Then she hesitated. What should come next? How should she wind this down and communicate she’d terminated her neighbor experiment and was going to leave the man alone from now on? Feeling a gauche fourteen, she stuck out her hand for a goodbye shake.
But his was already occupied with that set of PG-13 questions.
“You’re looking at them like they’re a snake,” he said, his voice laced with humor.
How bad could they be? But recalling the suggestions bandied about during the business association meeting didn’t put her at ease. “Um…”
“I think we’d better read at least one,” he decided, “if only to kill the suspense.”
He might as well have tied her at the wrists and ankles, she was so incapable of movement.
She felt the glance he shot her as he made a great show of turning over the first card. The business meeting had turned raucous the night they’d discussed the Valentine’s set. The partners who owned the popular auto supplies store and the two women who ran the elegant tea shop in a restored Victorian had been the worst, egging each other on with bawdy queries about favored sexual positions and preferred categories of porn.
Blushing at the recollection, Gemma held her breath, unsure what had been included in the final edition.
“This isn’t bad,” Boone said after a moment, and cleared his throat. “What’s the best place to kiss in Sawyer Shores?”
Not bad at all! Gemma’s air released in a huff and she almost laughed aloud in relief. “No, not bad at all.”
“I even have the perfect answer,” he said, slipping the cards into his pocket.
Leaving his hands free. She went still, her personal warning system beginning to clang. But those imaginary ropes once again fixed her in place.
“The best place to kiss in Sawyer Shores, Gemma Marquette,” Boone said, his voice a low whisper, “is right here, on your bewitching mouth.”
* * *
Boone grasped Gemma by the shoulders and yanked her toward him, her small gasp lost in the space between their lips until there was none, no distance, and he was enjoying the heat and softness, the hint of dampness just beyond. A shudder wracked his body and his fingers flexed. One part of him took a moment to mentally step back, to wonder at this profound effect she had on him, to worry about what it could mean, then he was back in, all in, his tongue sliding between her lips.
Her arms rose up, her hands spearing his hair, and then a metallic patter sounded at their feet.
He jerked back, glanced down, saw she’d dropped the key. Her fingers tightened and he didn’t fight the tug against his scalp as he bent to retrieve the piece of metal. She made a small sound, a muffled protest, he decided, but didn’t address it except to unlock the door and draw her inside.
Then kick the door shut behind them.
There wasn’t much illumination in the small entry. A light from the living room to the left gave off a dim glow, just enough to see her wide eyes and the sheen on her lips. He swooped down for another taste—sweet, from the sugar she’d stirred into her coffee—and she opened for him immediately, her tongue ready to greet his.
God. His head spun, then a thought pushed in. “Your alarm,” he said, lifting a half inch from her mouth. “Why isn’t it beeping?” She should have had to enter the code.
“Not set,” she said, her hand urging his head back down to hers.
He’d have to punish her for that. Turning, he pushed her against the front door and took her lips like he wanted to, crushing them, crushing her, with no room to breathe between his big body and the unyielding wooden door.
If he was pushing too hard it was only because he wanted her to be the one to call a halt, the one to register resistance, because he sure as hell didn’t have the willpower to do so.
But instead of shrinking back or fighting for air, she surrendered, her arms around his neck, her mouth yielding to his pressure. She sagged and he kept her upright, his pelvis pinned to her hips. On her fevered moan, lust took over and his rigid cock surged. He pressed it against the soft mound of her sex, and she lifted into the pressure, welcoming him, and something about the swiftness of that acceptance undid him.
Once, shortly after his mother had gone, Boone’s father had taken him to the beach. Whatever had distracted his dad, he didn’t know, but soon Boone had waded into the ocean unsupervised, past his ankles and then past his knees. The chilly water dragging at the hem of his swim trunks, for the first time he’d felt the inexorable pull of the waves, dragging him into deeper waters.
Then his father’s hand had yanked him from the suck of the greedy ocean.
Nothing appeared to save Boone now.
He sank into the heat of Gemma’s mouth, running his hands over her gentle curves, memorizing them as if it was his last task on earth. His fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt and hauled upward, needing to discover the satiny smoothness of her thighs. His palms cupped her ass over her panties and then he found his way beneath those, too, desperate to experience every sensation she had to offer.
She made a noise in the back of her throat and sucked on his tongue, causing his hands to squeeze soft flesh. Her hips moved, and he encouraged the small rise and fall, his lips leaving hers to trace her cheek, her jaw, her neck as he whispered unintelligible praise and encouragement.
His thought processes were no more orderly. Take…more…want. The words tumbled and tossed and he slid one hand upward, emerging from beneath her dress to travel over her fabric-covered ribs and then to possess her breast. He cupped it, one thumb rubbing the jutting tip in circles and she moaned, her hands clutching at his back.
Take…more…want. Driven by that, he shifted to yank her panties down her thighs. She drew in air, staring up at him with blue eyes gone dark. Slowly, he palmed her hip and then dragged his palm over her belly, shuffling his feet to make room for his hand. Her front teeth dug into her bottom lip as his two longest fingers followed the soft groove of her sex, skipping over the bud of her clit to open the layered flesh and gather some of the copious wetness awaiting him.
He grunted at the discovery, delighted and turned on all the more. Heat burned the back of his neck and his balls climbed in their sac to draw tight to the root of his sex. But he ignored that sensation as he played and stroked with Gemma, hyperaware of the trust she was giving over to him moment by moment.
Don’t go under, he cautioned himself. Focus on her instead.
She buried her forehead in the hollow of his shoulder, her breaths shuddering in and out as he explored the soft, heated flesh between her legs. He pressed his mouth to her temple, breathing in the fragrance of her, willing himself not to let go, not to take, but to take care. Focusing on every hitch in her breathing and every new twitch of her muscles, he discovered what she liked, the strokes that made anticipation practically ooze from her pores.
One finger slid inside her slick channel and her fingertips dug into the muscles marching alongside his spine. He established an easy rhythm, coaxing her into relaxing again before he drew back and then penetrated her with two.
She sucked in air, and he soothed her with another wordless murmur, kissing her hair. With her mons in the cup of his palm, he exerted firm pressure as he fingered her again, in-and-out thrusts that drew from her breathy moans and that caused his body to shudder, nearly undoing his control. Closing his eyes tight, he wiggled his thumb into the soft fissure at the top of her sex, rocking it back and forth until he found the hardened nub. Her body went rigid as he strummed there, and once again he used her breathing to gauge the right touch.
Then he kissed her again, finding her soft lips and the heated wetness beyond. It tested every bit of his control and he willed himself to seek only her climax as he pleasured her with his hand. But God, the delight he received for every wiggle of her hips, from the drenching moisture with which she coated his fingers, by each sign that she neared the peak. He drew his mouth to the soft spot behind her ear and kissed there, once, twice, his fingers pushing deep
into her body, his thumb fondling her clit. Tension gathered in her, he couldn’t miss it, and at the crisis, he sucked hard on the delicate skin beneath his lips, pinched the nipple at his fingers, and strummed the small scrap of sensitive flesh.
She tumbled into climax and he felt his heart redouble its reckless rhythm. But he weathered her storm, giving her everything he could.
Seconds passed as she quieted and he eased his hand from her sex as the last small quiver wracked her body. Her head lolled against the door and he realized she was as yet too strung out to be self-conscious.
Good.
With swift movements, he righted her clothes then eased away from her.
She looked at him with drowsy eyes, a small frown between her brows. “You didn’t…why didn’t…”
“Shh shh,” he said, then kissed her cheek, her forehead, her other cheek. With his hands on her shoulders, he shifted their positions so the door was at his back. Then he opened it, preparing to slip out.
“Boone.”
“Tomorrow,” he promised. “I’ll call you then.”
As he exited her house, striding as fast as he could toward his own place with a raging boner in his jeans, he stumbled and almost fell flat on his face. The realization following that was even more staggering.
Shit. Hell. Damn.
He’d promised Gemma tomorrow. That was more of a future then he’d ever promised any woman.
Chapter 9
“I’ll only be a sec,” Boone said to Hart and leaped out of the driver’s side door of his truck. In hand, the latté he’d picked up at Harry’s a few minutes before. Gifts for Girlfriends was half a block away, but he’d decided against looking for a space right in front.
Yet his half-assed attempt at subterfuge didn’t matter, because as he reached for the handle of the shop’s door, his best friend was at his heels. “I’ve never liked waiting in the car,” he said, grinning.
Boone sent him a withering look, but the other man didn’t shrink a centimeter from his six-foot, two-inch height. “Don’t…” He hauled in a breath. “Just don’t.”
He had no chance to be any more specific, because Hart reached around to grab the handle himself and pull open the door. The bright sound of bells rang out, a delicate and feminine scent wafted by, and a plethora of colors blasted his retinas as his friend pushed Boone into the shop’s interior.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Gemma sang out from somewhere toward the rear.
Boone sent a warning look at Hart, but the other man missed it as his gaze roamed around the place. The interior of the store retained much of its beginnings as a small family home, with couches and chairs for sitting, tables and cabinets for displaying the shop’s wares. His friend wandered toward shelving that held a collection of small jeweled boxes as Gemma arrived in the room.
That face.
That face, just beginning to warm with a spread of pink color fanning along each cheekbone.
Boone couldn’t take his gaze from it, framed by wavy dark hair. Her lashes, lush and curling, her eyes the pale blue of a new morning, her plump lips curving into a smile. Welcoming, but with an edge of uncertainty.
A crazy need to enfold her in his arms rose in his chest, filling the emptiness there. Remembering how right she felt in his embrace, he wanted that again, to close out the world so it had no chance to harm her, disappoint her, make her doubt herself.
Strange, when he was the one who would do that if he tried holding onto her.
“Boone?” She tugged on the long sleeves of her powder-pink sweater, clearly a nervous gesture.
“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “I brought you something.” Walking toward her, he held out the cardboard cup. “Your favorite.”
Her lashes swept down as she took it from him. “Thank you. And for lunch yesterday too. I appreciate the coffee now and the sandwich then.”
Turkey sandwich, because he’d not wanted to go cold turkey on contact with her. Not for his benefit, of course, but because he didn’t want to send the message he hadn’t enjoyed their evening or that he didn’t value her company. She wasn’t just some piece he’d pleasured to punctuate the end of a date.
But she’d been out when he’d stopped by the day before, and he’d handed over the brown bag to her assistant May, who’d also promised to pass along his cell phone number. Late that evening, Gemma had texted her gratitude and explained that she’d been putting out fires all day as well as beyond closing hours. She wasn’t complaining, but February was starting to look a lot like December.
Now as she sipped her drink, her lashes lifted to look at him and he sucked in a sharp breath, once again experiencing that sense of being pulled toward deep waters. Dangerous waters.
“Introduce me?” Hart’s voice had Boone swinging around, blinking as he recalled exactly where they were.
“Yeah. Uh, sure.” Boone swiped a hand over his face. “Gemma Marquette, this is Hart Sawyer.”
The two shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Then shopkeeper Gemma noted the small box the other man carried. “Are you looking for a gift?” she asked, nodding toward it.
“For my girl.” He smiled, and as usual, any mention of his intended seemed to light him from within.
Weird as shit, but Boone couldn’t be anything but happy for his friend. “For his fiancée, Kim,” he told Gemma. “They’ll be married soon.”
“Congratulations,” Gemma said, pressing her free hand to her heart. “We love a romance here at Gifts for Girlfriends. What you have is a keepsake box, perfect for a new bride to store her engagement and wedding rings when they’re not on her finger.”
Hart held it up, and Boone saw it was shaped like a heart and studded with pink and green faceted stones. “She’ll love it,” his friend said.
Gemma took it from him. “Then let me wrap it up and give it to you with my compliments. An engagement gift.”
Hart shook his head. “I couldn’t—”
“Kim’ll be new to the area when she arrives next month,” Boone reminded him. “She’ll need a go-to place in town to shop. You’ll have a ready-made recommendation.”
Gemma trained her smile on him. “Smart man,” she said. “You’re hired.”
But he wanted to be fired, damn it. Fired from her smiles, and from how damn warm they made him inside.
No easy means to produce that result occurred to him as she put together the package for Kim. But he was saved from any more conversation with her when a group of women arrived en masse. “Part of a yarn crawl gone astray,” one of the ladies announced, and he and Hart made tracks before they were swallowed up by the raucous chatter and rustle of shopping bags.
Back in the truck, Hart stretched behind him to store the wrapped gift in the rear seat of the extended cab, on top of the stack of dry cat food that needed delivery. “I like her.”
Boone grunted.
“You should ask—”
“We went out Sunday. It was fine. We’re not doing it again.” Not when he could still remember the taste of her on his tongue and the slippery feel of her desire coating his fingers. His hard-on hadn’t subsided for hours because stroking himself to completion had seemed a lackluster substitute.
“You should ask her to the wedding.”
“Not that.” He reversed out of the space. “She’s—”
“Don’t say she’s too good for you,” Hart finished, groaning.
“She wants more for her life…more than I have to give, anyway.” Boone turned up the volume on the radio.
Hart, the asshole, turned it down. “She said that?”
“She doesn’t have to. You saw her. You saw that place—her store.” The day before, upon delivering the sandwich, it had hit Boone square in the face, the femininity, the soft smells, those pretty frills everywhere. “Doesn’t it say everything?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know what to do with who she is.” He glanced over. “I like pork rinds and hot Cheetos. Getting my hands dirty. She�
�s…something else.”
“Maybe you’ll find out you both like walks in the rain,” Hart said, with a stupid grin. “And those frozen fruity cocktails.”
“Shut up.” Boone goosed the gas, as if that could get him further from his best friend’s amusement at his expense. “I know you get what I’m talking about.”
“I get you don’t want to risk her walking away like your mother.”
Boone took the next corner faster than he intended, done with this subject. “You want to ride together to poker on Thursday? We’ll be at Eli’s.”
* * *
A different atmosphere always infused poker night at Eli’s than the evenings at the other guys’ houses. The knowledge that four girls were raised in this home was impossible to ignore even from the outside, what with the pink and red lights edging the front door and the big-ass red heart wreath hanging from it, with a “Happy Valentine’s Day” message scrawled across a banner in glittery letters.
Inside, brightly colored jackets and more than one backpack dangled from a coatrack. Athletic shoes with pink and purple detail as well as flip-flops edged in sequins lay in a jumble on the floor. The scent of bubble gum and citrus shampoo permeated the air. No amount of beer and BBQ wings could overwhelm the sweetness.
Boone secretly enjoyed the smell even while he pretended to merely tolerate it, the same way he pretended to merely tolerate the cheek kisses pressed upon him now by the twins, Lynnie and Molly. “Geez, girls,” he said, making a big show of brushing off the brief contact. “You know I hate the mushy stuff.”
They rolled their eyes in unison, but then crowded close as he brought two small, tissue-swathed packages from his pocket. “What? What?” they asked. “For us?”
On Monday, when he’d brought the sandwich to Gemma’s store, he’d spotted the key rings that could be personalized with cubed letters hanging from a short length of leather thong. With May’s help, he’d put together one for each sister.
The presents won him two more cheek kisses and then a flurry of coltish arms and legs running for the stairs so they could find their purses. The new treasures were going to be put to use right away.
ALL IN (7-Stud Club Book 1) Page 10
