The Best Man

by Natasha Anders

  “This.” She went onto her toes and lifted her lips to his, wanting so very desperately to taste the full lower curve of that beautiful mouth. He jerked, her move obviously surprising him, but then he sighed and deepened the kiss. His lips firming beneath hers and taking charge. He lifted a hand to cup her cheek, his thumb lovingly tracing the curve of her jawline as he changed the angle of her head to allow him better access to her mouth.

  The kiss was . . . everything. More than everything. All those other mediocre kisses—those immature fumblings by inadequate men who could never be the measure of this one perfect man—they had all led to this moment here. Now. With him. His mouth was fire . . . ice . . . elemental, and his tongue, when it finally teased its way inside, was like sunshine casting light over all the dark stains on her soul.

  Her arms came up, wrapped around his neck, her hands burrowing through the hair she had fantasized about stroking just moments ago. She felt his hands moving up to her arms, encircling, tightening, and then . . . pushing her away.

  She sobbed and tried to burrow back into his warmth, but he kept her firmly at arm’s length, his delicious, stern mouth much too far away.

  “Please . . .” she moaned, and he shook his head. His chest heaving with each breath, clearly as affected by their embrace as she had been.

  “No.” The word was harsh and completely without emotion.

  “Why not?” She heard the whimper in her voice and despised herself for that weakness.

  “Because I don’t know what this is. I don’t know where it’s coming from, and I sure as hell don’t know where it’s going.”

  “I was hoping . . . to bed?” She tried to get close again, and his throat worked as he swallowed.

  “Damn it. No.”

  “Oh.” How humiliating. She’d thought . . . she’d figured he wanted her, too. He’d been trying to hook up with her for years. “I’m sorry. I should . . . I should probably leave.”

  He swore, and his hands tightened on her arms. His fingers were going to leave bruises. But unlike the others, she knew that Spencer would regret leaving marks on her skin.

  “You’re hurting me,” she said quietly, testing that theory, and he immediately loosened his hold, his hands instinctively stroking over the bruised area.

  “You’re not leaving,” he said. “You’re going to dry off, have a hot drink, and we’re going to fucking talk about this.”

  “Okay,” she said meekly, and his eyes narrowed.

  “I mean it, Daff.”

  “I know.”

  Spencer was confused, horny, and mad as hell. What in the ever-loving fuck was this about? If he hadn’t tasted her clean—hot—mouth himself, he’d have sworn she was drunk. That left drugs, but her pupils and responses seemed pretty normal, she didn’t seem doped up. She was just . . . odd. And it scared the hell out of him. She seemed much too vulnerable, like one wrong word or action would shatter her completely. He didn’t want to be the one to break her. Not when all he’d ever really wanted was a chance to cherish her.

  He marched her into the guest bathroom and handed her a bathrobe and a towel.

  “Get out of those wet things and dry off. I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.” It was an open-plan home, so she wouldn’t have trouble finding him. “Bring your clothes out with you and I’ll stick them in the dryer.” His voice was sharp, but he needed it to be, to snap her out of whatever the hell was wrong with her. She nodded slowly, as if she had a hard time understanding his words, but thankfully she turned toward the basin, allowing Spencer to shut the door.

  He heaved a huge sigh after closing the door and rested his forehead against the wood for a brief moment before shaking himself and heading to the kitchen. He braced his hands on one of the granite countertops and regarded the glossy, marbled dark surface for a moment. He wasn’t sure what to say to her after all this. She clearly needed help, but he wasn’t sure what kind, and he wasn’t sure if he was the man for the job. He didn’t want to fuck her up any more than she already was.

  She stayed hidden in the bathroom for nearly ten minutes, but he didn’t rush her, just kept the kettle going until the door creaked open and a small, bare foot tentatively stepped out from behind the door. He followed the foot up, over the much too large bathrobe that seemed to swallow her whole. The only reason it wasn’t puddling over her feet was because she had the front gripped in both hands, to prevent it from tripping her when she walked. Her wet hair was a mess, and her eyes and nose were red from an obvious bout of crying.

  He smiled at her and hoped his face didn’t reflect the grimness he felt.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” He was happy that his voice sounded gentle, and she hesitated before nodding. He had never seen her this uncertain before, and it made his chest ache.

  She stepped up to the island and sat on one of the tall bar stools. Completely stripped of makeup, with her skin red and blotchy, she looked a bit like a child playing dress-up in his huge robe. Spence rubbed at his chest as the ache intensified.

  “Milk? Sugar?”

  “Two sugars, no milk.” Her voice sounded hoarse. He finished her tea and a comforting cup of cocoa for himself and handed it to her. He positioned himself on the other side of the island, directly opposite her. He reached across and thumbed away the remnants of a tear from her cheek, ignoring the way she flinched at the movement.

  He took a long, restorative gulp of his hot chocolate, watching her over the rim the entire time. She was doing her best not to look at him.

  “You’re going to have to meet my eyes sometime, Daff,” he told her with a slight smile.

  “Yes, but not right now,” she whispered.

  “Hmm.” He allowed the silence to continue for several minutes, not pressuring her, hoping she would be the first to speak. After a few long moments, she finally rewarded his patience.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “You spend way too much time apologizing to me.”

  “Because I keep saying and doing stupid things.” She sniffed before shaking her head and holding up a finger. “No, don’t argue.”

  Spencer hid a grin at that, since he’d had absolutely no intention of arguing. He said nothing, wanting her to do the talking for now.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “I felt bad about what happened in the car tonight. I don’t think you’re dumb. If anything, I’m a little jealous because you did the whole college thing and made something of yourself. I’m such a loser. Same dead-end job for sixteen years, moving from one crappy failed relationship to the next. I mean, I lived with my parents up until a year ago, for God’s sake.”

  “You moved from store clerk to manager. I wouldn’t call that a dead-end job,” he reminded her, and she laughed bitterly.

  “Please, if I took my credentials elsewhere, they’d laugh at me. The only reason I got that promotion was because nobody else stuck around as long as I did. I know how the business works. And instead of taking the time to find, and possibly train, a new manager, Alison”—her boss—“just slapped the label onto me and barely increased my salary to reflect the title. And the worst of it is . . . I hate my job. I hate the sight of that store every morning, hate the smell of it, the very thought of it. But I have no idea how to do anything else.”

  “Why did you kiss me?”

  “I thought it was what you wanted,” she whispered, the words timid.

  “Was it what you wanted?”

  Her eyes widened a little, as if his words shocked her. “I don’t . . . I think . . . if you wanted it, then I wanted it.” That answer was so fucked-up on so very many levels, and it pissed him off beyond reason. He fought hard to hide his flare of temper from her and took a deep, fortifying breath before he trusted himself to speak again.

  “Yes, but was it what you wanted?”

  “I think so.”

  “Daff, it’s a straightforward question, requiring a yes or no answer.”

  “Didn’t you want to kiss me?” Again in that tiny, timid voice that was
so unlike the brash, outspoken Daff he knew.

  “Why is this so hard for you?” he asked, confused, and her eyes welled with tears.

  “I don’t know if I wanted to kiss you, I just felt that I should. It’s what you do when you like someone. Right?”

  “No, it’s not,” he corrected. “You talk with them, get to know them, you decide if you really like them, and then, when you’re absolutely convinced that you can’t take another breath without feeling their mouth on yours, that’s when you kiss them.”

  “What about chemistry? What if you just know?”

  “And did you? Just know? Is that why you kissed me? Because you just knew you had to?”

  Her brow furrowed, and she looked completely confused.

  “You’re complicating this. It was just a kiss, for God’s sake,” she said with some of her old spark. “Why do you have to overthink things like this? Why can’t we just be in the moment and share a kiss?”

  “Because we weren’t just in a moment. You showed up at my house at two thirty in the morning, soaking wet, rambling on about liking me, and then you planted your mouth on mine in the most desperate excuse of a kiss I’ve ever had the misfortune to experience.”

  “You liked it, I know you did. You were hard!”

  “Physically, yes, but emotionally it left me stone cold, because it felt . . . frantic and forced.”

  “What kind of man is ruled by his emotions when his cock is hard?”

  “Clearly not any kind of man you’ve ever been with.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, her voice strained and the tears now flowing freely. He knew that acknowledging them, or hugging her close the way he was desperate to, would be met with rejection. So even though it was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do, he ignored them.

  “It means that I’m not like the assholes you’ve been with before, Daff. You want to kiss me, you’d better fucking mean it. You’d better want it with everything in you, because I’ll want every part of you. Body and soul.”

  “What is it with guys?” The words practically exploded from her, rife with frustration and . . . fear? “Why do you all feel the need to own me?”

  Whoa.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he corrected calmly. “I’m talking about you opening up and willingly sharing those parts of yourself. Not demanding ownership of your body and mind.”

  “I fail to see the difference.”

  “There is one, a big one.”

  “Oh, do elaborate,” she invited him sarcastically. She was definitely getting her spark back, and it relieved him.

  “You’d have every part of me, too. Body and soul.”

  Shit. His words didn’t have quite the effect he was hoping for—panic immediately rose to the surface. He could see it in the way her shoulders tensed as she retreated emotionally.

  “I don’t think that’s something I’d want,” she denied shakily.

  “Why not?”

  “T-too much responsibility. I mean, I prefer to keep things casual. I like you and I think maybe we’d be good together, but why does it have to be more than that?”

  “So what are you after? No-strings sex, that’s it?”

  “Yes, and you’re turning it into this big, serious thing. I think you’ve completely missed the point.”

  Had he? Maybe he was completely misreading the situation. It would be just like him to be Mr. Commitment in what was essentially a sex-only situation. It was exactly what had happened with Tanya. She’d never been into the whole relationship thing, and hindsight told him that he’d been willfully blind to that fact, forcing a relationship when she’d only ever been after a good time.

  Was he doing the same thing with Daff? Had he turned her big seduction into an embarrassing and uncalled-for “let’s discuss our feelings” session? He went over the entire encounter from the moment he’d opened the door to now and shook his head.

  No, there was definitely something else going on here, and she was covering it up with this . . . bluster now.

  “So we fuck each other and when it’s out of our systems, we move on? That’s what you’re saying?”

  “Yes.” Her voice sounded breathless and a little uncertain.

  Spencer placed his cup carefully down on the granite counter and sighed softly before rounding the island and coming to stand behind her, moving fast in order to catch her off guard. He turned the bar stool until she was facing him and reached down, placing one hand on each knee and gently moving them apart. He immediately shifted his hips between her thighs, until nothing but a deep breath separated them. He moved his hands to the counter on either side of her, effectively caging her with his body.

  “Okay,” he muttered. “Have it your way.” Her face was downcast, her regard determinedly fixed on his chest, but that wouldn’t do at all. “Look at me, Daff.”

  She tilted her head back obligingly, and he smiled, just a grim parting of his lips.

  “That’s better.” He lowered his head and captured her mouth with his; her soft, full lips immediately softened beneath his, and he groaned his satisfaction.

  His mouth was gentle, so much gentler than anything she was used to. He finessed instead of claimed, his lips coaxed and requested instead of demanded. The tenderness was new to her, and it made her respond in ways she never knew she had in her. It made her want more, and she opened her mouth willingly when his tongue traced along the seam of her lips, bidding entry.

  His hands never left the counter, but hers took on a life of their own and she reached up to explore that beautiful face, her palms tracing the strong contours of his stubbled jaw before moving up over his lean cheeks and then sweeping by his temples until she finally had two fistfuls of his thick hair clenched between her fingers.

  She waited for him to deepen the kiss, but he kept it gentle and that lack of insistence made her—for the first time ever—crave more. Her nipples were hard and aching, and between her legs, where she could feel his heat of his erection not even an inch away from her nakedness, she was completely drenched. She slid forward and wrapped her legs around his tight, muscular butt, dragging herself closer until finally she could feel his steel length up against her cleft.

  He groaned, lifting his mouth from hers and burying it against her neck, where he landed a soft, suctioning kiss in the cove beneath her ear. The next suckling kiss was lower, then lower, until he got to the neckline of the robe, which he nosed aside to land another one of those gentle, wicked kisses on the curve of her breast.

  Daff watched him move lower and lower, her hands cupped around the back of his head.

  “Please,” she begged when he dragged his tongue lightly over the rippled seam of her areola. “Oh please, Spencer . . .” When his mouth finally closed over her nipple, she writhed beneath him, bucking wildly against his erection. His mouth remained so incredibly gentle, using just the lightest of suckling motions, before he raised his head to blow on the wet tip.

  She sobbed, trying to pull his head back down, but he was working his way to the other breast, and he was soon driving her crazy with another one of those sweet, tender kisses. Done with that breast, he moved down, still using only his lips and tongue, his soft kisses leaving a scorching trail over her torso, then her stomach—where he spent a moment, tracing the shape of her belly button with his tongue—and then down over her abdomen. The loosely knotted belt proved no obstacle for him, as with just one tug of his teeth, he had it undone with nothing between her nudity and his scrutiny at all. He took a moment to appreciate the display before smiling and going back to work.

  Daff’s legs went slack when his objective became clear, and she watched in disbelief as he knelt in front of her. His hands still on the countertop, he looked up to meet her eyes. His gaze scorching hot while his panting breath fanned out over her delicate flesh, and she shuddered at the delicious sensation.

  “Put your feet on my shoulders, please,” he murmured. She had a moment’s doubt—this was so far bey
ond anything she’d ever experienced before. Were they moving too fast? Probably. Was that going to stop her? Probably not.

  Embarrassed to be on such lewd display when he was essentially fully dressed, she swallowed nervously. If not for his half-mast eyes, his uneven breathing, and the rampant hard-on tenting the fabric of those pajama bottoms, she would have wondered if he was turned on at all. He seemed completely in control, and it was . . . unnerving.

  But still . . . she was so hot and so close to orgasm that a strong breeze would probably set her off right now. She lifted her legs and slotted the arches of her feet neatly over the curves of his shoulders. He grunted his approval and gave a long appreciative look at what she had just revealed to him before leaning forward and closing his mouth over her hard, aching clit.

  She gasped, then sucked in and held another breath when her back arched and her palms slammed down onto the counter beside his hands.

  “Uhhhh!”

  The suction of his mouth was relentless but not strong enough to make her come—it was driving her insane. His tongue soon joined the party, and Daff cried out again while he kept her on edge with his soft little butterfly licks and tender suckling. Because he never ramped up the intensity, she just remained hovering on the brink. Her feet pushed down against his shoulders, her back flat on the countertop by now, her head tilted over the other end, while her arms spread out on either side of her and gripped the edge.

  “Oh God, oh please,” she begged, opening her eyes to stare fixedly at the upside-down cabinets on the other side of the room. His hands finally came into play, one splayed flat over her abdomen to hold her still when she tried to push herself closer to his mouth and the other curved over her right thigh, spreading her a little wider.

  The pressure of each suctioning kiss was starting to intensify; the licking got a little more purposeful. He was finally giving her more, and it was wrecking her. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand it for much longer, but he continued to take his time, savoring her taste in the same way he had enjoyed every morsel of the haute cuisine they’d been served at dinner, with little sighs and appreciative groans.