SweetlyBad

by Anya Breton

  Her stomach dipped at the intensity of those words. A thrill shot through her.

  Logic won out over silly emotion. No, he wouldn’t be her ex because they’d never make it to the dating part of a relationship. He’d leave her in a few days when he got tired of her. Or when he realized she was a cow compared to every other woman he’d ever been with.

  “I’m going to be the man you deserve,” he went on in that grim voice that sent shivers along her arms. “I have a long way to go but one day I’ll be worthy of you. Until then, there’s no one for me if I can’t have you.”

  Headlights pulled into the parking lot. A colored light bar caught on the interior glow. Erica jumped at the chance to avoid Drew. She dislodged the bar they’d placed over the office door. Quickly she twisted the bolt and then headed outside.

  Please let it be a deputy instead of Sheriff Kevin.

  While she’d need a visit from the sheriff about Jared’s sabotage, now was the absolute worst time. She wouldn’t be able to explain the three unconscious witches chained to her lift post, hidden behind the closed garage door.

  A smile of relief took up residence on her face when she spotted Kevin’s little brother Keith leaning out the driver’s window. Erica started across the parking lot as she silently spun a tale for why the garage was lit up at ten o’clock at night.

  Drew squinted out the window.

  Was that an extra sway to Erica’s hips? Didn’t she know what that did to a man? It hadn’t been meant for him but already he was experiencing the fallout.

  He slumped against the counter where he could still see her.

  Unfortunately he caught a whiff of his underarms in the pose. Dear Aer, he stank. She wasn’t kidding. And she’d fucked him in the garage earlier? He couldn’t have smelled much better a half hour ago.

  They’d been desperate for each other then. Nothing had mattered except being together. How could he get that back?

  He sank further as she leaned closer to the car and exposed more of her generous breasts. She was distracting the guy away from the captives they had behind the garage doors, wasn’t she? She wouldn’t flirt in front of him and mean it…right? Unless she wanted to get back at him for calling twenty-three witches yesterday.

  Yet Erica had called his mother on his behalf. Considering Amanda had actually listened, Erica must have been damn persuasive. She might not want to admit it but she cared about him—at least enough to worry about his safety.

  Was it enough to begin something more?

  Fuck that. Drew didn’t want something more. He wanted the rest of her life.

  He shot to his feet, shocked at himself.

  But it felt right. For the first time.

  He’d proposed to Elizabeth months ago when he’d been drunk, because she came from a wealthy family that could set him up in style for life and because the match would please his mother. This time was different. He hadn’t met Erica’s family and Amanda sounded as if she’d sooner share a room with a carnival of giant mutated fleas than meet Erica. Drew wanted Erica for himself. He had no interest in her garage or her house. He only wanted her—in her big bed beneath the crisp cotton sheets, in the Shaker rocking chairs on her front porch with glasses of lemonade in hand and on sultry nights spent lazily watching television.

  No matter how much he wanted to fuck her, he had to wait until she was ready.

  This was one wait that would be well worth the effort.

  * * * * *

  Erica was exhausted. The Cleaners had finally taken the witches away. They’d lingered for an hour, scrutinizing the garage and surrounding landscape—she assumed for inexplicable things.

  There’d been a heated exchange between Drew and one of the men who had stepped out of the white panel van marked with a logo for Roto-Rooter. Several times they’d glanced her way—implying the exchange had been about her. No doubt because she wasn’t supposed to know of their existence.

  Well too damn bad. She’d earned the right to know.

  “I need a hot shower and to sleep until Monday,” she said as she brought the garage doors down for the final time.

  Drew hovered near his Ferrari. He looked like a lost pup. She hadn’t the heart to leave him behind.

  “I bet you do too,” Erica said. “Come on. Let’s head back to the house.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She hesitated beside the office. “I was until you asked me that.” Erica swung back toward him. “You can come home with me as long as you understand our one-night stand is over.”

  His lip pursed but he nodded. “I understand.”

  “And you’re sleeping in the guestroom.”

  He said nothing.

  A part of her whimpered.

  Didn’t he want to sleep with her now? Or had he been using her all along?

  She clenched her fists at the thought. He had to get a job and a place of his own as soon as possible. She couldn’t have him freeloading forever, no matter how adorable he looked.

  She’d tell him in the morning.

  Drew could sleep for days. But first he needed one helluva shower. His stench filled the cabin of Erica’s beat-up sedan.

  She’d been quiet since she invited him back and she’d avoided looking at him. It was easy to guess why. She’d been attacked several times because of him. The smart thing to do would be to insist he leave. Why hadn’t she done the smart thing?

  She hadn’t acknowledge what he’d professed earlier, had avoided him ever since. That bothered Drew more than he liked. It wasn’t often that he took chances like that.

  At least she hadn’t outright rejected him.

  Maybe that would have been better. It certainly would have told him where he stood. Now…now he was stuck waiting and tiptoeing around her when all he wanted was to fuck the last of her energy away so she couldn’t think of turning him out.

  Up the graveled hill she drove. Her stereo played something soft and sentimental. He glanced at her, recalling the romance novels in her bedroom.

  This badass mechanic hid a tender heart.

  Aer, how he wanted it.

  She pulled into the driveway in front of the Cape Cod. After rubbing her fingers between her eyes, she popped the door. Drew joined her on the blacktop. He trailed her to the door with his hands shoved in his pockets so he couldn’t reach for her.

  Erica disappeared inside. She plunked her purse down on the nearest chair then started across the living room in the darkness. Her footsteps halted.

  “I almost forgot I wasn’t alone.” Her rueful tone dug into him. He hadn’t forgotten she was with him. “You can shower first,” she said. “I had one this morning.”

  He strode toward where she’d been. Her buttercream scent undercut by smoky sweat told him he was in the right place. “I don’t know where I’m going.”

  Erica’s hand gripped his. “I’ll show you.”

  The sweet scent increased as they entered her bedroom. It alone seized his balls. His mouth watered from the memory of her sugary taste.

  Harsh light blinded him from inside the dated bathroom. Erica drew aside, making room for him to pass. “Towels are in the cabinet in there. There’s shampoo, conditioner, soap and razors but they’re all feminine. I don’t mind if you use them…” She shrugged as if to say he’d mind.

  “Feminine is better than stinking,” he said.

  “Yeah.” She sidled by, careful not to touch him. “The guestroom is the next one over. I’ll make sure it’s ready by the time you’re done so you can sleep.”

  Erica started for the guestroom. He opened his mouth to call her back. They both needed a shower. Why not share it?

  Because she wasn’t ready.

  He stepped into the bathroom and began shucking his reeking clothes without closing the door. Let her look if she liked. Let her join if she wanted.

  He twisted the shower knobs in the faux-marble tub and opened the towel cabinet. The bathroom looked as though it had been built in the seventies though the house was muc
h older. It wasn’t the opulence he was accustomed to but it had small-town charm.

  Drew slipped behind the shower curtain, beneath the hot water. He moaned as it washed away the stink. Soap. Heavenly soap. He snatched it up and lathered up his hands. The water sluicing over his sensitive organ reminded him of something else caressing him.

  His eyes closed to sharpen the image of Erica spread before him. He needed her, now, tomorrow, next month. But it had to be her decision.

  He gripped his cock, imagining it was her. Their desperate sex replayed behind his eyelids. He pressed the wall, bracing himself even as he worked his other palm over his organ.

  Too soon, he came alone against the faux marble. He exhaled a grumpy sigh. Yes, it needed to be Erica’s decision to let him stay in Stoddard but he wasn’t going to be able to wait long before he swayed that decision with sex.

  Drew straightened, grabbing the shampoo off the shelf. He massaged it into his scalp while pondering his next move. The Ferrari had to go—after all, it had caught fire. He’d find the money to have it towed to Boston for the fix then he’d sell it. Normal people were able to survive on less than a hundred thousand dollars a year.

  Normal people had jobs.

  He didn’t want to stock groceries. What did he want?

  Erica.

  Besides that!

  Drew dug his fingers into his scalp. He’d not stuck with anything long. His degree was in business yet he had no interest in getting a stuffy desk job. Would she let him stay if he gave her the Ferrari?

  She had lusted over it more than she had him.

  That was it. He’d give her the car. Maybe that would be his invitation to stay.

  The faint moan that carried through the wall could only be because of one thing. Erica pursed her lips. He was masturbating.

  Clearly he’d decided she was too disgusting to screw now that he wasn’t going to die.

  And after she’d helped save him too.

  Erica snapped the blanket onto the bed, furious with him. With herself. She shouldn’t care what he thought about her. She was healthy. She never had a problem doing anything that needed to be done—from running to lifting heavy objects. Drew Haizea could take a flying leap off the pier out back.

  Nevertheless she stomped out of the guestroom and to the kitchen. Her first thought was to devour the last of the pricey dark chocolate she kept in the drawer for an emergency. But things like that were why she was in this situation. Next she considered the open bottle of Lambrusco. Not a good idea when she was bound to get drunk and shamefully proposition him.

  Amanda’s words haunted her. After he called a few dozen women looking for a hook-up, you still slept with him.

  She had. Because she was pathetic—a bleeding heart with a lonely libido. Tomorrow she’d tow his car to Boston like she’d said. And then life could go back to normal.

  * * * * *

  Drew stared up at the ceiling. It was flat and without decoration. No crown molding or artistic swirls for this house. Yet he smiled. Erica’s house didn’t need frivolous designs. It felt more like a home than Haizea House ever had.

  A sleepy snuffle caught his attention from the nearby room. He wanted to be in there, spooned behind her curvy ass, caressing her mouthwatering breasts. Drew groaned at the torment.

  He sat up, staring at the sparse room in the darkness. This was no fun. Drew of old would have walked out the second he discovered there’d be no sex. That Drew wouldn’t have wanted to expend any effort to get what he wanted.

  He wasn’t Drew of old.

  Drew tossed his legs over the edge, easing himself onto his feet. He tiptoed into the corridor. Her next snuffle froze him in place.

  Had she heard him?

  When she said nothing for a pair of seconds, he continued. But not to her bedroom. Instead he padded into the living room.

  There’d be no sleeping tonight. He might as well catch up on television while he waited for her to wake up. With the volume low, he flipped through the stations.

  She had satellite. A good package. Drew flicked the button for the DVR. Several entries had been recorded. Romance. Rom com. Sweeping epics about love.

  Erica Pearce, auto mechanic and closet romantic.

  He flipped back to the current offerings and scrolled through the channels. One caught his attention and held. Drew glanced around, an idea forming in his head.

  It was perfect.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A noise in the house woke Erica from a sound sleep. Sun spilled in through the windows—the angle hinting it was nearly noon. It had been a rough day and a longer night. She wouldn’t regret sleeping late.

  Another sound gripped her heart in fear. Drew. Was he okay? Were more witches attacking?

  Someone softly knocked at the door.

  Attacking witches wouldn’t softly knock.

  The door opened. Drew stepped inside, carrying a tray. He was dressed in a crisp button-down dress shirt in a shade of blue that did lovely things for his hazel eyes. A fresh pair of beige slacks hung from his muscular legs. He looked as put together as he had when she’d picked him up on Route 9, apart from the slight puffiness of his jaw. His tray was laden with plates, a glass of magenta liquid and a lilac flower from the bush out back.

  Erica’s heart lodged in her throat. She couldn’t breathe through the phantom blockage.

  “I made breakfast.” He closed the distance and then nodded at her. “You’ll have to sit up if you want to eat.”

  Her hand went to her hair. It had to be a mess. She’d slept on it when it was wet. And her face…she hadn’t a speck of makeup on.

  “You look beautiful in the morning,” he said as if guessing her thoughts.

  Warmth flushed her cheeks. “You say that to all the women.”

  He gave a firm shake of his head. “I don’t stay until morning.” Drew cleared his throat. “And I definitely don’t make them breakfast in bed.”

  Breakfast. In bed. Was there anything more decadent?

  Erica sat up, scooching back against the pillows.

  Drew arranged the tray on her lap. He gestured at the first plate. “French toast lightly dusted with powdered sugar.”

  The golden brown toast looked crispy and smelled sweet.

  “Two eggs, sunny-side up.” He gestured at the next plate. “Hash browns, toast with strawberry jelly and a fruit smoothie.”

  He settled back, stiffly watching her.

  Erica lifted her fork. It didn’t matter what it tasted like. She’d tell him it was good.

  Since he’d pointed out the French toast first, she set the utensil to it. It broke through the crispy outer shell, sliding through the fluffy interior. Sugared steam wafted into her nose. She lifted the first bite to her mouth.

  It tasted twice as good as it smelled. Erica moaned around the fork then chewed rapidly. “Oh my god,” she said once she’d swallowed. “That’s amazing, Drew.”

  “It is?” His pitch lifted uncertainly.

  “Yes. I’ve never had French toast I didn’t drown in syrup.”

  “Do you want syrup?” He twisted as if he’d leave. “I can go get it.”

  “No, no. I meant this is so good I don’t have to drench it.”

  He beamed—a boyish expression that made her want to kiss him.

  But…last night, she’d thought he was disgusted with her. Would a disgusted man make her breakfast in bed?

  “Try the eggs,” he said. “I’m not sure about them.”

  “They look fine.” But she tried them anyway. Butter exploded onto her taste buds. Again she moaned. “Oh god. That’s really good. Are you sure you had a housekeeper to cook for you?”

  His beam turned into a grin. “I’m sure.” Drew winked at her. “I should suffer from insomnia more often.”

  “You didn’t sleep?”

  He shook his head. “No. I spent the whole night watching the Food Network for ideas on what I could make you for breakfast.”

  Erica stared at him in sile
nt shock.

  He’d planned this all night? What did that mean?

  Could he truly have meant what he’d said about becoming worthy?

  Drew pulled back, eyeing her warily. “What?”

  “I thought I disgusted you,” she blurted out.

  “What?” Drew surged forward and sat on the edge of the bed beside her. “Why would you think that?”

  “I…I thought I heard you in the shower. I thought…if you had to do that it must mean I disgusted you.”

  Drew curled his hand over her ankle beneath the comforter. Awareness of his touch shivered up her leg. “I think you’re so fucking sexy, Erica. It was you I imagined in the shower. But you said you couldn’t deal with another asshole ex so I left you alone.”

  Yet he’d made her breakfast in bed.

  “I know it’s not much.” He gestured at the tray. “But I don’t know how to do much. I can learn. I want to learn. I want to be worthy.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. Stupid, ridiculous tears. “You’re being so sweet. How do I know this isn’t just one of your playboy tricks?”

  “I’m not sweet. I’m bad. But I mean to change that. This isn’t a playboy trick. I was far too lazy to cook for a woman. But I’d do just about anything for you, Erica.”

  “You are sweet.” Erica leaned over the tray. “Maybe you’re sweetly bad.”

  His lips spread into his boyish smile. “Sweetly bad. I like that.”

  Drew pressed a gentle kiss against the corner of her lips. Heat filled her limbs. He transferred to the opposite side and then feathered his mouth over hers. The gossamer touches threatened to make her cry. He’d learned and he hadn’t forgotten.

  When she finally opened her mouth, allowing the slide of his tongue, she thought she’d catch on fire. Erica moaned deep in her throat, clinging to him.

  He pulled back, panting slightly. “You should finish your breakfast.”

  “I found something sweeter.”

  Drew laughed—a nervous sound that seemed uncharacteristic. “Air, I fell hard.”

  “What does air have to do with falling hard? Wouldn’t that be gravity?”