by Jayce Carter
“On you? Yeah.”
“No, on this. On getting a girl turned on like some ego-stroking thrill for you. Is this some game to you?”
His sly smile fell from his lips, and why did even that look sexy on his features? Get it together, Tara. Talk Gena into sneaking a naked picture of him I can hide on my computer, but don’t stare now.
“I’m not playing a game.”
She rose from the stool, wanting to feel in control, wanting to be standing on her own feet. She wasn’t in control of the way her body reacted to him, but damn it, she refused to show that to him. “Right, because it makes complete sense that you’d be interested in anything with me—”
He shut her up by curling his palm around the nape of her neck and yanking her against him for a kiss so thorough and unexpected, she forgot what the hell they were fighting about.
Who cared if he was playing her? Who cared if he wasn’t really interested? If he kissed her like that, as long as he kept every hard line of his body pressed to her, none of the rest mattered a bit.
A spark of pleasure so strong it shook her to her core—and a bit deeper—ran through her. His motivations turned unimportant. She’d take a pity fuck if it felt like this.
Before she could think better of it, Tara was kissing him back. She clutched his wide shoulders and rose onto her toes, wanting more of him. He could set her on the counter and work down the leggings she’d thrown on—anything to get more of him.
She’d never felt like that. Never felt wild and reckless and sexual. Normally, she went through life feeling like sex was some joke she didn’t get. As though it was a language she didn’t understand. It was like being around people who loved coffee when she thought the taste was disgusting, and she couldn’t quite figure out what was wrong with everyone else as they poured it down their throats and dropped all their hard-earned money on it.
Finally, she got it. She understood what the hell the pull was, because with just a kiss, Chris had opened the entire idea of what sex could be.
The slam of a car door outside woke Tara up.
What the hell am I doing? She shoved backward, nearly tripping, to put distance between them a split second before the deadbolt of her front door clicked open.
There was only one person who came in without knocking, who had a key, and sure enough, Patrick blew into her house like some cock-blocking apparition.
Wait, cock-blocking? I was not going to have sex with Chris. I don’t even know him!
She let the lie sit there in her mind, with no one to call her on it.
If Chris had worked a hand into her pants, she’d have spread her legs and let him do it, happily.
Hell, she might have begged him to.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Patrick started in as if he’d wound himself up on the drive over.
Gena walked in behind him and hung the keys to Tara’s car on the hook. Ah. It seemed they’d brought her car home.
Chris huffed a laugh before sending Tara one more heated gaze, the sort that said that while her brother had bought her time, Chris wasn’t done with her yet.
Her stomach did flips, the clumsy sort she’d managed when she’d tried out gymnastics at twelve and had bloodied her lip and broken the instructor’s nose—wild and uncontrolled and something between scary and exciting. A heat simmered in her body that Chris had stoked but hadn’t quenched.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” Chris broke in as he picked up his shirt and clasped hands with Patrick, who hadn’t fully ended his tirade.
Tara wondered just how far in over her head she was with Chris.
One look at Chris’ ass as he walked out told her.
Really, really far.
Chapter Four
Chris groaned when his mother asked the same questions she always asked. When was he settling down? When would he meet some nice girl? When would he give her grandkids?
The answer was always the same, even if he wouldn’t tell her. Never.
Women wanted him for what he could give them. He’d dated too many who cared more about the zeros in his bank account than they did about him. Those girls, the arm candy he’d thought, at twenty-two, when he’d made his first good chunk of money, were what he was supposed to have. Men get rich and they find some thin blonde to parade around like a status symbol at parties, right?
Except, they bored him. He could never shake the feeling they were placeholders, that they were the sports car that seemed obligatory but had never suited him at all. He’d grown up modestly, and he still drove a truck in a sea of luxury cars.
But his mother didn’t need that truth. Why dash her hopes?
So, he’d say he was looking, that he’d yet to find someone. She’d ask about the girls he’d brought before, as though he’d gone through the entire list of women and maybe needed to start thinking about repeat performances.
At least the little plan with Tara would buy him some time.
And he suspected his mother would like Tara. Hell, it was the most he’d ever looked forward to having dinner with his mother. The other women he’d brought through the years had had little to say. They’d looked at his mother’s small, tidy but antiquated home and cringed. They’d made no effort to talk to her, to his siblings, and just pushed the food around on their plates as they pouted.
He knew Tara wasn’t the type to do that.
And even if their relationship wasn’t real, he had to admit, the idea of playing it up sounded good. He wanted to toss an arm around her shoulders, to lean in close to her ear and whisper to her. He wanted the ability to trace his fingers down her side and over her hip like lovers accustomed to touching.
That kiss in her kitchen had stuck with him all day, something he struggled to forget about. Even as he’d worked on the proposal Patrick had brought him out for, he couldn’t stop thinking about how soft and giving her lips had been. Her body had pressed against him in all the right ways, soft where he was hard, welcoming where he rigid.
“You aren’t listening to me,” his mother chided.
Chris brought his attention back, forcing himself to remain in the moment instead of lingering on that kiss. He probably didn’t need to end up with a hard-on while having a conversation with his mother. “I’m sorry. What?”
“I asked about Easter.”
“Oh, right. Yes, I’m sure I’ll be back for Easter.”
“Good. Your brother and sisters have already agreed to come as well. It might be the last big holiday we have.”
Chris turned a glare on his mother. “Don’t start on that again. You’re not dying.”
“I will eventually, and I’d like some grandkids before I go.”
“So, bother my siblings about it.”
“I do. I don’t know how I raised an entire lot of children with no drive to settle down. It’s like I did something wrong in raising you all.”
She’d have continued for quite a while longer if the doorbell hadn’t rung.
Saved by the bell. He chuckled before rising to answer.
It had to be Tara, given that the time was exactly six and his siblings never failed to be late.
Not that his oldest sister would be there. She lived across the country and only came to big family gatherings. His younger brother and sister, though? They’d show because he was certain his mother had mentioned he was bringing someone home, and they never failed to enjoy a good spectacle.
They were probably excited to see what dim, pretty thing he’d brought this time, ready to gather fodder for torturing him later.
When he opened to door, he again found his breath snatched away. Tara had dressed more conservatively than she had the first night, in a simple pair of black jeans that hugged her hips and cupped her ass perfectly, paired with a flowing blouse that just begged him to slip his hand beneath.
She wore a silver necklace with a black crystal that nestled into her cleavage. It teased him with the need to trace it with his tongue.
However, in the doorway of h
is mother’s house was probably not the best place for that. Instead, he held the door open and stood aside. “I’m glad you came,” he said softly so the conversation didn’t carry. “I was a little worried you’d back out.”
“I made a promise,” she snapped back in a tone that said she wasn’t happy about it, with the same excitement one uses when showing up to a scheduled dental appointment. “So, what have you told her about me?”
“Not much. She’s used to me being rather private. I told her we met through Patrick, who she knows and loves. We’ve been dating casually for a few weeks.” He set his hand on her lower back, risking the chance to tease his fingers beneath the hem of her flowy top, to find the heated skin that rested just above the waistline of her jeans.
She offered a look full of censure, but if she expected him to feel bad, she’d be disappointed. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, her breathing had sped up.
When he’d kissed her, she’d given in so beautifully. That war she had with herself, the fight in her head about what she thought she understood had silenced and she’d just reacted. She’d kissed him back with a passion he’d never tasted.
It wasn’t about what he could give her or what he could get from her. It had been all need, and he was desperate for another taste of that passion.
However, that would have to wait, because his mother walked into the small living room, her shrewd gaze taking in Tara in a way that suddenly made him nervous.
Tara moved away from him, smoothing her hands down her outfit and pulling her pink lips into a wide, honest smile. “Hello, I’m Tara.” She stuck her hand out and waited.
Chris hardly drew breath as the two women stood there, staring down one another as women tended to do. Even if his mother hated Tara, it didn’t matter, right? The point wasn’t to find a woman his mother loved but rather to show her he was dating so she’d stop bugging him.
So why do I want her to like Tara? Why do I care what her opinion is?
A heartbeat later—though it seemed a tense eternity to him—his mother came forward and pulled Tara into a hug. “Hello, dear. My name is Eve. Come on in.”
As they walked away, into the kitchen, Chris rubbed the heel of his hand into his chest at a strange ache that had developed there.
* * * *
Tara couldn’t stop laughing as she sat across from Chris’ mother, his younger brother beside her. The entire group was funny. They took shots at Chris, who laughed along with them like it was some sort of hazing they all knew the rules to.
They reminded her of her family. Welcoming, honest, sweet. They’d taken her into their fold so quickly, even using her to help poke fun at Chris.
And, for his part, Chris never went far. He’d talk to his brother, to his sister and their partners, but never strayed more than a few feet away. It made her feel like she had someone on her side, like she was grounded in the chaos of people she didn’t really know yet.
He played the part well. He’d give her those heated looks, the lingering touches of two people who knew each other intimately. After helping to clean up, she and Chris had ended up on the back patio, alone as the others argued about arrangements for those sleeping over.
Tara smiled at the lights that hung around a lattice cover, giving the patio a soft look in the darkness.
Large hands grasped her hips and pulled her backward. She expected to find herself tight against his chest, as he’d done a number of times during the party. The wide expanse of that chest had been more tempting than she liked to admit, especially as she recalled how good he’d looked shirtless that morning. Even better, Tara tended to feel too big compared to men around her. She’d never pulled off that dainty thing, where she got to lean against a man and feel small.
Mostly, she got the sense of a guy struggling with an oversized ham whenever someone had attempted it—especially since the only times Harry had ever given it the old college try, his cheeks had gone red and he’d breathed so heavily she was pretty sure he’d hit a cardio-level exertion.
Vaguely, she recalled Chris carrying her drunken ass into the house, tucked against his chest. He hadn’t huffed and puffed and acted like she should be an obstacle in a mud run.
Instead of feeling his warm, hard chest, Tara kept going back and down. Her hands flew out to catch herself like an unruly orangutan.
When she stopped, she realized he’d pulled her down onto his lap on one of the chairs, and by some luck, he’d managed not to catch an elbow in the nose from her flailing—though if he had, he would have deserved it.
Tara planted her hands on the armrests to push up. “I’m too heavy.”
Chris gathered her hands with ease, despite her protests, and set them in her lap, not giving her an inch of space. “No, you’re not. Stop squirming.”
She didn’t stop. In fact, she struggled harder against his iron hold, sure that his thighs had to be aching as she tried not to put her full weight on them.
When she did rest on him, however, a very easily identifiable hardness poked against her ass and an embarrassing moan left her lips. I hope objects against my ass appear larger than they are, because that doesn’t seem physically possible.
He used her distraction to pull her closer still, so her back pressed to his chest and he could set his lips beside her ear. “If you keep up the squirming, that’s going to keep happening, and while I enjoy the feeling, I’d prefer you naked when we do it. Also, preferably not at my mother’s house.” His words were sinful and deep and made her tighten her thighs against the things the promise did between her legs.
“You can’t just say that,” she whispered back.
“No?” He slid his hand to her stomach and beneath her shirt.
The idea of him touching her stomach—her very much not toned or flat stomach—made her forget all the ease and lust. She pushed his hand away, and this time, he allowed it. He wrapped his arm around her to keep her in his lap, but he didn’t try to slip under her clothes again.
“Relax, Tara. We’re just sitting here.”
“No one is even out here.”
“So? They could come out. Besides, I like this.”
She wanted to twist around and glare, but doing so would cause a lot more movement and friction, and she was already far too tempted to move just to try and get his hard cock to grind against her clit.
How pathetic is that?
The fact was, any man with a squirming body in his lap would respond. Hell, a heavy enough sack of potatoes would cause a guy to pop an erection. What she’d seen as lust was just convenience. She was a body close by, warm and probably not too picky.
The idea chilled her enough to leash the want inside her.
He huffed an unhappy sound, as if he’d picked up on the change, but the emergence of his siblings from the house ended their conversation.
An hour later, Chris walked her to her car.
“Thanks,” he said from his place beside her. “She likes you.”
“I like her, too. You’ve got a nice family. Why do you have to fake relationships for them?”
They reached her car, but she didn’t rush to get in, choosing to turn and study him in the yellow streetlights as he answered. How was it possible for anyone to look good in that light? She resembled a ‘do you have jaundice’ website result while he looked as handsome as ever. Isn’t there any time the guy doesn’t look perfect?
“Because she wants me to settle down and that’s not my plan. I figured this would work better. She gets to think I’m going to pick a nice girl, have a bunch of kids, and I don’t have to listen to her complain about it.”
Tara folded her arms, the chill of the night getting to her. “And you don’t want that?”
Chris frowned and shrugged off his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders without mentioning it. The material bagged on her, but his body heat had warmed it up. Hell, it even smelled like him. “I don’t think it’s practical. I’ve never met a girl I could imagine marrying, that I could picture that sort
of life with. But my mom is getting older and telling her it isn’t going to happen seems cruel. I don’t see any reason to take away that hope.”
Tara pressed her lips together at the way Chris spoke. What problem would he have finding a girl? Hell, almost any woman would be thrilled to throw herself at him, to be whatever he wanted her to be.
“What about you? I’m sure you could have found a date for that wedding. I mean, Gena made it clear you wanted someone really hot”—he flashed her a wide smile—“but I doubt you would have had much trouble actually finding that.”
Right, because hot men are lining up for size-eighteen girls who can’t reach things on high shelves.
Instead of saying that, Tara fiddled in her purse for her keys. “I’ve done the whole relationship thing and look where it got me—invited to my ex’s wedding alone. I need to not look like the loser ex, but I also don’t want the complications of dealing with another man. That hasn’t ever worked out too well for me in the past.” She held her car keys in her hand, reluctant to go. “This seemed easier. Safer.”
Chris set his large, warm hand on the side of her neck, his thumb on her jawline, tracing it in a gentle caress. “I guess we aren’t so different.”
“Pretty different.”
He used his grip to tug her closer, one small, hesitant step after another until her breasts flattened against his chest. “Let me come home with you.”
“You did last night. It didn’t go well.”
“You were drunk last night. You aren’t now. Trust me, I’ll make it worth your time.”
The idea of trusting him made her want to give in. She wanted to turn off all that nonsense in her head, the never-ending monologue of negativity and self-deprecating humor, to listen to him instead of what she expected. It didn’t need to last forever, but she wanted a taste. She wanted to explore that fire he started inside her, that sizzling lust she’d never glimpsed before.
Mostly? She wanted more of him.
“Why me?” The question came out on a soft whisper.
His lips brushed hers, an almost-there kiss that teased her senses with promises of what could come. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, especially after the sneak peek I got this morning.”
