by Linda Kage
“Did you put something stronger in my drink?” she accused, scowling at me. “Because I suddenly feel a little…tipsy.”
I snorted. “Tipsy? Honey, you passed tipsy and headed straight to plowed the moment you asked me details about my sex life.”
Her back tried to stiffen all self-righteously again. “I beg your pardon? I most certainly did not—oh shit.” Her face flooded with color as her mouth dropped open. “I just asked you about your sex life.”
Watching her lips form the word shit was my downfall.
I scuttled backward away from her, aching for her so hard my muscles vibrated from the tension they were using to restrain me.
“Don’t worry about it.” I waved my hand to excuse her behavior, to make it not as hot and sexy as it really was. “I know all about alcohol-induced slipups. Remember?” I flashed her my forearm and then immediately swung away, in petrified retreat.
I didn’t want to leave, but I needed space before I did something unforgiveable.
I shoved Pick in her direction, grabbing a strawberry daiquiri out of his hand. “You gotta keep me away from her,” I gasped, tempted to down the drink instead of deliver it to its owner. “If she goes into the back for any reason, do not let me follow her. Do you understand? If she tries to give me her number, do not let me keep it. And if she...Jesus!” I glanced at her just in time to see some guy tap on her shoulder, gaining her attention. “And keep that little asswipe sniffing around her away too. Got it?”
Pick blinked. “Uh…”
“Thanks.” I turned away, leaving him to his new duties.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable.” - Mark Twain
~NOEL~
Pick did his job for the most part. With me constantly talking to her all night, I must’ve been keeping away the prowlers. Because as soon as I immersed myself in work, serving drinks, the men flooded in, trying to hit on her. Pick didn’t exactly field the losers away, but he didn’t really have to either since she brushed them off all on her own. God bless her.
I told myself that didn’t mean anything. So what, she had welcomed my attention and practically asked me how I liked to take my women, but she’d turned others away. That didn’t mean…except maybe it did. Even drunk, she preferred me over everyone else.
When she asked Pick where the restroom was and disappeared into the back, every fiber of my being wanted to follow her. But my damn, annoying coworker grabbed my arm.
“You told me not to let you go, man.”
I jerked my arm out of his grip and sent him a dirty look but stayed behind the bar like a good boy. But when she didn’t return within five minutes, I was ready to chew my own arm off.
“What if someone caught her back there and is harassing her?” I growled to Pick, needing to check on her safety, which surprised the shit out of me. Outside of my brothers and sister, and okay, maybe my teammates on the field, oh, and possibly my coworkers, I’d never felt protective of anyone before. Not over a girl I wanted, anyway.
“I’ll check on her,” Pick said, lifting his eyebrows in that fatherly way, telling me to back off.
I glowered at him even as I practically shoved him toward the hallway. “Well, get to it, then.”
He left and returned almost immediately. “She’s fine,” was his only answer.
I opened my mouth to demand details. She was fine how? Fine with some other guy? Fine, as in not puking her guts out? Fine, as in passed out peacefully and untouched in the back office? I needed to know more. Everything.
But last call came, and work stole my attention for the next half hour. I kept looking for her, but I never saw her again. She must’ve slipped out between people when I wasn’t looking. Which aggravated me to no end. I couldn’t even get one final glimpse of her in that unforgettable backless number.
Pick found a pair of sloshing drunk girls and offered to help them home, leaving me behind to clean up behind the bar. More people filtered out, and the waitresses got busy sweeping and straightening the main area.
I was wiping down the bar when I saw someone from the corner of my eye stumbling out of the hall that led to the bathrooms. Since we had closed ten minutes ago and the place was empty of customers, I glanced over to tell whoever that they needed to clear out.
But Aspen Kavanagh was too busy digging into her purse and pulling out a set of keys to notice me.
My mouth fell open. She hadn’t left yet. I soaked in my last glimpse, so occupied with my perusal that it took me a second to realize exactly what she was doing.
Christ, she wasn’t seriously going to drive in her condition, was she?
Sorting through the ring full of metal until she found the key she sought, she tripped on her fuck-me heels, bumped into the side of a table, and then straightened herself before weaving a crooked path toward the door.
Oh, hell, no. “Hey!” I called. “Dr. Kavanagh.”
She didn’t hear me, or just plain ignored me.
As she pushed her way outside, I cursed. “Vick.” I turned toward a waitress who was pulling out bills and counting them at the cash register. “You guys okay here?”
She didn’t even pause her count, but nodded and waved me on. “Yeah. You can go ahead and go.”
“Thanks.” I didn’t wait around for her to change her mind. Setting a hand on the counter, I leaped over it and dashed toward the door.
A nip in the wind bit through my shirt as soon as I exited, reminding me I’d left my jacket inside. But I didn’t care; I’d get it later.
Glancing around for my professor and spotting her instantly, I cupped my hand around my mouth. “Aspen!”
She faltered and whirled around, dropping her keys in the middle of the street. A car had just turned down the block, but she didn’t seem to notice its approach as she bent over to retrieve her key chain, startling me with a view of just how nice her ass looked in that short little dress. Panic leapt into my veins as I worried the car was about to turn her into a pancake.
Popping off the curb, I raced forward, grasped her elbow and manually helped her back upright just as she got ahold of the keys. The oncoming car slowed when it caught us in its headlights, but I hurried her out of its path anyway.
She brushed my hand away as soon as we made it to the parking lot and the car sped up, driving past.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
I set my hands on my hips and loomed over her. “I’m trying to find out what the fuck you think you’re doing.”
She attempted to stand erect, tightening up her shoulders, but ended up stumbling a step to the left. “I...” She paused to hiccup. Damn, why did I have to think drunk chicks hiccupping was so adorable? “I’m going home. The bar closed. My...my date stood me up.”
A wrinkle between her eyebrows formed when she confessed that. She looked confused and hurt.
I sighed. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “You weren’t seriously going to drive home, though, were you? By yourself?”
She turned to look at her car as if considering her answer. Then she weaved sloppily back around. “Well, it certainly won’t fly me home.”
“Dear God.” I rubbed my forehead. “How can you have a PhD at twenty-three and be this naive?”
With a gasp, she pressed the flat of her palm against her chest. “How am I being naive?”
“How do you think? You can’t just drive home drunk. What if you got into an accident? What if you were pulled over? You’d go to jail and lose your job. Then you’d never be able to give some poor, dumb schmuck like me another D in your life.”
“You have a point,” she admitted. Then she turned her green eyes my way and looked so lost I wanted to sweep her up and soothe all her troubles away. “But how’m I supposed to get home?” Her shoulders drooped. “I jus’ wanna go home.”
I sighed. Damn it. If only there hadn’t been a catch in her miserable, despondent voice.
“I’ll call you a
cab,” I offered, already digging into my pocket. After working at the bar for as many months as I had, I had my favorite cab service listed on speed dial.
“But I can’t leave my car here.” She sounded aghast.
I paused, my thumb hovering over the dial button. “It’s okay. People do it all the time. This is a fairly safe parking lot. You can come back and pick it up in the morning, no problem.”
Chewing on her bottom lip, she eyed her dark sedan with worry.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath and pocketed the phone. “Okay, fine.” Jesus, I couldn’t believe I was actually going to offer this. “Give me your keys, and I’ll drive you home.”
She whirled to me with hope on her face, even as she said, “But what about your car? How will you get home?”
Shaking my head, I tried not to be charmed over the fact she was still cognizant enough to think about me. “I’ll just stay the night with you.”
“What?” She stumbled sideways as her mouth fell open.
I snickered. “Kidding. I’ll call a cab from your place and have them bring me back here for my ride.”
Okay, so I was too embarrassed to tell her I didn’t have a set of wheels. Since I only lived eight blocks away, I’d planned on walking home. But I could always call a cab from her place if I had to.
She blinked, and the move made her look like an owl. Cutest damn owl I’d ever seen. Glancing away because she still held me under her homing spell with her prettied-up face and sexy clothes, I blew out a breath, half-hoping she’d decline and let me call her a cab, and half-hoping I could spend another few minutes in her company while she was like this.
“You would do that for me?” The way she slurred her words sounded foreign coming from her perfect mouth because her speech was always so succinct in class. It was as if she was a completely different person. A person I was allowed to desire.
“Why would you do that for me?” She stared at me, all lost and confused again. “You hate me.”
“I don’t—” When I shook my head, I had to shove my hair out of my eyes. “I don’t hate you,” I said, softer this time. Far, far from it.
Her lips parted and I wanted to bite them—especially the fuller, lower one—then suck it into my mouth and lick the sting away.
Silently, she held out her keys to me. A surge of awareness sparked through my system.
I shouldn’t do this. It was dangerous. Tempting. She still had one side of her hair pulled up, though after the past few hours in the heat of the bar and in between the press of so many people, it had started to sag in places. Still...it looked tempting, as if someone had had his hands in it.
If only they could be my hands.
Giving in to her draw, I took the keys and sucked in a breath when her fingers brushed mine. God, this was going to be bad. I could already tell.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"These are the times that try men's souls." - Thomas Paine
~NOEL~
“Don’t you love how the streetlights reflect through the windshield?” Aspen leaned forward in the passenger seat to stroke the glass above the dashboard of her car. But her safety belt caught before she could quite touch it, and she fell back into her seat with a sad sigh. “It’s so pretty,” she mumbled, eyeing the view longingly.
I shook my head in amusement as her navigation system told me to turn right at the corner. “Yeah, you’ve definitely had one too many to drink,” I said to myself more than to her, since she wasn’t even listening to me, too enrapt in the pretty lights to notice my presence.
“They look like carnival lights.” She sent me a sidelong glance. “Have you ever been to a carnival?”
I blinked. “Umm...sure.” Who’d never been to a carnival?
Whenever they’d come to my hometown, they’d always set up in the open lot not far from our trailer park. I used to sneak down and take Caroline, and Brandt too when he’d gotten old enough to go on the rides. I’d never gotten around to taking Colt, though, before I’d left for college. I hoped Caroline did that for me. Some of my happiest memories were of buying candy and tickets and watching my siblings when we’d gone on the rides. Colt needed a memory like that. Hell, everyone needed those kinds of memories.
“I’ve never been to a carnival,” Aspen said softly. I glanced across the quiet interior of her car to watch her face fill with even more longing. “My parents said carnivals were foolish and a waste of time.”
Damn. Her parents sounded like complete assholes.
“Do you think if my date had shown up, I would’ve gotten lucky tonight?” She paused and bit her lip. “I could be having sex right now. Wow, I can’t even remember when the last time I had sex was.”
Shit. Bad topic.
She’d been talking nonstop since I’d helped her into her car, changing subjects faster than I could change speeds. But we hadn’t dipped back into this taboo territory since she’d squeezed my bicep in the bar.
“But I do remember the last time I dreamed about having sex,” she kept on. “You were doing me on my desk at work and—”
What? She’d had that dream too? Unreal.
I shifted in the driver’s seat because my erection felt pinched in my jeans.
“—and I was sprawled on my back with all these graded papers digging into my spine while you were standing on the floor between my legs so you could...you know. Then you hit this spot in me...Oh, my God. It felt so good. I somehow kicked over the monitor of my computer screen. But you just kept going, and I think I was about to come, but then I woke up all wet and aching, and I never did find out how that dream ended.”
Oh, I knew how that dream ended.
But damn. This was not good. Hearing about how I’d made her wet and aching snapped the chains around my control as if they were scissor blades plucking apart a tendril of hair.
“You probably shouldn’t be talking about this to me,” I told her, my voice gruff.
She glanced over. “Why not? You’ve had sex, haven’t you?” Then she snorted and threw her head back to laugh outright. “What am I saying? You’re Noel Gamble. You’ve probably had sex more times this month alone than I have in my entire life.”
I scowled. “Okay, now you’re just being insulting.”
“Six,” she said.
I shook my head, not following. “What?”
“I’ve had sex six times in my life. Three different guys.”
My mouth fell open. Jesus. I hadn’t needed a head count. But hell, now that she’d given me one, I thought maybe I had had more sex in this month alone than she’d had in her entire life. Okay, not this month or even last month, exactly. But definitely during a football season month.
She tipped her head to the side and frowned thoughtfully. “Wait. If you’re not willing, does that count?”
Zipping my attention to her, I almost ran a red light. Stomping on the brakes, I exploded, “Excuse me?”
“I said—”
“I heard you! Jesus Christ. If you’re not willing, I don’t think it’s even considered sex. It’s called rape.”
She had not just told me she’d been…No. No way.
Frowning thoughtfully, she murmured. “No. No, my parents told me very specifically I couldn’t call it that. Told me I couldn’t tell anyone, couldn’t go to the police or talk about it ever again. No.” She gave a vigorous shake of her head. “It wasn’t rape. I deserved it. I agreed to go on that date with him, after all. I even climbed into the backseat with him on my own free will. They said I should’ve expected it.”
Should’ve expected…?
Jesus. I thought I might vomit. But, what the fuck?
With my fingers choking the steering wheel and pretending it was her goddamn rapist’s neck, I managed to ask, “How long ago was this?”
“Nine years. I was fourteen. It was my first time.” she pressed a finger to her lips thoughtfully before adding, “I don’t think a girl’s first time should ever be like that.”
“No,” I agreed qui
etly. “No, it shouldn’t.” I thought about Caroline for some reason. Shit, she’d had that dance tonight, hadn’t she?
What if that Scotini boy expected more from her than she was willing to give? What if she agreed to climb into a backseat with him for a couple kisses then got scared when he wanted more and tried to put on the breaks, but he didn’t let her? I’d break every bone in his fucking body. I was tempted to pull out my phone and check on her, but I wanted to be here for Aspen, too. She was obviously going through something right now, and I liked being the one to hear her drunk disclosures.
“Have…” I licked my dry lips as I turned down her block. “Have you ever told anyone about this before, besides your parents?”
I prayed that she’d tell me she’d gone to the police, despite Mommy and Daddy’s wishes, and the asshole had been thrown behind bars, where he’d stayed until he died after being gang raped himself by twenty other inmates. When she didn’t immediately answer, I glanced over at her as soon as I pulled into her drive and parked.
She’d curled up in her seat with her knees bent to her chest and her arms wrapped protectively around her legs. It gave me a view of silky black panties, but at the moment I was too worried about her to ogle them.
Looking a decade younger than twenty-three, she sent me a wide-eyed glance. “Of course,” she said. “I told my therapist. It’s very chic in my parents’ world to have a therapist. But mine actually helped me get over it. I mean, the first guy I was with after it happened didn’t reap any benefits. He didn’t even stick around to finish our one encounter together because I freaked him out so bad. He pulled out as soon as I started crying. Then he ran off and never called me again. But the second stayed through more than one encounter before he stopped returning my phone calls. That’s something though, right? It’s progress.”
