Physical Distraction (The Physical Series Book 3)

by Sierra Hill

  Sloane’s head dropped to the crook of her arm, her hair slipping over her shoulder to cover her face. Dylan couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and brush back the silky strands of hair, pinning it carefully behind her left ear. She startled at his touch.

  Realizing his mistake for prying into her personal life, because it appeared to be a sore subject, he tried to backpedal.

  “I’m sorry. That was nosy. Forget I asked.”

  As if emboldened by his apology, she shifted back up to a sitting position and straightened her shoulders confidently.

  “No, it’s fine,” she began, flapping her wrist in the air before dropping it to her thigh. “My parents are back in California and have some family from Idaho staying with them this week, otherwise they’d come out to visit me. And as for the other…I don’t have a boyfriend any longer.”

  He considered her statement for a moment, the inner Dylan jumping with adolescent excitement over her revelation. A puff of suppressed air left his lungs in a short exhale. His hand instinctively reached out to hers, still resting on her thigh, and he brushed her soft, warm skin with his thumb.

  It was risky to ask follow-up questions, regardless of his morbid curiosity, and how badly he wanted to know about her life. What happened to the relationship? Was she unhappy that she was alone? Did she need someone to take away her pain? And it was obvious to Dylan with the way her voice broke, there was pain there, and it was a topic that brooked no further discussion.

  “So you’re alone here in Boston at Christmas, with no family in the area or friends to celebrate and spend time with. Well shit, that just won’t do.” Dylan smacked the top of the counter with his left palm, the sound reverberating loudly across the room.

  “Miss Fitzgerald, consider this your official invitation to have Christmas dinner with me and my pops.” He almost laughed when she whipped her head around, her wide eyes filled with surprise.

  “But…I -”

  “Yeah, no buts. It’s a done deal.” He reluctantly let go of her hand and waved her off. “Unfortunately for you, though, you’ll have to suffer through my dad’s and my cooking, because my sister is in Spain with her new husband this year. And she normally cooks holiday dinners. We are basically two bachelors who don’t know how to boil water. But, it might just be a sight to behold. Whether we end up with anything edible for dinner remains to be seen. But I can guarantee you some good laughs, a showing of A Christmas Story, and some beer.”

  “But I don’t even know you,” she whispered, confusion etched in her comment. “And you don’t even know me well enough to invite me to your home for Christmas.”

  Dylan stood up from the bar stool and stepped forward, her knees bumping against his crotch. His hands cupped the sides of her face, sifting through the soft strands of her golden tresses tumbling through his fingers. The beat of her heart was noticeably visible in the elegant hollow of her neck, as he watched her pulse throb rapidly in her throat.

  Speaking low and with utter confidence, Dylan leaned in so his lips barely brushed hers. “Maybe not well...but that’s the point. I want to get to know you more, Sloane.”

  It was just supposed to be a taste, just to see if she was anything like he’d imagined. But as soon as their lips met, her lush lips parting to give him access, he knew it was so much more. She tasted of cinnamon and whiskey, and something all Sloane. Sweet and sensual.

  Cradling her head in his palms, he tilted her head to gain more access, his thumbs stroking her delicate cheeks gently, drawing circles along her jaw. She hummed her appreciation and his erection strained in the confines of his boxer briefs. He pressed his mouth firmly to hers, taking possession of her in a commanding kiss. He speared her lips with his tongue, exploring the warmth, her tongue sliding against his in seductive play.

  A soft whimper left her throat, hot and aroused, just like him. He had only wanted to sample her – a brief kiss in order to gain her acquiesce about dinner. But instead, heat spiked through his blood, his heart thumping in a rhythm of African drums. Sloane welcomed him in with her pliant acceptance, sending vibrant sensations pulsing through his body. If her mouth was this eager to open for him, what would she be like laying underneath him, naked and wanting?

  Holy shit. This was too good.

  His body grew eager and hungry, yearning to turn the kiss into something that would last all night long, and well into the next morning. Dylan felt her shift in her seat as her thighs parted and her arms encircled his waist. He pulled away momentarily to gaze into her face, his eyes in search of a hint of what was going through her head. Wordlessly she grabbed hold of his ass and yanked him to her, nestling his hardened bulge to her soft center.

  “Jesus, Sloane,” he hissed, knowing she felt exactly what he did. Longing flooded him, so potent he couldn’t breathe. Her full breasts heaved against his chest and his hands trembled to touch them. Feel their heavy weight in his palms.

  And then the thought struck him, like a blow to the head with a heavy baseball bat. Dylan groaned in misery, because he knew it with every fiber of his being. There was no way Sloane was a one-night stand. He may not know her that well, but Sloane definitely wasn’t that type of girl. There was no question that she deserved more than that. And it was impossible for Dylan to give her anything more. He wasn’t built that way.

  Pulling himself back took every ounce of inner-strength he possessed. Dylan dislodged himself from her arms, feeling like a complete dick when he saw the look of incredulity spread across her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  God he hated to do this. Was he insane? Probably. He’d wanted Sloane since the first moment he saw her, and the feeling had only intensified over the last few days. She was his every waking thought and starred in his lust-filled dreams every night.

  And yet now that he’d gotten a taste of her, felt how warm and soft her body was pressed up against him, Dylan was filled with bitter disappointment from the inevitable dread of knowing how it would end.

  A wary smile tugged at his lips. He took another step back, dropping his hands to his sides helplessly. He itched to touch her again, to feel some part of her, but he knew he needed his distance. Dylan teetered on the edge of a cliff, balancing precariously over the side, close to tipping over and falling hard.

  Sloane looked so pretty, her lips swollen from his kiss, her eyes still glazed over with lust, darkened with pleasure. Her T-shirt hugged her full, luscious breasts, testing his sensibilities. She was so sexy it hurt.

  “Sloane…” he started to say, slamming one of his hands through his hair, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling in frustration. “Fuck, this is hard.”

  His eyes returned to find her staring at his tented jeans, her eyebrows raised, and he let out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, that too. So it’s fairly obvious that I want you. But, Sloane, I can’t go there if there’s a possibility we’ll be working together for an extended period of time. Because it could…it might get…well, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me. I like you. And I don’t want you to hate me if things go sideways. So I think it’s just best we keep things professional.”

  Jesus, he’d never had to let a girl down before. And the bullshit he’d just thrown out there were the stupidest lines she’d probably ever heard. There was a moment of silence, the white noise deafening to his own ears. Her expression, the lines pinched in her forehead, her mouth set in a firm line, until she finally spoke.

  “I see,” she grumbled, a wry smile forming on her beautiful face before a scoffing laugh tore from her chest. “Let me get this straight…I finally have a perfect opportunity for a one-night fling with a near perfect stranger, a hot one, I might add, while the power is out with candles burning for ambiance, and said hookup is worried about me being uncomfortable because we have to work together? Did I get that straight?”

  Dylan grunted when her hands slammed into his chest, pushing him further away. Sloane stood up slowly, turning her back to him and placing her elbows on the co
unter.

  “Well, fuck me…” she intoned, followed by a self-deprecating laugh. “Or not, since you made it perfectly clear you don’t want to sleep with me.” She covered her face with her hands, the silky hair providing a curtain over her distraught features.

  Guilt washed over him like boiling liquid from a hot cauldron. He was only trying to save her from…what? Him? Shit, he was such an asshole. This was not the way he wanted this night to end.

  Dylan reached out to try and grasp her arm, but Sloane had already begun to retreat toward the kitchen door, blowing out a few remaining candles that still burned along her way.

  “I’m going upstairs to bed, now, Dylan. You can call a cab and wait inside until they get here. Just lock up behind you when you leave.”

  “Wait, Sloane…please let me explain.”

  She held up a hand, her back to him, indicating he should leave well enough alone. Reaching the door, she turned so that her profile was barely visible in the now dark room.

  “Really, just stop. It’s okay. I appreciate your honesty and integrity. In fact, it’s kind of nice. I’m not used to that anymore. It’s just a little hard on my fragile ego right now. But I’ll get over it. Thanks for your help tonight. I hope you and your dad have a Merry Christmas and enjoy your cooking adventure. Just do me one favor…”

  “What’s that?” he asked quietly.

  “Just try not to burn your house down.”

  And with that, she closed the door to the kitchen, her footsteps on the stairs leading up to her apartment the only sound in the now quiet bar.

  “Shit,” he said to no one but himself.

  Merry fucking Christmas to you, asshole.

  Chapter Six

  The clean, white snow that had fallen overnight brought tears to Sloane’s eyes as she woke to find it blanketed across the front of the building. Close to three inches, she’d estimated with a secret thrill of excitement.

  Standing at the window of the top floor apartment, her Uncle Patsy’s old one-bedroom unit, Sloane looked out across the snow-covered street, watching kids play at the small park on the corner. She was mesmerized by the beauty of the winter wonderland, and was excited to have her first white Christmas since her childhood. She remembered that Christmas with fondness. She was six and her parents had taken her to Tahoe for the holiday break. The crisp, wet softness of the snow enchanted her, making her feel like she was living in a snow globe in a world of her own.

  Sloane returned to the kitchen to pour herself a fresh mug of coffee, smiling to herself at the memory. She also gave a smile of thanks at the warmth surrounding her. She’d only been without electricity overnight until Dylan sent over one of his guys with the required tools and materials needed to fix it.

  She’d experienced an odd mix of pleasure and anxiety when her apartment buzzer sounded yesterday morning, just around ten a.m. She’d received a text earlier in the morning from Dylan indicating he’d gotten the part and would be over to fix it. But her heart plummeted with disappointment when she found the man standing outside her door, wearing a pair of Hemmons & Son Electrical coveralls, was not Dylan, the man she’d dreamed about the night before. It was a hulky, hairy guy named Kenny, with a megawatt smile, and hands the size of bear paws.

  It served her right. She’d acted like a jilted lover, and foolishly let her pride get the best of her the night the electricity went out, basically kicking Dylan out the door. And now things were already awkward because of how she handled herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Since then, she’d been fighting with herself to just let it go. There was enough on her already full plate that she should just let things be, and avoid getting caught up in the attraction she felt since meeting Dylan. Sloane couldn’t afford to feel anything toward him or allow any feelings to get in the way of doing the business she came there to handle. She’d be gone soon enough, and jumping into bed with a man so soon after a break-up, and then leaving, would complicate her already over-complicated life.

  When she’d left San Diego in the midst of the sex scandal, which was contained to only a handful of people who were aware of the situation – at least so far - Sloane had planned to use the time away to give her some clarity. It was true, she was devastated by Blaine’s cheating, and the way he carelessly threw away their time together for a young piece of ass. It was also a crushing blow to her ego, so close to their wedding date. Thankfully, they hadn’t ordered the wedding invites just yet. Small blessings, she mused to herself.

  Blaine had attempted to contact her several times since she confronted him with the evidence of his affair. Avoidance was her only saving grace at the moment. The torment of hearing him deny the accusations, or worse, tell her the truth, would destroy her. So she continued to send his calls to voicemail, deleting the messages and texts. For now, she just wanted peace and solitude – and no hot, sexy male in the form of Dylan Hemmons to complicate things any further.

  It was good thing Dylan put the brakes on things between them, right? Whether he knew it or not, Dylan saved her from doing something really stupid. She was hurting, and felt vulnerable from the loss of Blaine – that’s why she took Dylan’s rejection so hard. But that didn’t explain why she felt so bereft when Dylan didn’t show up the other morning, and instead sent the sweet, and oafish, Kenny in his place.

  It was obvious Dylan didn’t want to see her again, and probably felt incredibly awkward to be in her presence now that she practically forced herself on him - which made her wonder whether he was still interested in her business. Honestly, she hadn’t even considered looking into any other bids. Mostly because it was too much work, and she had so many other things to manage before she headed back to California.

  And secondly, she liked Dylan’s company, not his business but his companionship. He was charming and down-to-earth. Sweet and genuine, and extremely easy on the eyes, especially when he flashed her that sexy grin and wore tight T-shirts that highlighted his broad shoulders and back. And, truth be told, something about him made her body buzz like a bee looking to pollenate in the springtime. She literally tingled in his presence.

  And what his mouth could do to her. Lord have mercy. Dylan could kiss like nobody’s business. His full, soft lips could expertly drive a woman to her knees – which she was sure happened quite frequently. She couldn’t remember a hotter kiss in her life. If there were an Academy Award for a kiss, Dylan would be the recipient every time. His kiss was perfect, gentle, commanding – but not overpowering. It took her breath away, and made her want to beg for more.

  It was horrible to do, but she immediately compared it to her past boyfriends. Blaine had never been a good kisser, she now realized. Sloane had overlooked the fact, because well…what could she do about it? He was sloppy, hasty, and had mushy, pillow lips. Dylan’s mouth was perfection.

  An incoming text notification had Sloane jumping out of her time-wasting daydreams, as she searched for her phone, scanning the room and locating it on the dilapidated kitchen table. She knew it wasn’t from her parents because they still hadn’t grasped the whole texting concept. Her father’s take on the matter, “If I need to talk to someone, I’ll pick up the damn phone and call them.” She loved her father, but sometimes he could act like an old curmudgeon.

  Placing her nearly empty coffee cup down on the table, Sloane picked up her phone, swiping the display to read the text. All the coffee she just ingested wanted to make a reappearance.

  Merry Christmas, babe. I miss you. I wish you were here with me. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. It’s my only Xmas wish.

  Anger stirred in her bones, biting through the hardened marrow, seeping out like thick cement through the cracks in her body. Her fingers began to furiously type her response – laced with scathing, curse-laden hostility that she felt down to her toes.

  Well, Blaine. You know what I wish? That my ex-fiancé wasn’t a lying, cheating, spineless dickhead who fucked high school girls. On my furniture!

  So much for enjoying the pe
ace and solitude of a Christmas alone in Boston. The untapped rage that had been brewing like a storm before she left San Diego was close to unleashing its fury and pelted her stomach like a fist to the gut. Sloane had to get out of the confining space of the small apartment. Go outside and do something so she could leave behind the hatred she felt for Blaine.

  Mother-effing cheater.

  Deciding a walk outside would be the perfect remedy – it was either that or grab a bottle from the bar downstairs and get sloshed - Sloane went in search of the warmest clothes she could find. Digging through the mothball scented closet and dresser drawers, she found an old pair of thermals, long wool socks, an old ski sweater, a tattered winter coat, and boots that were three sizes too big for her feet.

  All in all, once bundled up, she looked like a homeless vagrant. But it didn’t matter, because she wasn’t planning on seeing anyone today, so she didn’t give a damn. All she cared about was staying warm on her walk.

  The phone vibrated again, but this time with an incoming call. Ignoring the incessant tone, Sloane headed downstairs and out the front door.

  Two things slapped her in the face simultaneously as she stepped over the threshold. The first was the stinging cold of the sub-zero temperature. Holy crap, it was freezing out! The snow had drifted up on the walkway and flurries hit her bare, uncovered face, whipping around her in a fury. Was this what they affectionately called a nor’easter? Jesus, how did people survive in these temps? A long, exaggerated shiver coursed down her spine, sending goose bumps skittering up and down her limbs.

  The second jolt to her system was the stone wall that she plowed into immediately upon stepping out on the front porch. Standing there with his head down, his phone in his hand, was none other than Dylan Hemmons.

  “Oomph.” Ouch. It felt like an anvil crashed into her forehead.

  Sloane’s head jerked back from the rock hard chest she rammed into. There was a distinct possibility that she may have just broken her nose, maybe even gotten a concussion. But she couldn’t be sure, because at the moment she was in a bit of a haze from staring at the hard wall of Dylan’s jacket-covered pecs.