by Susan Arden
That’s when hell broke loose. She punched him in his arm. And not a sissy poke, either.
“You are the biggest jerk! This is my room. This is my bed. This is my apartment. Where did you think you just happened to crash last night? How drunk do you get, McLemore?”
“What? This is your pad?” Stephen ran his hand across his jaw. He muttered, “I was pretty messed up, from what I recall. So you and I didn’t…not even—”
“No. Never. When I got home last night, I stumbled into a pitch-black room. I thought Lori had come over to crash. There’s always someone around here. Haden’s band or his friends. There’s always a party, and that’s why I sometimes roll in late. I lead a very separate life from my brother, but you wouldn’t know that, would you? You like those types of crowds. Loud, and way too rowdy.”
“Holy shit. This is Haden’s place? And you stay here? What the hell are you doing living with him? That seems like a match made in hell.”
“Curious as a cat, aren’t you? Since he’s been touring, Haden is gone a lot so it made sense. Only I didn’t realize how he liked to party hard when he came home. Seems like he’s developed quite a fan club here, but I must say this is the first time you’ve turned up. Anyway, you said you needed to leave. I’m on my way out as well.” She stomped across the small space toward him, eyes flashing a warning he chose to ignore.
“Dressed like that? I don’t think so.” Heat seared his brain. If this was some joint where Haden’s friends and band members crashed, there’d be more than a few single guys in various states of dress, or undress, lying around. Her itty-bitty shorts or whatever-the-hell they were didn’t need to make an appearance out in a room of single men.
“Unlike you, I don’t just slink about in my birthday suit. Thanks, Gramps, but I think I can manage.” She treaded closer to him, a tigress on the prowl. “I’m not thinking I need to take any of your advice.”
Without considering the consequences, he pulled her to him, seeking to quiet her words and at the same time wanting to taste her incredibly sexy mouth. “I may tie one on now and then, but girl, I work my ass off. I’m not some no-account, fly-by-night barn hand who needs to put up with your sass.”
He wrapped his hand in her hair, tugging the curling strands just enough to make her shush. Her body didn’t tense up, but melted against him for a fraction of a second, giving him a taste of her soft curves. A jolt of electricity juddered up his spine, and all he could think about was pushing against this redheaded firecracker.
Until Lori groaned. Gillian dug her fingers into his upper arms, even though their bodies didn’t move apart. Alarmed and tense, face framed by her cinnamon locks, with flashing eyes she looked angrier than a fenced-in feline.
“What time is it?” Lori mumbled, her back still turned to them. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Let me go,” Gillian whispered between gritted teeth.
“What if I don’t want to?”
Gillian’s eyes widened into scorching disbelief. “Is this how you get your dates when you’re not drunk? I’ll call my brother.”
He put his hand over her mouth. “I don’t think he’s in any better condition than her. Hush, Gillian. Christ Almighty. You’re a pistol.”
Things were heating up fast. This little dynamo had him seeing double in ways he’d never envisioned. Regardless whether Haden was up or not, coherent or not, if Stephen’s little sister had been in Haden’s room…in a similar situation, he’d be a bull on a rampage.
This slippery slope had one destination. Gillian was too hot to touch, no matter how tempting. Stephen rapidly considered the logistics of leaving by way of the front door. His motorcycle should be outside. He didn’t relish walking through the apartment and running into Haden. He seriously doubted that his friend would get up and come in here, if he had indeed been partying well into the morning. But then this whole event was strange, and he wasn’t about to believe it couldn’t go from unusual to awful in seconds. He removed his hand from her mouth, giving her a stern look.
“Well?” she asked.
In the haze of recollecting, Stephen sighed. “Christ, I do remember running into Haden last night. After he had played a set at the Barely Back. We moved the party over here.”
The place was an old strip club now-turned pub, renowned for late-night eats and backroom poker games. One thing had led to another after a few games of pool, round after round of beer, and then the darts, shots of tequila and more beer chasers. Damn. He hoped to hell his motorcycle was indeed outside. Shit, he had to stop drinking like a fish if he intended to live to see thirty-three.
“I’m glad your gray cells are still working. But do you just plan on hanging on to me for all eternity? I’ve got to get ready.” Her voice grew more demanding. “Let. Me. Go.”
“Or what?” He gazed down at Gillian’s upturned face, her luscious mouth, and her bewitching eyes. Hell, if all his other thoughts didn’t just evaporate.
“I’ll make you so sorry, Stephen. I promise you.”
“Check that off your list, little girl.” Sliding his hands down to her hips, he pushed her backward until her legs were up against the bed. Either she could topple over, or meet him hip-to-hip. She was tall insofar as a woman’s stature was concerned, and a few inches—five or six—shorter than him.
“I’m not joking,” she said, in a voice that had gone hoarse.
Her words and sassy mouth had lit a fire in his belly that traveled down to his groin. Ever since he’d inhaled her fragrance this morning, some essence of hers had shifted something within him, taking hold, and urging him to give it release.
Well, maybe kissing her would solve that dilemma, and then he’d leave, be done with last night, and get back to the ranch on time without her haunting mouth riding him roughshod.
With her eyes still locked with his, he whispered, “Really?”
Stephen took hold of her head, cupping the back curve of her neck between a mass of red waves and curls, and he held her tight. And she did the unimaginable. Gillian took hold of him by his arms, pulling him toward her until their mouths slid against one another. Hard and hot.
Her lips were warm and wet, smooth and soft, and she captured his lower lip between her teeth. The angry growl she released echoed the fire in her eyes and mouth. She had him doing things he knew were crazy. His one hand slid off her hip, down to her firm ass, and gave him the means to grind up against her.
The whimper from her throat spurred him onward. He moved his fingers to the waistband of her panties and slid his hand underneath. Downward, to the V-shape between her legs--and he froze. She was pierced, and dammit, that was too hot to resist. He rubbed her clit, pierced with a metal bar, flicking the plump nub that sprang firm against his thumb. Swirling in tight circles, he couldn’t hold back from plunging his finger into her. She bucked against him, a soft cry emanating from her chest. Fuck. “Are you a virgin?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “You don’t have to make it seem like a hazardous condition.”
He reeled and removed his hand from her panties. Staring down into her face, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Gillian. I didn’t know. How on earth did you get pierced without ever having gotten…pierced?”
“I’m waiting for the right man. Doesn’t mean I’m sitting at home knitting a sweater. Don’t act like it’s unheard of. So what? And you’d better not tell anyone.”
She looked down. At that moment he wanted to do it all over again. “Look at me,” he commanded, then softened his voice. “Gillian.”
Her mouth shook just enough to make him tighten his hold on her. “What, Stephen?” she asked, meeting his gaze.
“This isn’t exactly the most ground-breaking news, and who in the world do you think I’d repeat this to? Your secret is safe with me. Let’s just forget this ever happened.” A low, rumbling voice in the back of his mind told him he might never get this moment out of his head. Might want to actually repeat kissing her and touching her.
“Fin
e,” she bristled, stepping back, easing away from him.
He reached down, picking up his shirt, watching her sprint toward the corner of the room. She pulled open a door. Shit, of course she’d have her own bathroom and not go flouncing off in an apartment that served as a party house. Their gazes reconnected, her face blossoming into a pink cloud.
“I’ll see you around,” he said.
Gillian nodded before she glanced away, shutting the door. The sound of a shower started inside. Lord above, what he would give to follow her into that bathroom. And what? She was Haden’s baby sister. Buttoning his shirt, he stopped to wonder briefly where she might be going. Shaking his head, Stephen walked to the bedroom door and exited without looking back at the bed.
He wasn’t callous, just knew the score when it came to Lori. They knew each other. Nothing serious, and nothing he or she wanted to take to any level other than drinks, laughs, and sex. He fucked other women. Lots of women. If he and Lori met up—fine. He didn’t call her and she didn’t phone him.
At best, he refused to categorize the women he’d slept with, and his only criteria for available meant unmarried, of legal age, and of sound mind. The rest was open to interpretation; he’d had his way with several of the women from Annona to Clarkesville, and from there the lines spread out across the Southwest and beyond.
A few years back he raced motocross and had learned early on that sex was easy to find. So was love. But not for him, and therefore, he wanted to remain free and easy. As time went on, he never promised a woman anything beyond a good time for the moment. That’s all he wanted in return, and felt the exchange to be fair.
Walking through the living room, he inhaled the smell of stale smoke and beer; several men were strewn around the living room, sleeping on couches and the carpet. He peered at the photographs hanging on the walls. Gillian in dance costumes. That was right. She danced—a memory clicked open—had a studio in town where she gave lessons. Haden was featured in some photographs, guitar in hand. Then there were a couple of photographs of her parents. Shit. He hadn’t thought of them in a while. They’d been killed in a boating accident down off the coast of Alabama. Some speed boat incident.
Pulling open the door, he looked back and his stomach clenched. The apartment was in a nice part of town. A duplex, but the sight of all those guys had him uneasy. He wanted to go back inside the bedroom and bring Gillian with him. What a joke. What would he do? Bring her back to his house on the edge of Evermore, overrun with his nosy brothers, uncles, and cousins? He could just imagine what they’d say.
He tunneled his fingers through his hair, and ended up tugging on his beard. He’d had worse ideas, he admitted. Shutting the door, he noticed his Harley on its side. “Great,” he muttered.
Last night, he must have been shitfaced to leave his motorcycle down on the ground. His helmet was lying on the grass next to the bike. How had Lori gotten here? He hadn’t brought an extra helmet with him last night. This was getting seriously messed up, if he’d driven from Clarkesville and couldn’t remember.
Chapter 2
Gillian stood in the shower, unable to stop shaking from the feel of Stephen’s hands and mouth on her. Adrenaline didn’t simply drip into her system—it had exploded, leaving in its wake a feeling of having woken from a deep sleep. She and Stephen had known each other for what seemed like forever.
How had she missed that body he sported? And it was just like him to call her out when she couldn’t stop gawking. He’d always possessed a crisp sense of humor that bordered on dry, but it had the opposite effect on her this morning. His words and his body had her dripping wet.
The image of him reappeared. And what to revisit first…his tattoo, for sure. Where in Texas did a man get an inking like that? It draped over his shoulder, covering his pectorals perfectly, and then down his arm. Christ, she bet he and his father must have had words on such a work of art.
And his rock-hard muscles. Stephen wasn’t simply buffed—he was ripped. Shredded. Every muscle jostled for equal time in her memory, and she hugged herself under the hot water to keep from keeling over. From his broad shoulders down to his narrow hips, and then legs that were as developed as a dancer’s. She was as mesmerized now as she’d been while staring at his nude body. Her skin tingled, her clit pulsed, and she swore—given another few minutes, she would have done the unthinkable and given in to him.
She closed her eyes when it came to thinking about that massive erection of his. So hard it reminded her of the ballet bar at the studio…oh jeez, never would she be able to practice again without thinking of him in this light.
Stephen was the first guy who sorely tempted her; seconds ago she’d wanted him to do more than tease her. He was the first guy who she’d ever let touch her piercing. A dare that she accepted during a girls’ trip to New York City to prove she was adventurous. All the girls in her dance troupe had gotten piercings. She just didn’t want one that had to be broadcasted. Way too many shots, and she’d ended up doing the most outrageous act.
This little bit of craziness made her feel erotic without having to give her body away, in return for what? A night of pleasure and a morning of disappointment from a local dude. Most of whom she’d gone to school with, or knew from church or around town where her dance studio was located. Annona was small, and everyone talked. Gillian refused to be part of the grapevine again. Once was enough.
The hot water began to grow cool and she trembled, now more from the tepid shower than Stephen’s amazing kisses. Regardless, the man knew how to turn it on. She gave him that, and more. The way he moved his hands across her body. Both exciting and stealthy. Between her legs throbbed, reliving the demanding way his fingers found her. He had her whimpering without being aware that sound was coming from her throat.
After wrapping herself in a towel, she exited the bathroom into a profusion of color. Spring couldn’t be any brighter. Her dancers’ costumes were spread about the room. She did a majority of the sewing herself whenever she put on an end-of-term recital in an effort to save money. A few more tutus to bedazzle and headbands to create, and the costumes would be nearly ready. Little girls and a single boy comprised her younger student body.
She taught a few older girls one-on-one. Mostly high school dancers who needed a dance studio to practice during the week, but who took lessons from the larger studios in Austin or Clarkesville. Those dancers were destined to college dance programs. Each year a few hired Gillian to work with them on their university auditions. She exhaled, knowing several of her friends were working in Boston, D.C. and New York in dance companies while she remained here. They begged her to let them help her find an in with an audition. She refused, preferring to stay close to her hometown.
Her favorite dance class took place on Sunday and Tuesday evenings when she taught ballroom dancing. It was a full house, and kept her on her toes. Afterwards, she’d stay late at the studio to do paperwork or work on costumes. Sometimes she avoided coming home, when she thought Haden would have one of his after-hours parties like last night.
She picked up a wrap-around skirt, leotard, and leg warmers. After dressing she stepped into her favorite cowboy boots, scrunched the leg warmers down, and glanced back at the bed. Lori, her girlfriend, still lay sprawled out and snoring loudly.
How in the heck had she ended up here with Stephen? She’d never heard Lori mention him. Her friend had gone on and on about the man she was about to move up to boyfriend status. Dr. Luke Patterson. One would think the good doctor could walk on water by the way Lori spouted on and on about him. Perhaps Dr. P. was history.
Or maybe Stephen was an intoxicant. Some super sexual force. The human equivalent to kryptonite. Or worse—the type of man that once a woman tasted, she came back to again and again, if she wasn’t careful.
“Hey, you got work today or what?” Gillian shook Lori by the shoulder until she responded.
“I’m awake. Jesus. Please.” Lori covered her eyes “My head is going to split open and bats
are going to fly out.”
“It’s nearing eight. The doctor’s office still opening today?”
“Come hell or sick nurses. Yes. I’m screwed. Can I borrow some clothes?”
“I don’t own scrubs, last I checked.” Gillian combed her hair back while it was still damp. Effortlessly, she braided one side, then the other. She pinned the braids up and around her head without looking in the mirror.
Lori sat up, wearing a wrinkled western shirt. Gillian turned away, suddenly uncomfortable seeing her friend in her bed. Is that the type of woman Stephen preferred? Girly, with super curves that couldn’t help but be noticed. How about this? Yes! That’s why he’d been here in her room, wasn’t it? Certainly not to pay her a visit.
“I’ve got some scrubs in my locker. But I can’t roll into work in smoke-flavored jeans.”
“How about a shirt dress?” Gillian swung around just as Lori stood up, wobbled and leaned against the bed, squeezing her head, then headed for the bathroom.
“Coming through,” Lori screeched, moving across the room, and then slammed the bathroom door.
Gillian laid clothing out on the bed while Lori showered. Afterwards, she left her bedroom, threading her way past the five guys laid out in the living room. Stephen had a point. This was getting old. Every morning that she lived through this made Gillian wonder why she remained in this housing arrangement with Haden. Originally, it had been to help her grandparents and as a convenience for Haden. But somewhere in that bargain, her needs had gotten sidetracked.
Her grandparents were doing well in the retirement community. Strange that they had to move away, living in separate apartments, but they saw each other every day. Her grandpa and her Nana lived in the assisted living facility halfway between Annona and Clarkesville. She never understood why two people at age seventy thought getting a divorce made any sense. After all that time putting up with each other, to give up a whole life, for what? Singles’ bridge night and senior Zumba classes?
