I had no idea I’d slammed the car door until she shouted something about would I mind not “breaking” her car. I spun around, intending to show her I was calm, but I came face-to-face with her blue-eyed fury.
“You are the one who came over uninvited and asked for my help!” she shouted, poking me in the chest. “You’re acting like a child.”
“You’re t-treating me l-like one!” I pulled my hands through my hair in frustration and dropped my arms, stalking off to who knew where. Not like I hung out at the art museum often. I debated going inside, but since I felt like punching something, walls covered in priceless paintings might not be the best backdrop for my rage.
“Cade,” Tasha repeated for the fourth or fourteenth time as she chased after me across the lawn. I came to a stop in front of the fountain, a huge merman, his stone beard frozen in midbillow.
I heard her approach, the scuff of her steps on the cobblestones.
“It’s not going to happen overnight.” Her tone was gentle.
I didn’t respond.
“Well. This place is as good as any,” she said. She left me standing there. Me and the merman. I mentally asked him if he’d mind helping me out of this predicament, but his face remained stone. I was on my own.
I blew out a breath and followed, meeting Tasha at her car as she emerged with a bag and a blanket. She thrust the blanket into my arms.
What were we doing? Having a picnic?
“Sun or tree?” she asked.
When I didn’t answer, she pointed at a wide oak tree to her left, my right, then to the ground where we stood. “Pick one.”
I shook out the blanket and dropped it on the ground without moving an inch, choosing the sun by default. She straightened the corners and tugged to remove the wrinkles.
We were really doing this.
She plopped down and began unpacking books and papers. After watching her for a solid thirty seconds, I determined that beyond stealing her car and stranding her, I was out of options. So I sat. Knees up, arms linked around them, I watched her with deep suspicion.
I felt another rattle in my arms, but this one, I couldn’t identify. Like fear, but different. Hope.
I’d been afraid to hope for a while.
“Mouth exercises,” she said. “Think of it as working out.”
Not this again.
She shuffled the papers. “We’ll start with warming up your palate.” Her full lips rounded, fair eyebrows lifting over comically wide blue eyes.
“Ooo,” she sounded out.
I flinched. No. I sure as fuck wasn’t doing that.
“Then after you do the ooo, I’m going to have you do a few puh sounds.” She demonstrated by popping her lips and saying puh, puh, puh, which was ridiculous. I was not doing that.
I continued scowling at her, but my chipper therapist remained unfazed.
“Come on. Do it with me.” She did the ooo thing again. I shook my head. But my eyes slid to her pursed lips and stayed there. I thought of her in the bathroom at Oak & Sage, thought about the way I’d had her pressed against the door, my lips very close to being on hers. The moment when we’d shared air and the lightning-like static between us buzzed…
“At least do the puh sound with me.” She popped her lips and mine smiled.
She smiled back at me but shook her head. “You are impossible.”
You are beautiful, I wanted to tell her, but I also didn’t want to sound like that stuttering guy, Ken, from A Fish Called Wanda. Really old movie. Michael Palin was one of Dad’s favorite actors.
She checked the paper in her hand. “Okay, how about doing the kissing exercise instead?”
Now we were talking. That sounded a hell of a lot better than making fish faces at each other.
“Pucker,” she instructed, “then slide the pucker to the left, then the right. Like this.” Watching her mouth form a kiss was cute, and the Charlie Chaplin twitch she added, adorable. When her lips moved left, then right again, I smirked.
Yeah, I wasn’t doing that either, but I could watch her do it all damn day.
“From there we will move on to whistling”—she regarded the paper again and read from the text—“and drinking from a straw.”
Drinking from a straw? What the hell was that about? She pulled a few paper-wrapped straws and a bottle of water from her bag, and I started fidgeting. I was feeling inexplicably nervous. I knew how to drink from a straw. Why did I have to demonstrate it?
“Why?” I asked as she arranged them like torture implements on the blanket between us. Every once in a while, if I was sure I could get a word or two out without tripping up, I liked to stun her. T’s were not easy. Helpful, since my therapist’s name was Tasha. A hard T.
Thanks, fate. Appreciate the backup.
“Why…the straw?” she asked, clarifying.
I nodded.
“Oh. Well, it’s a great activity for the tongue and cheeks. Drinking from a straw requires flexing the cheeks and”—she pushed her thumb and forefinger into her round cheeks and pinched lightly—“pursing of the lips. And you have to tighten your tongue to suck.”
Parts of me were responding to her suggestions. Coming from her supple lips, this session sounded less like therapy and a whole hell of a lot like phone sex.
“Think of it as an oral workout,” she said with a genuine smile.
My scowl deepened. If she kept this up, I’d sport a boner she could hang her purse from. Watching the blush dust her cheekbones was so enjoyable, I wished I could rewind her reaction and watch it again in slow motion.
“Cade!” She shook her head, reprimanding me. “If that’s what you’re turning this into, I’m…Listen. You came to me. I’m doing what you asked.”
Flustered. I liked that she was flustered.
“I know,” I managed, and took a deep breath of relief. Nice when the words rolled off my uncooperative tongue without too much fight.
“Also, smiling helps. Smile really big, then relax.” She demonstrated. Then she puffed up her cheeks and let them go. This was the most ridiculous display I’d ever seen. So why did she look so freaking cute doing it?
“Don’t be nervous. Just do it.”
“I’m n-…I’m n-…” I gave up.
She sat on her knees, hands resting on her denim-covered legs. “Cade.”
I hated the sympathy in her eyes, so I looked away. I wasn’t doing her stupid “therapy.” Snatching up the water bottle, I twisted off the lid and took a slug.
“Not all of it!” She tried to stop me.
I swatted her hand away and drained every last drop down my throat.
“Thanks a lot. Now what are we supposed to do with the straws?”
I had a few suggestions, but as usual, I couldn’t fucking say them. I crushed the bottle and tossed it onto the blanket like a gauntlet. There. That takes care of the straws.
Tasha’s eyes narrowed, coloring her features in a look of determination. I guessed she wasn’t done with me yet.
Chapter 7
Tasha
What Cade didn’t realize was that I rose to meet my challenger in the face of challenge. I narrowed one eye at him, which he didn’t see, because he’d pretty much stopped looking at me completely.
He was visibly nervous, his fingers twitching a frustrated rhythm on his leg. I thought of Moira’s claim that his problem was in his head, which I could concede in part. The change of scenery had done nothing to improve our odds, but when he was angry, or when his nerves got the best of him, his anxiety crept in. Then he couldn’t say anything correctly.
I thought back to the time we spent together at my apartment. He had arrived angry that night too. But shortly after he’d calmed down, he was like a different person. Easygoing and—dare I say it?—relaxed.
Acting like I changed my mind, I packed the straws, then the books, then the papers. He watched my movements carefully, a look of suspicion on his face. He didn’t know what I was up to. Good. Neither did I.
Af
ter I cleaned up my small mess I knew what to do. I had to prove that it was not just a fluke that he could speak when he was close to me. It was the other theory I’d been harboring about his messy speech. Did I put him at ease when I was near?
I scooted closer to him, all but erasing the space between us on the blanket. My heartbeat thrummed in my throat instead of my chest, where it was supposed to be. What I was about to attempt was risky. Exciting.
Necessary, the type A perfectionist inside me argued.
Cade was frowning, watching me warily. I gathered my courage and scootched the slightest bit closer, leaving virtually no space between us save the breath I had just taken.
“I need your help,” I whispered.
I expected his eyes to shutter, but he looked more curious than guarded.
“We won’t use the straws. I won’t make you do silly face exercises.” I dropped my voice to what I hoped was a sensual purr, though there was no hiding the slight waver there. “I want to try something else.”
His light brown eyes dashed to my lips and his pupils widened. I wondered if it was because the sun had ducked behind the clouds or because his mind had gone where mine had.
“It’s purely scientific,” I said, my voice feathery.
His lips flinched, and there was no doubting the hum of attraction. It practically vibrated the ground where we sat. My heart rate kicked up another notch. It wasn’t like this was going to be a hardship. He was ridiculously hot. From the arch of his top lip to his full bottom lip over an angled jaw. The front of his hair had blown over his forehead, dusting his thick brown eyebrows.
“Close your eyes,” I instructed. “And purse your lips.”
His expression went from confused to bland. He shook his head.
“Come on. I’ll even count to three.” Did I have him all wrong? Maybe he didn’t want to kiss me? Briefly, I considered I was using my position of power to manipulate him before dismissing that ridiculous thought. Cade couldn’t be made to do anything he didn’t want to do. Desperate, I added, “Please?”
He shook his head again, but this time his lips quirked as if he were thoroughly amused. He liked to tell me no.
“Fine. Keep your eyes open. On three.”
“Wuh-one.”
The sun came out and he squinted his eyes in challenge. I leaned in the slightest bit closer and licked my lips. “Two.”
He lifted his hand, sifted my hair between his fingers, and rested one broad palm on my neck.
I warmed like sparks were glinting off my skin. “Thr—”
He cut the word off with his lips. Delicious, firm lips that took me under his control.
What was supposed to be a light peck yielding an answer to my hypothesis was instead a solid lip-lock sending tingles over my lips and zinging across my jaw. My fingers curled, clutching uselessly at my jeans as I resisted the urge to thrust my fingertips into his hair and see if it felt as soft as it looked.
He disconnected, tugging his chin away, his eyes opening and landing on mine. I was…speechless.
But he wasn’t.
“Three,” he said.
Cade
Tasha was stunned, and to be honest, so was I. I liked stunning her.
Her “kissing” exercise worked just fine. The feel of her lips imprinted in my brain, fusing every cell as if they’d melted under the heat we created from that simple closed-mouth kiss. I wondered what would happen if we added tongue. I tightened my grip on the back of her neck, giving her the opportunity to back away if she changed her mind. Then she showed the first sign of resistance, and I changed mine.
I’m going in anyway.
Tugging her close, I slanted my mouth over hers. A small, feminine sound squeaked in her throat and my chest unfurled like a banner. I took advantage of her reaction and deepened the kiss, sliding my tongue along hers.
She tasted amazing. Sweet and perfect. Hot and wet.
Not to mention that she fell into me, one hand braced on my thigh, the other on my chest—sitting there like a brand. Our tongues touched tentatively at first, then more aggressively. Now we were moving in slow, smooth slides.
She made a fist, clutching my T-shirt and tugging me closer. I liked that she pulled me closer. I liked her eagerness about as much as I liked everything else about her. I closed my eyes, the warmth of the sun on my face, the soft tickle of her hair brushing my cheek as she slanted her lips over mine. I started this kiss, but it was Tasha who had taken over.
The air around us was choked with her shortened breaths, our sipping lips, and the rustle of clothing as my shirt rubbed against hers. As my jeans chafed against hers. There were way too many articles of clothes between us, and I was feeling acute regret that we hadn’t climbed the stairs to my over-the-garage bedroom instead of coming here to do some very public groping.
She pulled away first this time, and really she had to be the one to pull away first, because I sure as hell wasn’t doing it. Her lips left mine with a suctioning smooch, and the best part was when her big, blue eyes hit mine. They were filled to the brim with lust. My therapist was no longer viewing me as an ill-behaved student.
“Oral therapy,” I said, and slipped my palm away from her neck, letting my fingers graze her collarbone. Her skin was soft. I wondered if she was that soft everywhere.
She straightened her clothes like she needed to occupy her hands now that they weren’t pawing me. Hiding. Covering. I knew the tactic well, but I didn’t want her to hide or cover. I just wanted to do it again. She cleared her throat and reached for her bag, digging out a pen and a pad of paper.
I frowned.
“What’re you doing?” I asked.
It was her turn not to answer me. She scribbled for a while and I sat back on the blanket, my hands behind me. I looked up at the sun, watched the leaves of the trees wave in the soft breeze. A couple walked by with a dog.
By the time Tasha stopped frantically jotting, I decided I wanted to know what she had to stop kissing me to write down. I snatched the journal from her hands.
“Hey!”
I held it out of reach when she came for me.
“It probably won’t make any sense to you,” she said, making a swipe for the notebook again. I climbed to my feet and held out an arm, blocking her when she followed.
Her loopy handwriting was easy to read. I understood just fine.
Slight hesitation before the kiss. Able to speak a few clear words after the kiss. Enunciated TH sound in “three” without a problem. Asked a full question without any stammer or hesitation.
I slapped the journal shut and turned to face her. That’s what had been going through her head while I had my lips pressed to hers? She was serious about this being an experiment. I assumed she was reacting to what was happening between us. Knowing the perceived attraction was nothing more than a tested theorem took a huge chunk out of the wobbly confidence I’d grabbed onto.
Looking chagrined, Tasha stopped reaching for the journal and took to toying with a ring on one finger instead.
“Don’t be mad. I wanted to write down what I learned so I didn’t forget.”
Don’t be mad? When she’d sterilized the kiss that had shaken me to the core? She’d turned me into a goddamn science experiment.
I glared at her, hoping she could read the words on my face so I wouldn’t have to attempt to say them. I hadn’t been thinking about speaking earlier, and because I wasn’t thinking about it, the words had come out fine.
Without stammer or hesitation.
Now I was thinking about it. Hard. And she was watching and waiting. Knowing I was under her scrutiny made me even less inclined to participate in her outdoor laboratory.
I handed over the journal and then opened my palm.
Cradling the book, she regarded my hand. “What?”
“K-keys.” Fuck. Of course.
“I’m not giving you my car keys.” Her eyebrows turned down.
Oh yes she was. I snapped my fingers.
She
folded her arms. Instead of arguing, I bent, grabbed her bag and the blanket, and started for the car.
She followed, rounding to the trunk. When I heard the telltale jingle, I did what any responsible, mature adult would do…and snatched the keys out of her hand.
“Hey! Give those back!”
I held them out of reach, keeping hold of the blanket and her bag in my other hand. Again, not super mature, but at this point I was feeling used and irked and distractedly turned on. So, okay, yeah, I was keeping the damn keys.
“Do you want me to report you for…grand theft auto?” She was cute when she was yelling at me.
I used the fob to unlock her car and tossed the blanket and her bag into the trunk. She argued that I wasn’t allowed to drive her car, spouting off about how this was unfair and she was only trying to help.
I could give her points for the unfair bit, and a part of me conceded that Tasha probably was only trying to help. But I wasn’t missing out on my chance to drive this baby, and she owed me one for using me.
“G-get in,” I said. I don’t know if it was my fixed expression of impatience or my steely tone, but she didn’t argue. She climbed in as I was adjusting the seat and easing back into the best-smelling leather I’d ever sat my ass on.
I stroked the steering wheel, flexing my fingers and taking hold of it as gently as I had Tasha’s neck during our kiss.
Our fake kiss.
Taking in a lungful of new-car smell, I flipped through her preset radio stations. Pop. Pop. Country. Jazz? I made a face and punched another button. Ahh, there we go. Rock. I cranked the radio—the Black Keys—and lifted an eyebrow at Tasha. She buckled her seatbelt and with delicate fingers stroked the nylon crossing her breasts.
Retesting her theory, this time on my terms, I leaned across the seat and pressed my lips to hers. One soft kiss that made me want more and caused her to let out a soft whimper of approval. Instead of giving us both what we wanted, I forced myself to pull away and focused my eyes on hers.
“Let me show you what this baby can do,” I told her.
Tasha
Wow.
Shut Up and Kiss Me: A Lost Boys Novel Page 7
