“I have to go to the store anyway.” He flashed one of his smiles. “We might as well go together.”
“You need to go to the fabric store?” she said flatly, knowing he was bullshitting her. She realized her car smelled different, cleaner. The seats were shiny, the dashboard dust free. “Did you clean my car?”
“Detailed it,” he said casually, as if he did this type of thing every day. For all she knew, he did. “Changed your oil, topped off your fluids. You really need to do those things every three thousand miles.” He touched the doll hanging from her rearview mirror. “I dusted off this, too, even though I’m a little worried that it’s a voodoo doll.”
She wasn’t about to tell him it was a worry doll that she loved more than life itself.
“Bear.” She couldn’t suppress her smile about the voodoo doll as she drove toward the store. “You really need to stop acting like you have to take care of me. I appreciate you handling the inspection, which I’m paying you for, by the way. But you don’t have to do all these things for me. I already like who you are.” Even if I have a hard time showing it.
“I know you do,” he said, as cocky as ever.
Why is that such a turn-on?
“I didn’t do it to get your attention. Shit, six three, two thirty.” He flexed his biceps and winked. “You’re sitting next to Peaceful Harbor gold, baby. I’ve got your attention.”
She couldn’t suppress a laugh. “That you do, and probably half the women in this town.”
“Only half?”
He kept her laughing the whole way to the fabric store, and it was just what she needed. It really had been a long day. They’d hosted three parties, and one of the mothers was just about the most obnoxious woman on earth. She’d pushed her daughter toward pink frilly outfits for the first half hour, when all the little cutie had wanted was to dress up as a skateboard princess. Gemma realized Crystal was going to strangle the wench, and she’d calmly suggested the woman head down to Jazzy Joe’s for coffee. The rest of her day hadn’t been much better. Plus, she’d spent the morning overthinking everything about her relationship with Bear, which was probably why she’d freaked out when she’d really been dying to kiss him.
She parked in front of the fabric store. There were some things that just didn’t fit in the world as Crystal knew it, and Bear Whiskey clad in a tight black T-shirt that said Whiskey Bro’s across his massive chest, a pair of snug, low-slung black jeans, and leather boots strutting into Jennilyn’s Fabric was on the top of the list.
She pulled her list from her bag as his eyes coasted over the store. What was he thinking, coming with her? That was dedication she could not ignore. The epitome of commitment.
That is Bear.
My Bear?
She toyed with that as he draped his arm over her shoulder. She wondered what had taken him so long. She’d expected him to do it the second she’d stepped from the car, but he was probably in shock that they were actually going to a fabric store. She smiled to herself as he leaned closer and rubbed his nose along her cheek.
“Can I help you?” she asked with a laugh.
“You smell like jelly beans, and I happen to have a thing for sugary goodness.”
“You can’t seriously have that good a sense of smell.”
He pressed an unexpected, and deliciously warm, kiss to her cheek and reached into her purse, withdrawing a bag of jelly beans. “Hoarding? Or were we going to hide these later in your body and let me find them?” He moved his mouth beside her ear and whispered, “Blindfolded. With my hands tied behind my back.”
He nudged her deeper into the store. Holy crap. She’d stopped walking. Was she breathing? And was that a thing? Blindfolded? Hands tied behind his back? Oh, the control that would give her. She’d be at no risk of being overpowered. But would she want that much control? She imagined herself lying naked on her bed, watching as his greedy mouth moved over her breasts, down her belly, and she felt herself go damp.
No, no, no.
Ice cream. Ice baths. Cow poop!
Her body continued vibrating from the inside out. This was bad. Really, really bad. Like a virus she couldn’t shake. She needed an anti-Bear pill. Stat!
She focused on finding the items on her list and assessed the bolts of fabric against the wall. Bear held up a green jelly bean. When she reached for it, he pulled it away and shook his head, then held it up to her mouth. The man could make anything sexual. The look in his eyes when he placed that little green candy on her tongue was liquid fire, and it made her feel naughty and sexy.
Her expression must have given her away because a crooked smile dripping with wicked intent crept across his lips.
“Fabric.” The word fell from her mouth like a rock. “I need fabric.”
“Me too.” He reached over her shoulder and fingered a bolt of red satin. “Something like this, maybe?”
Red satin sheets, his hands tied, eyes blindfolded, strategically placed green jelly beans. Her hands began to sweat. She wiggled out from beneath his arm.
“Burlap. Thick, ugly burlap.” She walked away as quickly as she could, hoping the other side of the store had more oxygen.
Almost two hours, a long discussion about the costumes she was making, and several green jelly beans later, Crystal began unloading the cart at the cash register. She picked up several yards of red satin and black lace that were shoved between the bolts she’d chosen. He must have had them cut when she was busy talking with the saleswoman. You sneaky thing. Sneaky sexy thing. Sneaky sexy thing in a fabric store.
I’m in so much trouble.
“Ahem…?” She held up the sinfully soft fabric.
Bear smirked. “What?”
“I am not buying these.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder in a show of finality. “That material has no place in the costumes I’m making.”
He took the fabric from her hands, and boy did it look good in his.
What is wrong with me? She’d turned into some sort of sex-starved vixen.
The jelly beans!
Wasn’t that the joke in high school? Or was it green M&M’s that were supposed to make a person horny? She looked at her burly biker boy’s sinful smile and knew it had absolutely nothing to do with green anything.
“You’re obviously making the wrong type of costumes.” He ran the satin over his muscular, inked forearm.
She needed that fabric.
She snagged it from his hands and tossed it on the counter.
“That’s my girl.” His arm wound around her again.
She was pretty sure it had taken up residence there. “I’m not your girl.”
She was so full of bullshit her blue eyes were probably brown. She might not be his in the sense he wished, but she was a fish on the line, and she was going nowhere without losing a piece of herself. Why was she fighting him so hard when she didn’t really want to resist him? She’d kissed men since the attack, but she’d felt nothing for them. She felt so much for Bear she was freaking herself out about it. She needed to stop worrying and take that first step.
She toyed with the idea of taking a leap of faith and giving in to her feelings.
Bear put on a country music station on the way to her apartment, and when her favorite song came on, “Setting the World on Fire” by Kenny Chesney, Bear sang it word for word, chipping away her walls a little more. Every note brought a pulse of anticipation. She’d watched that video more times than she cared to admit. In fact, Bear resembled the hottie in the video—only Bear was hotter, bigger, and currently looking at her like she was the shake to his fry. Steak fry. The really big ones. She’d felt the heat he was packing, and that baby was not a puny McDonald’s French fry.
She pulled into her apartment complex feeling happier, and more nervous, than she had in years. But it was a good type of nervous. They’d had so much fun, and he’d kept her body on edge all night. Almost all year.
He came around the car while she grabbed her purse, and he opened her door, helping
her to her feet. He didn’t step into her personal space as he had in the boutique, and she was even more drawn to him because of it. She didn’t want to keep fighting the gravity between them, and there was no reason to. They were both single, they were good friends, and—
She was done overthinking. She stepped into the safety of his arms, drawn in deeper by his warm honey-colored eyes. His hands moved up her back, coming to rest on each shoulder, like the shoulder belts on roller coasters, binding them together.
“Sweetheart, you are incredibly beautiful.”
Ohgod. I can’t stop looking at your lips.
“You’re funny and smart…”
His words floated into her ears, but she was mesmerized by his mouth, moving just out of reach. She’d watched it for so many months, dreamed about it night after night. His tongue swept across his lower lip, leaving it slick and enticing. She wanted to taste that tongue, to feel it move over hers. She hadn’t even kissed a man in so long, she wasn’t sure she remembered how. But right here, beneath the starless sky, within the arms of the man who had relentlessly pursued her, she didn’t care if she did it wrong. She just needed to do it. She needed to kiss him.
“Please tell me, sugar. When are you going to let me kiss—”
She fisted her hands in his shirt and went up on her toes, pulling him down, and smothered his words with the hard press of her lips. The pit of her stomach whirred a flurry of heat and excitement. His hands moved over her back, pressing their bodies even closer together. His kiss was surprisingly gentle, exploratory, delicious. They kissed for a long time, there beside her car, in the middle of the parking lot. When they finally came up for air, Bear kept her close, which was a good thing, because she was pretty sure her legs had turned to noodles, and if he let her go, she’d slither to the pavement. He brushed his whiskers along her jaw, sending shivers down her spine.
“Jesus,” was all he said.
Her hands were shaking as she reached up and touched his face. She’d been dreaming about it for so long, she thought she knew what his skin felt like, but she’d been way off. Despite how rugged and chiseled his features were, his cheeks were soft and smooth above his whiskers.
He covered her hand with his, keeping it there, and touched her lips again in a whisper of a kiss. And another. And another. Until he reclaimed her mouth, more demanding this time, delving deeper, taking her rougher, and somehow, still tenderly. He kissed like the waves rolled in, smooth and even, then powerful and pervasive, only to ease up again. Just when she met his rhythm, he intensified his efforts. Every wave was stronger than the one before, and when she was so high on him she thought she might pass out, he breathed air into her lungs, taking her to another level of intimacy she never imagined possible. All in a single incredible kiss.
My Lord.
If he could turn her inside out with his kisses, what would he do when he touched her, when he made love to her?
How would she survive Bear Whiskey?
Panic began as a swirl in the pit of her stomach, and she fought against it, refusing to let it take hold. It had been years, not days, not months. Years since that awful attack. She’d done all the right things. She’d reinvented herself, gone to therapy every fucking week. She’d kept her secret from ruining her life—or at least she thought she had. But as Bear’s hands moved lower, cupping her ass, and he ground his hips against her, making her dizzier, drunk on him, she felt herself slipping.
Losing her footing.
I’m not afraid.
I want to be with you.
Anxiety clawed up her limbs, making her rigid despite her desires. Her breaths came in fast, hard spurts.
“Crystal?”
Bear’s voice sounded far away.
I’m okay. I’m okay. I want you so fucking badly.
“Crystal, look at me. What’s wrong?”
The concern in his eyes nearly knocked her off-balance again. “Nothing,” she finally managed. “I…” Need to get a grip. “I’m just tired, and that kiss. Damn, Bear. That kiss…”
He splayed his hands over her back, searching her eyes. “More than two hundred and fifty days of foreplay has its benefits.” He nuzzled against her cheek again. “You sure you’re okay? You don’t look okay.”
“I’m fine,” she said, trying to ignore the heart palpitations determined to do her in. What the fuck was going on? She’d spent months keeping him at arm’s length, and she didn’t want to do that anymore. “It was the kiss.” Damn, she didn’t mean to say that out loud.
“Crystal,” he said with a compassionate lilt. “You can talk to me.”
She stepped from his arms, needing space to lower her invisible armor into place. She absolutely was not afraid to be intimate with Bear, and this panic was totally messing with her head. She grabbed the back door and flung it open, snatching the bags from the seat to give her hands something to do before they curled into fists she couldn’t unfurl.
“I’m fine, okay?” She didn’t mean to snap, but if he pushed, she’d disappear into her head, and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want this! This negativity between them, the fucking worry in his eyes. She wanted to kiss the man she’d longed to be closer to and not have her heart race, not have her mind rush back to the fucker who had taken her against her will. And not have Chrystina peek her weak fucking head into kick-ass Crystal’s life.
She wanted normal.
He reached for the packages. “Let me help you with those.”
“No,” she said too quickly.
“No?” Confusion riddled his brow, and just as quickly it morphed to frustration. “What’s going on, Crystal? You’re hot one minute, cold the next. What’s your deal?”
She rolled her eyes, a mannerism she’d mastered knowing it drove people nuts—the perfect way to keep people away. In full-on Crystal mode, she straightened her spine and met those honey-colored eyes, which melted her resolve and strengthened it at once. Self-preservation was to Crystal what breathing was to others. As she prepared to give him a snappy retort and storm off, she realized he didn’t have his truck or his motorcycle. Damn it. She had to drive him home. What was the universe doing to her? She dropped her shoulders and tossed her bags back into the car.
“Get in. I’ll take you home, and you can hit the bar and pick up someone to help you with those blue balls I’m sure you’re packing.” She bit back the bile rising in her throat. She hated saying something so vile and mean, but it was the only way. She needed to be alone to clear her head, and there was no stopping this runaway train except to completely derail.
Bear grabbed her arm and spun her around. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
She wrenched her arm free. “Just get in. I’ll take you home.”
Maybe some girls in her situation would tell him he could do better, or that they couldn’t be what he needed, but she didn’t believe that. Not for a single second. She was not going to let some asshole from her past ruin her chance at happiness. She was good and smart and strong. So fucking strong. She was more than good enough for whomever she wanted to be good enough for. Self-worth was not the issue here, and she knew that as wholly and confidently as she knew she had to get away from Bear to deal with the war raging inside her head. She just needed to figure out how to get past the anxiety brought on by being close to the first and only man she’d ever wanted.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Crystal, what the—”
“Do you want a ride?” Because you better get in now before I lose my head over the thought of you and another woman.
“No.” His voice was dead calm, his gaze locked on her.
“No? Bear, you’re not coming upstairs.” She sounded cold and distant. She fucking hated cold and distant, but she needed it. It was the only way.
His eyes narrowed. “You’ve driven that point home as clear as those pretty cock-teasing eyes of yours.” He rolled his broad shoulders back, his tatted-up biceps flexing as he pulled his phone from his pocket.
She wa
tched him stalk away, his black boots eating up the pavement as he brought the phone to his ear, heading for the street.
Chapter Four
BEAR WIPED THE sweat from his brow, listening to the familiar sounds of the auto shop. After an entire week of frustrating days and restless nights spent debating showing up on Crystal’s doorstep and insisting they talk their shit out, he’d finally had it. He’d woken up at the crack of dawn on Friday and decided this was it. He was done giving her space. Seven days was enough time for her to admit what she wanted. He didn’t know what happened the other night, but there was no way the kiss they’d shared was the kiss of a woman who didn’t want him. She wanted him, and it was time for her to own up to it.
Decision made, and unable to go back to sleep, he’d gone down to his garage at five thirty, hoping to distract himself for a few hours. He’d spent the morning working on the motorcycle he was building. Motorcycles were his first love. According to his parents, from the time he learned to walk and talk he’d been drawn to them. While his father had been happy to share the biker culture with his children, it was his father’s brother, Axel, who had taken Bear under his wing and taught him everything he knew about mechanics, and more specifically, about motorcycles. From a young age, Bear had worked under his uncle’s tutelage in the auto shop. By the time he was sixteen there wasn’t anything he couldn’t repair or build. At eighteen he was designing motorcycles.
He’d attended a technical high school, where he studied collision repair and automotive technology, and he’d done well enough to receive a scholarship to go to college for engineering and industrial design. But that had fallen by the wayside when his father had suffered his stroke. He’d thought his dreams would never come to fruition, but a few years later, Bear met Jace Stone at a rally. Jace was the co-owner of Silver-Stone Cycles, which were among the most sought-after custom motorcycles. At the time they’d just opened a new location in Pennsylvania, but Jace had been impressed with Bear’s designs and said he’d be in touch when they were ready to expand again. It had given Bear a shred of hope that even without the degree, he might still have a chance at turning his passion into reality. But when they’d come back to him last month to discuss their expansion into Peaceful Harbor, they’d wanted him to commit to a full-time position. As much as he wanted to take his designing to the next level, he hadn’t been ready to walk away from the family business completely. Two weeks ago they’d offered him a part-time position. It was exactly what he’d hoped for. The offer was on the table. They were just waiting for him to commit to a schedule before hammering out the final details.
Truly, Madly, Whiskey Page 5
