The Real Thing (Sugar Lake Book 1)

by Melissa Foster

  “I’m not drunk.” She struggled until he finally set her on her feet. She swayed, and he gathered her in his arms. Sadness replaced the anger in her eyes. “Am I not slutty enough?”

  He was this close to giving in. “Stop.” His demand came out as a whispered plea. He thought he was strong, but she tore at him in ways no other woman ever could, breaking him down one word, one look, one blink at a time.

  “That’s it, isn’t it? I’m not slutty enough. You probably like those girls who flaunt their boobs and get down on their knees without asking.”

  “Damn it, Willow,” he snapped. “Stop this shit.”

  “Then tell me!”

  He turned away, running through the possible outcomes of telling her the truth. None of which were good. She’d either call him a liar or he’d ruin their friendship. The elevator stopped at their floor, and she pulled out of his grasp, storming down the hall. She looked sexy as hell stomping her little tanned feet, her incredible ass swaying angrily. He was so screwed.

  She reached their room and stood with her arms crossed and an angry scowl on her face.

  He swiped the keycard and pushed the door open.

  She shoved past him, tugging at the ring on her finger. “Why did you do this, anyway? Why me? Go get someone you can at least kiss, because obviously I’m not the type of woman you like anyway, so no one is going to believe it.” Her face was red with frustration. The ring was stuck on her finger. She pushed his chest. “I can’t take it off!”

  He grabbed her wrist. “Because you aren’t supposed to.”

  She was breathing so hard, smelled so good, but that desperate, sad look in her eyes did him in.

  “Tell me why, Zane.” She seemed to sober up. Her words were clear, her body steady. “Why wouldn’t you kiss me out there? I’m trying to play your game. I guess I found the line between being your adoring arm candy that you can press your lips and body to whenever you see fit and your don’t-touch-me friend. Clearly we’re not that good at crossing lines these days unless it’s done by your rules.”

  He stepped forward, still holding her wrist, and her back met the wall with a thud. “Stop. Talking.”

  “No. I want to know why you won’t kiss me.”

  “You don’t want to kiss me, Willow.” He heard the greed in his voice. “You’re just drunk.”

  “Maybe I just needed the liquid courage to act on my feelings. Maybe I’m just like all those other women who want you.”

  “Don’t even joke about that,” he snapped. “You’re nothing like them.”

  She arched against him, her hand surfing over his ass, her eyes turning sultry and dark. “That’s why you don’t want me?”

  “Damn it, Willow.” He grabbed hold of her other wrist, pressing both against the wall beside her head. “Because if I kiss you, I won’t want to stop, and we can’t go there.”

  Challenge rose in her eyes.

  “Wills,” he warned. “You’ll regret it in the morning.”

  She bowed away from the wall, brushing her thighs against his. “One kiss.”

  He pressed his body to hers, and her back met the wall again. She had to feel what she was doing to him. Had to know how much he wanted her. He should walk away, take a cold shower, and figure out how to get through the next two weeks, but he was drawn to her like metal to magnet. He wanted to peel her out of that dress and consume every inch of her.

  “Why?” He had to know why she was pushing him so hard.

  She ran her tongue over her lower lip, leaving it slick and enticing. “For old times’ sake.”

  He touched his cheek to hers, and she shuddered against him. As he breathed in her feminine scent, he realized why he’d held her like this so many times over the past few hours. It had been how he’d calmed her down all those years ago. She’d been so nervous, trembling even as she’d tried to act tough, just like she was now. But he’d known the truth. She was terrified. Was she scared now?

  “Your body remembers us,” he whispered, and he couldn’t refrain from sweeping his tongue around the shell of her ear, as he’d done that night. “My body remembers us.” He rocked his hips against hers and gazed into her eyes.

  “Z,” she said on a long, heated breath, reminding him of the breathless girl of almost eighteen who had captured his heart.

  “I can’t sleep with you, Willow. I care about you too much to jeopardize our friendship again.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re an arrogant man. I want your mouth, not your cock.”

  Jesus, his Willow was back in charge. Her confidence was an aphrodisiac—always had been. He held on to his control by a fraying thread. “Seeing your pretty mouth say that dirty word, baby . . . You have no idea how many times I have fantasized about that filthy mouth of yours. A kiss will never be enough. For either of us.”

  He tightened his hold on her wrists to keep from filling his hands with other enticing parts of her. She slid her knee up his inner thigh, tempting him to the edge of reason. He crushed his chest to hers and touched his lips to her forearm, aching to be buried deep inside her. She watched, breathing harder with each press of his lips as he kissed a trail down her arm. He moved his hand from her wrist to her fingers, holding her palm open, and circled it with his tongue, earning a heady moan from her.

  “Zane,” she begged.

  He brushed his lips over hers again, torturing them both as she craned forward, trying to catch his mouth. But he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop once he got ahold of her luscious lips. He kissed her neck, loving the way she craned back, offering him more. He dragged his tongue down the center and along her breastbone, then kissed his way back up again. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. He laced their hands together again, still holding them against the wall, struggling to maintain control of the desires stacking up inside him.

  “Promise me you won’t take off that ring.”

  “I won’t,” she panted out.

  “Promise me you won’t hate me for being weak. You’ve always owned me.”

  “I . . .” Her eyes came open, confusion and desire gazing back at him.

  He’d stunned them both with his confession, but he didn’t have time to explain. He needed her more than he’d ever needed anything in his life. “One kiss, baby.”

  “Yes—”

  He cupped her jaw, the fear of what they were risking causing his fingers and thumb to press too hard into her flesh as he angled her mouth beneath his. “Promise you’ll push me away if I get carried away.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, couldn’t wait another second. Their mouths crashed together in a desperate, fervent kiss. She tasted sweet and hot, meeting his efforts with insatiable hunger. His emotions reeled. He’d fantasized about kissing Willow again for so long, he couldn’t hold back, and he took the kiss deeper, kissing her rougher. She was right there with him, opening wider as he plundered and took, and took, and took.

  ZANE DIDN’T JUST kiss Willow; he possessed her with his arms, his hands, his wicked tongue. He delved into the far recesses of her mouth, unleashing a surge of heat that first flooded, then consumed her from the inside out. She had almost forgotten what a real kiss felt like. The way his kisses could draw the energy from every limb, until she felt it creeping beneath her skin, moving toward his talented mouth. His kiss reached into her core, stoking a long-ago forgotten fire, breathing spirals of ecstasy into every iota of her being. She grasped at his arms in an effort to remain erect in her dizzying world. Just when she was sure her heart would explode, his fingers fisted in her hair, and he tugged her head back—hard.

  His eyes were volcanic, and seeing him so desperate for her, so lost in them, sent her pulse skyrocketing.

  “Stop me, Wills,” he pleaded.

  His roughness electrified her. No way was she stopping either of them. She pulled his mouth to hers again, claiming him. Then his hands were on her ass, lifting her higher. Her legs circled his waist, her dress bunched around her middle, and she didn’t care. No, that was wr
ong. For the first time in forever, she did care. She cared a hell of a lot. She wanted her dress to melt off. Panties, too. She didn’t want anything separating them.

  His touch was controlling, his kisses raw and sensuous. She became aware of his hardness pressing against her center, his rampant breathing as he intensified their kisses, the scratch of his whiskers against her cheeks, and the air moving over her skin as he carried her across the room. They tumbled down to the mattress in a tangle of limbs, never breaking their connection. His weight pressing down on her was exquisite, and the intoxicating scents of whiskey and man made her head spin. She wanted to lick him, to drink him, to consume him, from his mouth to his ankles and every deliciously hard inch in between.

  Desire pounded through her veins as they rocked against each other, sparking so hot she was surprised the sheets didn’t catch flames. He reached over his shoulder and pulled his shirt off, like he’d done all those years ago, when he didn’t want anything separating them. He was giving her a green light, and she wanted to zoom right past it. Her eyes fell to the dusting of dark hair on his chest. She’d seen his body in magazines and in every movie he’d made. And when he’d come back to Sweetwater for visits, she’d seen him playing basketball with Ben shirtless. But she hadn’t looked closely, and she certainly hadn’t been able to touch. It was one thing to see him from afar, but up close and shirtless, when she knew what his body had looked like as a boy on the cusp of manhood? Nothing could have prepared her for the man gazing down at her like she was a pretty little rabbit and he was a hungry wolf. He lowered his mouth to hers again, and she readied herself for his cruel ravishment. She wanted it. God, how she wanted it. But he kissed her so softly, so tenderly, he took her breath away.

  His hand moved over her hip, up her ribs, and then his warm, strong hand left her body, avoiding her breast and stroking her cheek. A rush of emotions swamped her. You remembered.

  “One kiss,” he whispered. “It was never enough.”

  Her entire body arched off the bed, begging for his touch as he pressed his lips to hers in a series of provocative kisses. She wanted to touch his chest. Needed to feel that coarse hair on her fingers so she could recall the memory for her late-night fantasies. But she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, if she touched, she’d want to taste. And if she tasted, she’d want to follow that treasure trail lower. And that was out of the question.

  One kiss, she’d told herself.

  One kiss to get him out of her system.

  One mind-blowing, panty-melting kiss, to ease the mounting tension between them.

  He sealed his teeth over her neck and sucked.

  Oh, sweet baby Jesus, your mouth.

  Her nipples burned with the need to be in his mouth. All that grinding he was doing was creating delicious friction. Oh, wait, she was grinding, too. Stop. Stop grinding. Her hands moved to his ass. And what a fine ass he had. It was firm and round, and every time she squeezed it, he thrust harder. Yes, yes, yes!

  His mouth was on a mission to drive her out of her mind. Out of my clothes. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to wade through her tangled emotions. Wanton desires battled with reality. This could never go anywhere. They were playing roles. Or at least they had been. But this passion was as real as the man nipping at her lower lip.

  His dark, lustful gaze brought reality rushing in. The years had only kept her feelings at bay. He was her pièce de résistance. She wasn’t anywhere near over him. He was her cherry on top, the summit of a five-tier wedding cake. He was her strength and her weakness.

  He must have seen her conflicting emotions, because he drew back and said, “I know,” so tenderly, she wanted to yell, No. You don’t know. Ignore my waffling emotions and take me. Just take me. But she didn’t, and he kissed her again, slow and sweet and painfully delicious. He rolled onto his back and draped his arm over his eyes. “Alcohol wore off?”

  “The minute you picked me up after we left the bar,” she said honestly, trying to catch her breath.

  He rolled onto his side, taking her hand in his, and smiled down at her. “You weren’t out-of-your-mind drunk when you kissed me in the bar?”

  She shook her head. “I had only one shot after our drinks. I was tipsy. Maybe very tipsy. But not drunk.”

  He flopped onto his back again, exhaling loudly. “So you were fucking with me?”

  She pushed up on her elbow and ran her fingers through his chest hair. It was just as magnificent as she’d dreamed it would be. “Not really. I needed the liquid courage to get past not wanting to kiss you.”

  “Not wanting to kiss me? Christ, Wills. Way to stroke my ego.”

  She laughed and pressed her lips to the center of his chest. “I’m sure your ego will remain intact despite anything I say or do.”

  He hooked an arm around her neck and tugged her down, half beside him, half on top of him. “You’re wrong, you know.”

  “About what?”

  “Nothing,” he mumbled, and rolled on top of her, pinning her beneath him. “I need a cold shower.” He brushed his lips over hers again. “Want to make it a hot one and join me?”

  She laughed, her mind still foggy from making out. “We had our fun. Now get that fine ass of yours off me and go introduce yourself to your right hand.”

  He gave her one last loud kiss and moved to the edge of the bed. His broad shoulders rounded forward, and he lowered his face to his hands, breathing deeply. She lay in the middle of the bed, watching him and wondering how they’d gotten there. She was supposed to be catering an event, not helping him fix his bad-boy reputation, and definitely not making out with him and opening all the doors to the past.

  He pushed to his feet and stretched. The muscles on his back flexed, making her mouth water. He moved slowly, pulling his wallet, keycard, and phone from his pocket and tossing them on the nightstand. He glanced over his shoulder, and their eyes locked, stirring the emotions she was trying to pretend didn’t own her.

  “Last chance, sweet girl.”

  She closed her eyes to avoid falling into his. “I’m good, thanks.”

  She heard him walk into the bathroom and listened for the door to click shut, but it never did. The sounds of the shower brought her eyes open, imagining Zane stripping out of his jeans and boots. Knowing the only thing separating them was a few inches of drywall made her anxious. And hot. She pushed to the edge of the bed, digging deep for the courage to follow him, and rose to her feet too fast. All her blood rushed south. She reached for the wall to steady herself.

  Am I really going in there?

  She stood frozen, listening. For what, she wasn’t sure. She imagined his naked body as he fisted his cock to relieve the pressure they’d built. Her knees weakened, and she dropped back down to the bed.

  She wasn’t ready for this. For him. For what would inevitably be a painful end to their two-week sham. She’d had her fun. Now she just needed to find a way to satisfy the throbbing ache between her legs without Zane.

  AFTER A LONG, hot bath, Willow was clearheaded and strong in her resolve not to let their impromptu make-out session allow her to digress. She tiptoed out of the bathroom, hoping Zane had really gone to sleep as he’d claimed he was going to when he’d come out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, looking like sex on legs. Mark Wahlberg had nothing on him. Zane could have modeled for a Boogie Nights commercial with that viper in his drawers.

  The bedroom was dark, but there was no missing the form of a large, nearly naked man sprawled across the bed. Ugh. He was supposed to sleep on the couch. She eyed the narrow couch, then the bed. What woman in her right mind would turn away Zane Walker? The one who knows firsthand what sleeping with Zane means. A night of unforgettable pleasure, even her first time. A night of caring whispers and tender touches, and later, with the first two times under her belt, combustible, explosive, passionate sex. To be followed up by certain heartbreak when our fake engagement comes to an end and I’m still hung up on you.

  Wa
s it sad that the best sex of her life had been when she was just shy of eighteen and knew nothing about it? She’d tried to get lost in passion with the men she’d been with since, but no one had ever come close, which was a great reminder of why she couldn’t do it again. Because no one has the best sex of their life at that age. She’d obviously romanticized them and fictionalized their sexual encounter to heights no one could ever live up to.

  She gently moved his arm and leg to the other side of the bed and crawled in, huddling close to the edge. The sheets smelled like him. She buried her nose in them, closed her eyes, and at some point the sexy fantasies drifting through her mind lulled her to sleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WILLOW AWOKE TO warm breath against her cheek, a heavily muscled arm around her middle, and a hard cock nestled against her ass. This was not happening. But it sure felt good.

  No, no, no!

  She carefully lifted Zane’s wrist between her finger and thumb, thinking she’d extricate herself without any need for conversation. He curled his fingers around her ribs and pressed his body tighter against her. She closed her eyes, willing herself to move. But, but, but . . . One of her teenage fantasies realized in a few glorious seconds. Mm-hm, and what comes next? A shattered heart, you idiot.

  That was enough to set her into motion. “Zane,” she whispered.

  He didn’t respond.

  “Zane,” she said louder.

  He moved his leg over hers, trapping her with his powerful thigh.

  Lovely. “Zane, get up.”

  He snuggled in a little closer. Every hard inch of him squished between her ass cheeks.

  “Jesus, Z,” she mumbled.

  In the space of a breath, he was on top of her, straddling her hips and gazing down at her with that devilish grin that probably burned off half the panties in LA.

  “No,” she said.

  “No what?” He waggled his brows.

  She eyed his enormous cock. “No everything.”

  He looked down at his erection and laughed. “You’re going to give him a complex.”