Craving Caden (Lost Boys Book 2)

by Jessica Lemmon

  “How was it?”

  “It worked. He was able to speak without a stutter after the kiss. Which suggests that—”

  “No, Tasha.” She gripped my wrist. “How was it?”

  “Electric,” I breathed. “Wild. Fun.”

  “The best.” She sighed.

  Then there had been more kissing. Tongues sliding. My fist gripping his shirt as I tugged his body closer to mine…

  If I hadn’t had a complete nerdgasm and insisted on writing down my findings, we could’ve made out on that blanket for the rest of the afternoon. That would’ve been lovely, I thought with a pinch of regret.

  “Don’t tell Devlin,” I added.

  “Don’t tell me what?”

  Crap.

  “Nothing.” I brightened when Devlin materialized out of nowhere.

  “Cade and Tasha made out at the art museum last week, and now Tasha won’t let Paul pay her for her therapy since her sessions will soon include sex,” Rena said.

  “Traitor!” Seriously. Could she have ratted me out any faster?

  “So much for you two hating each other.” Devlin smirked at me.

  I glared at Rena. “Thanks a lot, friend.”

  “He finds out everything anyway.” She sent him a saucy wink. “He has ways of making me talk.”

  His smile bordered between sinister and smitten, which was almost sweet. He was growing on me.

  “I should go. Let you guys open up the place.” I slid off the barstool and shouldered my purse. “Devlin, promise you won’t say anything to Cade. Or Paul.”

  He pursed his lips in thought.

  “You owe me.” He never would have pulled his head out of his own ass if it hadn’t been for my insisting he go to Rena and beg for her forgiveness. He owed me his happiness, dammit. And so did my best friend. “Rena?”

  “We promise.” When Devlin opened his mouth to argue, she held up a hand to stop him. “We won’t interfere, Tash.”

  There was not a swearword invented yet that could properly express the day I’d had.

  I pecked a text into my cell for Rena: I hate pathophysiology. And pop quizzes. And Tony. I sent it, reconsidered, and sent a follow-up text that read: Not in that order.

  I didn’t expect a reply. It was Friday night and she was probably neck-deep in customers at Oak & Sage. Great for her tip jar, not so much for me. I spotted a text conversation to Cade halfway down the screen. It was from a few weeks ago when I let him know I’d be a few minutes late. His reply had been: K. That’s it. Even over text he was tightlipped.

  Before I overthought it, I sent him one word.

  Hey.

  Wow. That was lame. Rain splatted my screen and I jogged to my car and climbed in just as the sky opened up. I watched the water pound the windshield before giving up on waiting on his reply. I could tell my worries to a glass of wine at home. That wouldn’t be so bad.

  Then my phone chimed with Cade’s response: Hey.

  Done with class, I texted back. Then I mustered up enough bravery to follow up with, Want to go for a drink?

  A bubble signifying he was typing a response hovered on my screen. I chewed on my lower lip, worrying I’d been too forward. Worrying he’d say no. Worrying he’d say yes.

  Can’t, came his reply.

  My chest deflated. I would have preferred a yes. My phone chimed again.

  Stranded.

  Car probs? I asked.

  Come here.

  My heart did a happy little leap. He wanted me to come to him. Going to his house for an impromptu visit wouldn’t be that much different from a normal session, I justified. Except I’d be tempted to kiss him again.

  I closed my eyes and vowed not to overthink. I’d channel my inner Rena and do something simply because it was fun. While driving safely and obeying traffic laws, of course. I was still me, after all.

  And who knew what would happen when I arrived? Maybe he’d be moody and quiet. Maybe no one would kiss anyone.

  But I want him to kiss me.

  Oh, boy. This was such a bad idea.

  I keyed in: Be there in 10 before I rationalized my way out of going to see him. It was just a visit. One drink, and then I’d go home.

  I could do that.

  Cade

  It was storming hard and my living space over the garage had sprung a leak. Well, more of a drip. I slid a plastic bucket under where the hole was and listened to the pat pat pat sound as I sent Tasha a text letting her know to meet me in the main house.

  I entered the house via the garage, shutting the door behind me. Rain slid down the windows and blew the trees. I walked to the front door, impatiently watching for her fancy BMW.

  I shouldn’t have suggested she come over.

  Not that I didn’t want her here. I did. But the idea of her crashing her zippy little car because I wanted to see her had tied my stomach in knots.

  I hadn’t seen her in a while. After watching her refuse Paul’s payment, I thought maybe she’d finally given up on me. And, honestly, who could’ve blamed her?

  Her text surprised me—in a good way. We hadn’t parted on great terms, so I wasn’t sure she’d speak to me again, even via text. If I wasn’t still waiting for a part to come in, my damn car would’ve been in working order and I could’ve driven to her house.

  A branch from the tall ash tree in our front yard thwacked the porch and snapped in half. If she was in an accident on her way here, I’d never forgive myself.

  Dammit. I should have told her to go home. She’d be safer there.

  Because of the rain? Or because of you?

  I unlocked my phone intending to call her—stutter or no—when headlights slashed over the wet street.

  I yanked open the front door, tugged her out of the car, and made out with her in the driving rain…in my head.

  In real life, I stood at the door wishing I’d had the balls to reenact a Nicholas Sparks movie. Yes, I knew who Nicholas Sparks was. I wasn’t a total dick.

  Tasha skirted puddles on her run to the front door, holding her pack over her head to keep dry. Not gonna lie, I didn’t like seeing that damn pack. I wondered if she still had those stupid straws in there. If she decided to try that again, I’d lecture her about the damage plastic straws had on the environment. I pushed the door open, and she ran past me just as lightning split the sky.

  She pushed her hair off her face, rainwater dripping down her cheeks. “So, it’s raining.”

  I took her pack and hung it on a hall tree by the door. She gave me a nervous smile. Nervous because she was off the clock? Or nervous because she was here to trick me into another session with whatever was in that pack of hers?

  “Is your dad at work?” she asked.

  I nodded. I didn’t trust my voice. And now that I thought about it, I should have warmed up with a couple of vocal exercises before she got here. I should’ve practiced in the mirror to see if I looked as stupid as I thought I would.

  “I hope he doesn’t get caught in the storm.” She sent a worried look out the window, and I realized I was going to have to either speak or have a text conversation with her to let her know what was going on.

  “Ow—” I closed my eyes and pulled in a breath. “Out of town.”

  Paul had gone to see a client in Michigan for work.

  Her beautiful blue eyes landed on my face. Calm spread over my chest. The last time I’d felt this calm, she’d been kissing me. I planned on kissing her again if she’d let me.

  “Drink?” I asked. No stutter. Nice.

  Maybe if I approached it like a game, speaking would be fun. I mentally chalked one point into the Me column.

  “No, thanks. I mean, I don’t know. I’m not sure how long I’m staying. I’m not sure why I texted you.” She frowned and so did I. I didn’t like that she didn’t know why she texted me. Not that I expected her to say she missed me, but it would’ve been nice to hear.

  “I had a crappy day. I guess I needed someone to talk to.”

  I let o
ut a rough laugh. She wanted to talk so she came to see the guy who didn’t?

  She bit back a smile and I shook my head. She was soggy and beautiful. And probably cold. Her shirt was soaked through, and as much as I wanted to stand here and ogle her nipples pressing the fabric, I should warm her up.

  I took her hand and led her to the half bath bisecting the foyer. I grabbed a towel from under the sink and threw it onto her head. Then I began to scrub.

  “No,” came her muffled protestation. She pulled the towel off her head and frowned at me from under a blond whirlwind. “I have fine hair and you’re tangling it.”

  She stood over the sink and finger-combed her hair, squeezing water out of the strands gently. Then she bent and dried her bare legs and arms.

  I was transfixed by the dance.

  “We could have another session tonight instead of next week if you want.”

  What a buzzkill. With my dad out of town for the weekend, I could think of plenty of things to do with the house to myself. They didn’t include this gorgeous specimen guiding me through a session.

  “I have my books with me. And the straws.”

  I fucking knew it.

  “If I can talk you into trying things my way.”

  “We d-did them yuh-your way.” Crap. Two points for the stutter demon.

  She either didn’t care or didn’t notice. Okay, she probably noticed. Just like I noticed the outline of her nipples visible beneath her white Ridgeway U T-shirt.

  “Do you mind?” She thrust the towel at me.

  “Not at a-all,” I mumbled, tossing the towel onto the sink and following her to the kitchen. She’d reclaimed her bag. It was hooked over one shoulder. She wasn’t giving up.

  I opened the fridge and pulled out two beers. I held one up, offering, though I wasn’t sure she’d accept.

  “Sure, why not? After my day, I need it.”

  I cracked the tops open on both and served her first. She slid onto one of the stools at the island and drank. Watching her delicately sip from a longneck bottle was sexy as hell. It also might be the highlight of my evening if I wasn’t very careful. If I had my way, I’d be making out with her long and slow by now.

  “What if we tried singing?” She looked delighted by this suggestion.

  “Ssssinging.” Shit. Three to one.

  “Not really singing, but there is a tongue exercise where all you do is say: la la la la la la.”

  “That’s singing,” I forced out, then gave myself two points for nailing it on the first try. Tied.

  Her smile was flirty. I hoped. I offered my hand and she took it, hopping off the stool and walking with me to the massive sofa in the living room. She sat, placing the pack between us, so I moved it to the floor and patted the cushion next to me.

  Tentatively, she scooted closer.

  “You c-came to tuh-talk. Talk.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Cade

  She let me have it.

  I was content to sit and listen. She talked with her hands, gesturing every so often. It was cute. Like the rest of her. I related to the agony of a pop quiz and dull lectures. First-world problems were commonplace in college but that didn’t make them any less irritating. Then she mentioned Tony, and I saw red.

  Not only had the asshole cheated on her, but then her friends had ditched her. All of them. Even the ones who hadn’t slept with Tony sided with the other girls. God, I hated that guy. I hated more that whenever she mentioned his name, she looked sad. I hoped she wasn’t still in love with him. She deserved a hell of a lot better than that two-timing prick.

  “Every time I see him, I’m reminded of how I wasn’t good enough to keep him, you know?” Her voice was far off, her eyes unfocused across the room. Then she blinked and faced me, her cheeks coloring. “Ignore me. I didn’t mean to talk about Tony. I just started complaining and…well. I guess I was on a roll.”

  Take-Charge Tasha was uncharacteristically fragile tonight. I was unused to it. I moved to console her, brushing her damp hair over her shoulder. Her eyes closed and she leaned toward my hand. Her next exhalation was the heady combination of peppermint candy and beer.

  Testing her, I leaned in. She elevated her chin, her gaze on my mouth.

  I didn’t hesitate.

  I touched her lips with mine, my hand cradling her head. She let out a tiny little mewing sound as I slid my tongue into her mouth. God, she tasted better than I remembered. I scooted closer as her smaller hand clutched my T-shirt, and—

  A high-pitched wail pierced the air. We sprang apart, both shocked and disoriented for a hot second.

  Siren. My brain chugged into gear at the same time hers did.

  “Is that the tornado siren?”

  Yup. I nodded.

  Leaves and rain pelted the windows, the siren drowning out the sound of the wind lashing the trees. Tasha held on to my arm, her eyes wide with fear. “I hate tornados.”

  Who didn’t? I snatched her pack, knowing she’d worry about it if I didn’t, and grabbed her hand. I led her to the basement. She squeezed the life out of my fingers as we jogged down the stairs.

  The lower level was exactly as the builders had left it—covered in shiny silver padding, exposed beams marking where there could have been another bedroom and bathroom. Dad wasn’t much of a handyman anyway, but after Mom—er, Joyce—left, he’d given up on finishing the space.

  Hail pinged the gutters and rapped the siding as the wind and the siren continued to howl. Tasha clung to me as I walked to the only furnished corner down here.

  There was a TV on a stand and a recliner in front of it. Paul’s pathetic man cave also featured a small side table, a lamp, and a mini fridge stocked with beer.

  I turned on the television to find a somber weatherman pointing to a blotchy, colorful map. The words “tornado warning” scrolled along the bottom of the screen with a list of affected counties. Tasha, her body quaking, glued herself to my side. I wrapped an arm snugly around her back.

  “Oh my God, what do we do?”

  I rubbed my hand up and down her arm and kissed her temple. We were doing what we could. We’d sought shelter. We were staying informed. There wasn’t much else to do but wait it out.

  Tornado warnings rarely affected our area specifically. The only reason I’d recognized the siren was because they tested it on the first Monday of the month, setting off a symphony of howls from neighborhood dogs.

  The weatherman warned his viewing audience to stay away from windows and to take cover in a bathroom or lower level. There wasn’t a bathroom down here, but it was plumbed for one. Figuring huddling there would be safer than standing in front of the television with the basement windows behind us, I headed for the tangle of pipes instead. Tasha’s hand in mine, I sat, my back against the wall.

  She sat next to me, her knees to her chin, her arms wrapped protectively around her. She was shaking like a leaf. The wind continued blowing and the sirens continued wailing. From the TV came the drone of the weatherman repeating his warning. I was starting to think this could be the real thing.

  Hail ticked the windows harder now. And when a loud thwack! shook the house, Tasha shrieked and buried her face in my T-shirt. I wrapped my arms around her. Fuck if I knew what to do if we were Auntie Em’d to Oz, but if holding her helped her feel safe, that’s what I would do.

  I liked that she trusted me to protect her. I was rarely accused of being a hero. Scratch that. No one had ever accused me of being a hero.

  I kissed the top of her head, inhaling the rainwater scent of her hair. She smelled amazing. She felt amazing. Half of me didn’t want this to end.

  “H-how long will it last?” she asked my shirt, then let out a nervous laugh. “Now I’m stuttering.”

  Half my mouth lifted into a smile. We both knew her stutter was caused by fear. Which made me wonder if my own stutter had something to do with fear. I wasn’t scared of the tornado. I couldn’t afford to be—not with her in my arms.

  I licked my
lips and shut my eyes, focusing on the smell of her hair. Then I took a deep breath and said, “Talk to me, Tasha.”

  Did you hear that? Just as clean as you please. My heart mule-kicked my chest. That steady voice reminded me of the old me. The me who could talk rapidly, clearly. The words used to drip off the tip of my tongue like honey. Damn, that felt good. To talk without stammering or stuttering or pausing to say “um” or “uh.”

  “I don’t want to talk.” She squeezed me harder. “I’m terrified.”

  “You’re safe,” I assured her. Ridgeway was in a valley. Tornados seemed to bounce right over us. The storm would likely yield no more than a few downed branches.

  She lifted her head, brushing my jaw with the tip of her nose. “Let’s not talk.”

  My skin caught fire. Did she mean—?

  I dipped my head, and our breaths mingled in the slight space between our parted mouths. The same want flowing through me like lava reflected in her darkening gaze.

  So, I kissed her.

  There, on the floor of the dusty basement, the wind howling and the television celebrating our imminent doom, I lost myself in the feel of Tasha’s mouth. In the soft pull of her lips and the sensation of her hand gliding over my chest.

  I was suddenly grateful I’d worked hard on my body. She liked touching me.

  I had no idea how long we made out. Long enough that my breaths had shortened, and she was half on my lap. I cupped her ass and settled her over what was quickly becoming a raging erection. My tongue in her mouth, I speared her hair with my fingers and deepened our kiss. When I let her take a breath, she rewarded me with a tantalizing mew.

  God. Her mouth. That was my favorite part of her.

  So far.

  My dick throbbed.

  “Cade,” she begged.

  As usual, I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to sneak my fingers into her bra and feel her nipples peak. I wanted to slip my hand into her shorts and find her slick and ready. I wanted to—

  “Cade,” she repeated on a half-laugh.

  “What?” I growled, out of breath and blind with lust. My hand tightened at the back of her neck.