by Thea Dawson
Unable to resist the chance to tease her, I lean toward her. “What’s the matter?” I ask in a low voice. “Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”
She glares at me. Even in the dim lamplight, I can tell her cheeks are flushed. “No!” she says a little too quickly. “I just … think it’s kind of an awkward situation, that’s all.”
I yawn, not bothering to try to hide it. “Don’t force me to carry you,” I threaten.
She looks at me sharply, not sure if I’m joking, and dismisses the threat. “You couldn’t carry me up a flight of stairs. I’m too heavy.”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “You think I couldn’t carry a tiny little thing like you upstairs?” I ask. “Sounds like a challenge.” I stand and make my way over to her. I’m aware that I’m coming perilously close to flirting with her. The wiser course would be to maintain a friendly but professional distance, but something about her makes me want to push her buttons … and her boundaries.
She gets up hastily and makes for the stairs on her own two feet. I’m oddly disappointed—I guess part of me really did want to prove I could carry her up—but also relieved that at least one of us has some common sense. I’m not really sure how her parents would react to me carrying their youngest daughter to bed like a caveman.
I chuckle and follow her upstairs.
We take turns changing in the bathroom then reconvene in the bedroom. Annabelle crosses her arms and stares at the bed.
“Um, seriously, if you’re uncomfortable with this at all, I can get out the extra blankets and stuff,” she offers.
Okay, maybe I’m being kind of a jerk by not offering to sleep on the floor, but it’s hardwood covered with a braided rug. I’ve slept in worse places, but I can’t say it’s all that appealing. I’d rather have the couch downstairs, but that would probably make it look like we’ve had a fight or are just friends or something. I wouldn’t molest Annabelle anyway, but after my fight with Alex this morning and a long drive in the car, I’m wiped out and just looking forward to a good night’s sleep.
Which is much more likely to happen in a bed than on a hard floor, extra blankets or not.
I sigh and give her a knowing look. “Look, I know you’re afraid you can’t trust yourself lying next to me all night—and I get that, I totally do—but I have faith that you can be a lady about it.” I grab one of the four pillows at the head of the bed. “Chastity pillow. We’ll put this between us so you won’t be able to accidentally grope me in the middle of the night. And in return, I’ll be a perfect gentleman. I promise.”
She rolls her eyes at me, but she’s smiling a little and I can see she’s conceded. She’s not ornery enough to make someone, even a near-stranger like me, sleep on the floor. And although it’s conceited of me to say it, I think part of her wants me in bed with her.
“Fine,” she huffs. I grin.
We climb into bed on our separate sides, I tuck the pillow between us, and Annabelle turns off the lamp on the bedside table.
The window is open. I can hear the soft lapping of the lake’s small waves against the shore and smell the fresh mountain air. Back in LA, it's almost impossible to see the stars over the bright city lights, but out here, thousands of them are scattered across the sky.
Beside me, Annabelle eventually relaxes into steady breathing that tells me she’s fallen asleep. I want to stay awake and just enjoy the peace and quiet here for a while longer, but eventually, I fall asleep too.
15
Annabelle
I wake up just as the sun is rising over the lake. For a few minutes, I lie in that dreamy stage between waking and sleeping, relaxed, comfortable, and oddly, a little turned on, as if I’ve just been having a sexy dream that I can’t quite remember. Without my glasses, the room is a blur of pearly early morning light. Above me, light reflected from the lake dances on the ceiling in watery patterns. The window was left open, and I breathe in the fresh cool scent of the water and the mountains, and snuggle deeper into the blankets.
My eyes pop open and suddenly I’m wide awake.
Somewhere in the night, the chastity pillow has disappeared, and I’m lying in Archer’s arms. I’m on my side, and he’s curled around me, spooning me. One muscular arm is thrown over my side, one large hand grazes my breast, and something long and firm presses into my bottom. I can’t see him but I can hear him breathing and feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest against my back.
He’s still asleep.
For a moment, I panic, completely unsure what to do. What if he wakes up? Will it be awkward?
Hell, it’s already awkward.
But it’s also … really nice.
I’m almost afraid to breathe lest I wake him up and ruin the moment, so I lie there and pretend I’m still asleep. I’m surrounded by the scent of him, and the warmth, and I decide to just enjoy the sensation of being in his arms. He smells like orange peel and redwoods. Every texture—the soft cotton of the sheets, the smooth feeling of his skin against my bare arm, the gentle tickle of his beard against my neck—feels heightened, and if I’m extra sensitive to everything.
His hand is a bare centimeter from cupping my breast. I imagine him running that hand under my tank top, down to my waist, between my legs. Unable to help myself, I press my ass gently into him and shift ever so slightly so that his hand slides more fully across my breast.
Is it my imagination or does the firmness that’s pressed against my backside twitch slightly and grow even harder? Behind me, Archer moans a little in his sleep. His arms tighten around me, his whole body seems to contract against mine, and he presses his length into me with deliciously slow intention.
I’m still pretending to be asleep but I’m fully awake now and my mind is whirling furiously. I’ve never had sex with a man I wasn’t dating. Even then, I’ve usually dated them for a while before going all the way. And I’ve only had a few boyfriends that ever got that serious. Sex with them was fun, but I can’t say it was ever overwhelming or life-altering, the way it is in books. Now, Archer’s well-toned body curled around mine, and inhaling the citrus-and-pine scent of him, I wonder if there’s another level, something I’ve been missing all this time.
Would I go all the way with a near-stranger like Archer? Some dim, prim part of my brains says no, but my hormones are staging a revolution. Morality and common sense might take a backseat to the chance to be with a man like this.
To be with Archer.
But I’ve never had sex outside a relationship—and I know that Archer isn’t looking for a relationship. Even if he were, I doubt I’d be his first choice. Would I be able to handle the emotional repercussions of a one-night stand?
As these thoughts are whirling through my mind, and I’m wondering how—and if—to turn my fantasy into reality, Archer shifts away from me.
Instant let down as the air behind me grows cool.
Quietly, as if trying not to wake me, he sits up then carefully gets out of bed. I pretend I’m still asleep because otherwise … awkward.
I’m aware of him grabbing some stuff from his bag and then tip-toeing out of the room to the bathroom.
The disappointment is almost physically painful. It’s not until he’s gone that I decide for sure that Yes! I want him. Even if it’s just once, even if it leads to heartbreak.
Because I have a feeling that once with Archer would be worth it.
He tiptoes back in a few minutes later. I stir and yawn and pretend to be just waking up.
“Sorry,” he whispers. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I’m going for a run. Back in half an hour or so.”
He’s changed into a t-shirt and running shorts, and he’s carrying his sneakers in his hand so that he can keep his footsteps quiet.
I wonder if there’s any way I could convince him to get back in bed with me but I’m not skilled at the art of seduction and have no idea how. I consider just flat-out asking him to kiss me, but the prim and proper part of me has launched a counter-revolution and is n
ow back in charge, at least temporarily. I can’t quite find it in myself to be that bold.
I settle for sitting up just a little. The strap of my camisole falls off my shoulder. I do not push it back up. “Okay. Don’t be long,” I say, trying for what I hope is a seductive smile.
Whatever it is, it doesn’t work. A momentary expression that might be confusion washes over his face, then he smiles in a friendly way, says, “See you in a bit,” and leaves the room, gently shutting the door behind him.
I fall back on the pillow, embarrassment and frustration vying for dominance.
Breakfast at the lake is a pretty casual affair. Sometimes we all sit down together, but more often we’re up at different times—Mom and Carina like to sleep in, while Dad and Brianna are usually up early enough to see the sun rise.
I loll about in my bed a little longer, then shower and wander downstairs. Brianna’s in the kitchen, and I’m happy to see that she’s made coffee. I help myself.
“Morning. I suppose you’ve been up for hours already?” I ask her.
She nods. “Dad and I took the Sunfish out because we wanted to see the sunrise from the point. Where’s Archer?”
I mix in some cream and sugar with my coffee. I don’t know how Brianna can drink it black. “He went for a run,” I say. “He should be back soon.”
“He seems like a really nice guy,” Brianna says. I can tell she’s trying to be encouraging.
“He is nice,” I agree with a yawn. I hope she’ll put my lack of giddy enthusiasm down to the fact that I haven’t had my caffeine yet.
“Is it serious between you two?” she asks.
I take a bracing sip of coffee before answering. “Don’t know yet. I like him, but we’re pretty different.” I give a noncommittal kind of shrug. “We’ll see.”
Brianna nods and, to my relief, doesn’t pursue the subject. “Hey,” she says, “How about you and Carina and I go to Smithy’s this afternoon, girls’ date?”
Smithy’s is an ice cream parlor in the little town nearby. When we were kids, going there was a big treat and a huge part of what made summers at the lake special. The thought of hanging out there with my sisters brings on a wave of nostalgia.
“What would I do with poor Archer?” I ask.
“We’ll only be gone an hour. He can take care of himself for that long. Or Mom can put him to work, or Dad can do his interrogate-the-boyfriend thing. Come on,” she grins at me, “you know you want some mint chocolate chip.”
My weakness. I grin back. “Fine. Maybe I’ll take Archer there tomorrow.”
“You totally should. Everyone should experience Smithy’s. But today, it’s just us Winters.”
The kitchen door opens and Archer walks in. Sweaty and breathing hard, he sweeps his hair away from his eyes and smiles at us.
I was right; he does look amazing even when he’s covered in sweat.
“Good morning,” he says. He gives Brianna a friendly nod, then walks over to me where I’m leaning against the counter and plants a kiss on my cheek. For a moment, my world is dominated by sensation—the heat that radiates from his body, the brush of his beard against my cheek, the musky, manly scent of him, and the soft touch of his lips—then he steps back, and I’m left with the vacuum his presence leaves behind.
“Want some coffee?” I have the presence of mind to ask, but I wonder if Brianna and Archer can hear the slight tremble in my voice.
He shakes his head. “Gonna go get a shower. But save me a cup, will ya?” With a wink and a grin, he turns away.
Brianna unabashedly sweeps him with her gaze, taking in his long, lean legs, his tight butt, and his broad shoulders, the muscles of which are clear under his damp t-shirt. Silently, she turns to me and gives me a nod of approval, along with a very un-Brianna-like thumbs up.
An hour later, showered, dressed and breakfasted, Archer and I are perched in my family’s larger sailboat, a Quest, which is tied to the dock.
I’m showing him around the boat and giving him a mini-lecture on tacking. He’s taking it all in, clearly excited to get out onto the water, and I’m having a good time teaching him. Being the youngest in the family, I’m used to being the one who gets told what do to and how to do it, and it’s a nice change to be in the expert role for once.
I show him the sails, tell him to watch out for the boom, and explain how the rudder works. The entire morning, I’ve felt as if I was buzzing with a kind of electricity, as if Archer’s presence sets off a chain reaction of static electricity sparks, half pleasurable, half painful, and impossible to ignore. As we do our lesson, I find myself looking for ways that I can brush up against him, excuses to touch his hand or his arm.
It hasn’t been difficult.
Does he feel this tension, these sparks, this energy between us? Or is it just me? It’s almost impossible to believe that a sensation this strong couldn't be at least felt, if not reciprocated, but nothing about his behavior suggests passionate attraction. He’s friendly and polite, nothing more.
Our morning cuddle seems to have been completely unintentional on his part. I shouldn’t read any more into it. I try to focus on our sailing lesson instead.
“When do we get to go out on the water?” he asks as if reading my mind.
I’ve been sailing on the lake since I was old enough to walk, and it’s fun to see how excited he is about doing something I take for granted. His boyish enthusiasm only adds to the sparks that are cascading over my body.
I force myself not to think about them and shrug. “As soon as you get your life vest on. Lake rule: if you’re on a boat, you’re in a life jacket.”
He nods. “All right then, where are the jackets? It’s time to hit the open water!”
“Down, boy.” I laugh. “We’ll get out there soon. There’s no wind at the moment, but it usually picks up late morning. Just be patient.”
“Okay.” He nods agreeably. “What should we do until then?”
Oh, the things I would like to do …
I shrug. “I don’t know … go for a walk, go swimming, maybe see if Carina or Brianna want to do anything.” I’m quite content for them to leave us alone, but I feel guilty for not trying to include them.
Archer studies me for a moment. “Why are you so insecure about your sisters, anyway?” he asks. “They seem nice and you’re really …” he hesitates for just a moment, then says, “cute.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Exactly. You’ve seen them. It’s like living with Barbie Dolls when you’re a … a Kewpie Doll.”
He laughs.
“It’s not funny,” I grumble, stepping around him to tie down one of the sails.
“Sure it is.”
“Easy to say when you look like a god.” As soon as I say it, I can feel my face turn scarlet.
“A god!” Archer grins at me. “You’re good for my ego. Or bad for it, I guess, depending on your perspective.”
“I’m sure your ego doesn’t need any help from me,” I reply tartly.
There’s a compartment in the center of the boat where life jackets are stored. Archer is sitting on the narrow bench that lines the side of the boat, and I’m stepping around him to get at it when he suddenly leans up and catches my eye.
“Come here,” he says in a low voice.
I stop and lean toward him automatically. “What?”
In response, he puts both hands on the side of my face and pulls me down for soul-scorching kiss.
It’s as if all those sparks that have been plaguing me all morning suddenly coalesce into something warm and intense, deep within me. I brace one knee on the bench beside Archer, place my hands on his broad shoulders for support, and return the kiss.
The kiss that we shared back in my bedroom at my parents’ house was exciting, but it doesn’t hold a candle to this one, given how close I am to combusting already. I’m entranced by the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of his lips on mine. His tongue seeks entrance to my mouth; teasingly, I deny him, then let him in, slowl
y, slowly, wanting to draw out every sensation as long as possible.
Then I hear a polite cough.
Brianna. Again. And out of the corner of my eye, I can see Carina standing next to her on the dock.
I don’t spring away this time though, just slowly pull back, not breaking eye contact with Archer. Whatever this magic is between us, I refuse to feel ashamed of it.
And then he winks at me.
My stomach gives a lurch as I realize that he didn’t just kiss me to kiss me; he saw Carina and Brianna coming and went into loving-boyfriend mode.
I can’t fault him for playing his role to perfection, but the disappointment almost knocks the breath out of me and I can feel the heat creeping up my cheeks.
I can’t let either him or my sisters realize how crushed I am though, so I plaster a fake smile on my face and turn to see what they want.
16
Archer
The truth is I wanted to kiss her. I’d woken up wanting even more than that.
It’s not unusual for me to wake up hard in the morning, so that alone didn’t really surprise me. But waking up both aroused and wrapped around Annabelle totally threw me for a loop.
So much for the chastity pillow.
The flowery scent of her hair, her soft breast just barely within reach, her bottom pressed against me … It was like waking up into a dream.
I tell myself that that’s the reason I’m feeling attracted to her now. She’s a nice, cute girl; I’m a healthy guy. Waking up next to her in bed first thing in the morning, of course I’m going to have the urge to do more.
Not that it would be a good idea. Because I may be a cynical asshole, even a man whore, like Alex says, but Annabelle is a sweet kid, and for all intents and purposes, a client. While my body would be quite happy to work out its frustrations with her for a couple of sweaty, athletic hours, my mind and my morals—what’s left of them—tell me that it wouldn’t be fair to her. She’s obviously not a one-night-stand kind of girl, and I’m not the type to stick around for breakfast, much less anything long term.
