Meet Cute

by Elise Faber

  But luckily for me, she didn’t.

  So I just stayed where I was, hands just above the cuts on her knees and staring into her pretty hazel eyes.

  I’d gone straight past any hesitation about her being Maggie’s friend and dove headfirst into the deep end. This woman had saved my life. This woman had bled for me. This woman with the shadows in her eyes and the chip on her shoulder . . . she was mine.

  And I was going to take care of her.

  Even if she fought me every step of the way.

  Like right now, the protest bubbling up in her throat.

  “I won’t look,” I promised, even though I sort of hated myself for it. “But you need to get out of that dress. It’s dirty.”

  Sparking, furious hazel eyes.

  It was funny. I hardly knew this woman, and yet I did know her. I knew that the look she was giving me meant she had a rebuke, an argument, on the tip of her tongue, and she was ready to unleash it on me. I also knew this woman wasn’t unreasonable. She’d deferred to logic more than once already.

  So, I knew she’d eventually come around.

  “I’m sure you want something comfortable to sleep in,” I added, keeping my tone even and gentle. “And,” I added, “I did mean it when I said I wouldn’t look.”

  A snort. “Like you didn’t look earlier?”

  “I didn’t promise not to look earlier.” I held her stare. “This time, I am.”

  Three, two, one. A sigh.

  And I knew I had her.

  “Fine,” she muttered. “But I swear to God, if I catch one flicker of those gorgeous golden eyes on me, I’ll put my hand-to-hand combat skills to use.”

  My thumb traced light circles on the skin just beneath the hem of her dress. “You think my eyes are gorgeous?”

  Another sigh. “That’s all you absorbed from my statement? That you have pretty eyes?” Hers came to mine. “Yes, Tal. I think your eyes are absolutely beautiful, and I’m sure you’ve been told that plenty of times before.”

  I had.

  But not by this woman.

  Also, not in that begrudging way, as though she felt duty-bound to compliment me—which didn’t feel as good, but also . . . I’d take any flattery this woman decided to toss in my direction.

  “I—” She paused, waited until I was looking at her again. “I also meant what I said about my hand-to-hand combat skills. I will put them to good use, if you so much as put an eyelash out of line.”

  Considering she appeared ready to pass out, I doubted that. But, I also figured that Tammy wasn’t a woman who anyone smart discounted, so instead of commenting on her pale skin and shaking hands, I just nodded. “I made a promise, and I don’t ever break promises.”

  Her lips parted, a flurry of emotions trailing across her face, too fast for me to discern each individual one.

  Then I picked up the T-shirt and said, “I won’t put any body part, eyelash or otherwise, out of line.” I lifted a strand of her long blond hair that was tangled over her face and carefully tucked it behind her ear. “You’ve exhibited your hand-to-hand skills enough already today, don’t you agree?”

  Those lips parted again, the bottom one lush and tempting. The top crisscrossed with a tiny white scar through the perfect cupid’s bow. Her breath hit my skin, the spice of the tea and toast floating through the air, tempting me with the sweetness hanging on its coattails.

  But instead of leaning in, instead of tasting that tantalizing mix of sweet and spice, I straightened, shifting so I could reach around her and unzip the back of her dress. It parted, revealing a narrow strip of black lace, one that matched the glimpse of what I’d seen covering her pussy, disappearing between the tempting curves of her ass, and making me want to forget all about my promise to not look. Especially, when her breath caught as I undid the hooks.

  Smooth, golden skin. Lithe muscles. A freckle just there, calling for my mouth.

  Slamming my eyes shut, I moved back to the floor. “Can you get them down your shoulders?”

  “Yes.” I felt her shift on the bed, my imagination going wild, my cock hard and pressing against the zipper of my slacks. Which made me feel like the biggest pervert on the planet—her being injured, drugged, and exhausted. But it wasn’t like I was going to take advantage of her.

  I just . . . wanted to.

  See? Fucking pervert.

  Keeping my lids firmly shut, I held up the shirt. “Ready for this?”

  A sigh. Then, “No.”

  “No?”

  The air in front of my face shifted, but still I didn’t open my eyes.

  “You’re really not looking, are you?”

  “No,” I said, but I also felt duty-bound to admit, “Though, I had to look a little when I undid your zipper and bra.” A beat. “Also, I really want to look, so take that how you want.

  Silence.

  Then . . . laughter. “You really are the most extraordinary man.”

  “That’s the drugs talking,” I deadpanned, waving the shirt. “Ready for this, now?”

  “No.”

  I froze, waited for more of an explanation.

  Eventually, she sighed again and said, “Turns out, I can’t actually lift my arm to bring the strap down. Any way you can not look while helping me?”

  No, I fucking couldn’t.

  I mean, I would. But also . . . I couldn’t. Fucking hell.

  Cock throbbing, I carefully opened my eyes, focused deliberately on her face, and I got up on my knees, bringing our bodies close together, my mouth near enough to hers that I could have easily closed the distance between us, have felt her lush, plump lips on mine, tasted that spice chased by sweet.

  But I wasn’t a fucking asshole.

  So instead of kissing her, I held steady, locked my gaze on hers, and I reached for the straps of her dress and bra.

  The moment my fingers brushed the silken skin of her shoulders, a groan crept into the back of my throat, threatened to bubble free, to land in the air between us. Swallowing it down, I forced myself to focus on the task at hand—getting Tammy naked.

  No. Dumbass.

  My task was to not hurt her as I got her naked.

  Stop thinking about her naked.

  But that was becoming increasingly hard to do as I eased the straps down, as I kept my eyes on hers, as I continued coaxing the material off her shoulders, along her arms, carefully over the bandage.

  And then beyond her elbows, slipping her wrists through, her hands, her fingers free.

  Topless.

  She was topless, and all I had to do was glance down and I would see a pair of what I knew would be absolutely glorious breasts.

  I didn’t though, just snagged the T-shirt up from the bed without moving my eyes from hers; the hazel depths deepened to a russet lined with emerald, rings of dark gray at their edges, burning into mine. I fumbled for a few moments, trying to make sure the correct part was forward, and then ultimately deciding it didn’t matter, and slipping the shirt over her head.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, lifting her uninjured arm through the hole and attempting to lift her injured one. Then stopping with a wince.

  “Here,” I murmured, still soaking in the heat of her eyes, and reached for her wrist and elbow, carefully bringing it up, releasing one hand and tugging the material down. The latter was my mistake because when I reached for the hem of the shirt, the back of my hand brushed over her nipple.

  We both gasped.

  I swallowed hard, my head going a little fuzzy from the contact.

  Then I cleared my throat. “Sorry.”

  “I-it’s okay.”

  It wasn’t. Neither of us was okay, but I didn’t say anything further, just gently coaxed her arm through the hole, pausing to roll the short sleeve of the shirt up beyond her bandage wrapped high on her arm so it wouldn’t chafe before pulling the shirt down to cover her.

  Then I girded my loins, wrapped an arm around her waist, and lifted her up to her feet. Either the drugs were hitting or the
exhaustion had overwhelmed her, because her body just leaned loosely against mine, her forehead resting against my collarbone, and I used my free hand to coax the dress to the floor, bringing the shirt along with it.

  “Can you lift one leg?” I asked, reaching for the sweats.

  Tammy didn’t say anything, just leaned heavier against me, raising her foot enough for me to slip one leg of the sweats on. Then the other. A moment later they were around her waist.

  Threatening to fall off her waist.

  I helped her sit, reached for the tie.

  Her lips parted again, her breath sliding out. “Tal—”

  “Shh, sweetheart,” I murmured, making quick work of tying it, before lifting her up, yanking the blankets down, and then tucking her into my bed.

  On my side.

  Her hair fanned out on my pillow.

  My cock still throbbing.

  “Talbot?” she asked again, her eyes sliding shut.

  “I’ll leave a glass of water here,” I whispered. “Just rest now, and I’ll only be in the next room, so holler if you need anything.”

  Her eyes stayed closed. Her lips settled closed. But then she gave me the tiniest nod.

  Heart aching in a way I didn’t completely understand, and yet in a way I also totally understood—because this woman had made a place in my heart in mere hours—I quietly gathered up the plate and the mug, her dirty dress and bra, and headed for the door.

  “Talbot?” she said once again, just before I slipped out into the hall.

  “Yeah, sweetheart?”

  “Thanks.” The word barely reached my ears.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I turned for the kitchen but heard her next statement all the same.

  “Still not your sweetheart.”

  A grin tugging up my lips, I walked down the hall, took care of the dirty dishes, and then I returned to my bedroom, making sure to leave that glass of water and bottle of pills well within reach.

  Except when I started to leave again, when I tried to force my feet to take me into the hall, I found that I couldn’t leave her.

  Instead, I dragged a chair from the corner of the room close to her bedside, kicked off my shoes, and then watched her sleep.

  Watched her breathe.

  Understanding that I’d nearly lost something very precious that evening.

  Understanding that I hadn’t even been the one to save it.

  She had.

  And me, too.

  And I didn’t even mean from the armed lunatic.

  Chapter Eight

  Tammy

  I woke, having the sense that it was much later than I would have crawled out of bed for my theme park adventures, wincing when I shifted and stretched, my back pretty much the only comfortable part on my body.

  My entire arm was on fire. My knees ached. My head pounded as I slit open my eyes.

  Even they hurt, probably from the brilliant sunlight pouring in through the windows that took up one length of the huge room. I hadn’t noticed them before, seeing as it had been dark, but as I blinked against the bright light, I saw that the room faced some sort of garden space, lush greenery and colorful flowers on the other side of that glass. It really was quite beautiful, reminding me of a lush Hawaiian jungle or something.

  Or maybe that was the rest of the space—all light wood and gauzy curtains. The bed had four tall posts going up toward the ceiling, connected by four wooden rails. Like the canopy bed I’d had as a kid.

  Only much nicer.

  Snorting, I went to put my elbows beneath me, to prop myself up in a preemptive attack to getting my body moving out of this bed, but the action had me gasping and lying back.

  Pain meds first.

  I turned my head, saw the promised glass of water, the bottle of pills next to it.

  Inching my uninjured arm out, I snagged the bottle and was using my teeth on the child lock top when I heard.

  “Need some help?”

  I mean, obviously, I needed help. I was gnawing on a bottle of Oxycontin. But when I shifted, my glare already on my face in anticipation of unleashing it on Talbot, I found he wasn’t at the door to the hall.

  Which drew my gaze farther across the room, past the blond-colored wood entertainment system, past the door to what I presumed was his closet, since he’d disappeared through it and reappeared with clothes the night before, past the lush garden view, and finally . . . settling onto . . .

  Heaven.

  No, Tammy. Not heaven. It was just—

  The man was standing there in all his glory, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, leaning against a doorway—insert more presuming here—that led to the bathroom, considering both that skimpy slip of cotton and the fact the man’s hair was wet.

  I wanted to run my hands through it.

  I wanted to run my hands over that chest with grabbable pecs, with carefully etched abs, my fingers tingling with so much need that they actually curled taut, making me gasp when my injured arm protested.

  Making Talbot move.

  He was at the bedside in an instant, taking the bottle from my hand, opening the lid, and shaking out a pill into his palm. “Open,” he ordered, and I was too dazed by the Greek god in front of me, kneeling at my side again, this time in only a towel, and in too much pain to argue.

  I parted my lips, sipped at the glass when he held it up to my mouth.

  “Okay?” he asked a moment later, putting the glass back down when I nodded.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  His fingers brushed lightly over my cheek. “I should be the one thanking you.”

  “You’re still on about that, are you?” I grumbled, the pain in my arm dimming significantly with every touch of his skin against mine. Or maybe it was just some placebo effect.

  Take pill. Feel better.

  Even though it would take upwards of twenty minutes to be absorbed into my bloodstream.

  Except, I had the creeping feeling that the whole feeling better thing came less from the placebo effect or from the touch of his skin (though both were pretty great) and more from the smile on Talbot’s face.

  I didn’t think I’d ever seen one like that before.

  Or at least not one like that pointed in my direction.

  I’d seen Aaron give it to Maggie. I’d witnessed Pierce give it to Artie.

  And now this man . . . to me.

  What alternate universe had I stumbled into?

  Not one that made any sense, that was for damned sure. Or maybe that was the drugs talking, maybe I had a superhuman ability to metabolize them, pain relief instantly hitting my veins, totally unimpacted by Talbot Green.

  Yes, I knew I was lying.

  But I also was lying in a Hollywood superstar’s bed, after having been wounded saving his life the night before, with that superstar currently kneeling next to me and stroking my cheek.

  The entire scenario was like a bad script.

  Probably, something that Talbot had seen plenty of.

  Those fingers drifted down to my throat, brushing back and forth across the dip in the middle, probably feeling my pulse galloping in my veins, the rapid thrum-thrum tapping against his fingertips.

  But if he did feel it, he didn’t say anything about it.

  Instead, his fingers kept moving, and he asked, “Why the smile?”

  I scowled.

  He chuckled. “You’re beautiful when you glare at me, did you know that?”

  “That’s the savior complex coming into play.”

  His brows drew together. “What are you talking about?”

  I went to shrug, just barely stopped myself in time. “It’s a normal reaction,” I said, making my tone knowing, hoping it would piss him off and get him to back off, because with that soft smile, those gorgeous eyes, the sexy-as-hell body, and the obvious desire on his face, I was so freaking close to doing something incredibly stupid.

  Incredibly. Stupid.

  With the capitals.

  “I
’ve seen this before,” I went on. “We save someone, and they attach themselves like a limpet.”

  His golden eyes flashed. Good. Or at least, that was what I was telling myself.

  “It’s a totally normal reaction. I’ve seen it many times over the years.”

  Lie.

  I mean, I had seen it.

  But not all that often, especially in Darlington, where nothing really ever happened.

  Not that this man needed to know that, especially since I could see the pissed-off creeping into his face.

  Good, I thought again.

  That was exactly what I needed.

  He’d get mad and back off and—

  He smiled.

  My breath froze in my lungs.

  Because it was that smile again. The one that made a longing bubble up inside me, made me yearn and ache and wish that the smile could be real and could be for me.

  Back to Stupid, with that capital S.

  His fingers continued moving and he moved closer, his lips to my ear. “I might believe you,” he whispered hotly. “If I hadn’t wanted you from the moment I saw you kick off your heels.”

  My breath wheezed out of me. “What?” I breathed.

  A dart of a hot, wet tongue, my nerves exploding with sensation.

  Then he straightened. “You feel good enough to sit up now?”

  I wasn’t feeling anything—or at least, I wasn’t feeling any pain. What I was feeling was desire and need and trembling thighs and a damp, empty pus—

  “I’m good,” I said, putting my elbows beneath me and shoving myself up, thanking desire and pain pills for my increased mobility. I should probably be thanking the oxycodone rather than my attraction to Talbot, but I had a feeling that science and the study of drugs binding with pain receptors was actually far less superior to the power of this smiling Hollywood heartthrob.

  He slipped his fingers around my arm—the uninjured one—and helped me sit.

  “I really am good,” I said, knowing I was repeating myself. But it was true for two reasons. First, the pain pills had truly kicked in, and second, I had a feeling this man would be able to play my body like an instrument.

  One stroke of his finger on my skin, one hot word whispered in my ear, and I was feeling nothing of my exploits from the night before.