes. The man went through kisses like water. He enjoyed them. One after another. Never getting attached to one, because there was always another to look forward to. The only thing that differentiated Ava’s from the hordes of kisses that had come before and would inevitably come after…was that lack of weirdness ensuring she’d be able to do what all those other women he kissed could not. She’d be able to keep him.

  She’d have his friendship, his easy smile and dumb jokes and downtime hanging out watching stupid movies that made them both laugh themselves silly. She’d have what she’d always cherished. Just shy of everything.

  Something no kiss was worth giving up.

  Back in the ballroom, the event was definitely winding down. Ava gave Sam his jacket back and they chatted with one of her partners for a few minutes over a last drink before saying their goodbyes.

  It was comfortable. Easy. Good.

  They walked to the bank of elevators, and after pushing the down button Sam stepped back into line with her, his arm sliding around her back, only this time, instead of falling into its usual innocuous position, it drifted lower…his fingertips grazing a light, teasing trail down the bare skin of her arm and firing up every nerve along the way.

  Ava’s breath rushed out, her head cranking around to where Sam had gone stone-still beside her. The look on his face as he stared down at where he’d just touched her and then back up into her eyes falling somewhere between utter discomfort and abject horror.

  Chapter 4

  “Accident,” Sam grumbled by way of apology, shoving his fingers through his hair and giving it a good yank to try and wake up. Because not cool. Not even a little. Ava was standing beside him, a soft pink burning through her cheeks as she stared at the elevator doors, the charge in the air between them one that had never been there before. It was awkward and uncomfortable, and what the hell was he supposed to do now? Throw the arm around her he’d meant to the first time before some synaptic misfire went and fucked everything up? Pretend that near electric jolt hadn’t run through him at the feel of her bare skin beneath his fingertips?