Wrong Bed, Right Man (Accidental Love)

by Rebecca Brooks

  Rose gave a tight smile. Owen knew what it meant.

  “None,” he guessed. “There’s no way you got in trouble.”

  “Once,” Rose said. “I was standing three blocks away from the school when this girl I barely knew gave me her lit cigarette to hold while she looked for something in her backpack. My English teacher happened to drive by right then and held me after class to give me an earful about throwing my future away.”

  Owen put down his fork. “Over a cigarette?”

  “I cried in her classroom. I was afraid she was going to tell my mom.”

  He nodded sagely. “One puff, and the next thing you know, you’re freebasing in the bathroom before Geometry.”

  “I didn’t even smoke it!”

  “Of course you didn’t,” he teased. God, she was so good. So, so good.

  And funny, and kind, and sweet, and thoughtful, cutting a slice of pizza in half because his dad only wanted a little bit more. She wouldn’t even have talked to him if they’d gone to school together.

  Hell, she wouldn’t have talked to him now if she hadn’t walked in on him. And if he hadn’t literally broken her bed.

  The reminder of how random this was—how this was not meant to be—made him have to put his wineglass down.

  “You okay?” Rose asked, glancing over.

  He coughed a little. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m good.”

  Rose had always grown up expecting to do the right thing. Graduate, get a steady job, work in a cubicle for a company to pay the bills. Even if she didn’t love it. Marry the right man. Even if he, too, wasn’t who she loved.

  He wondered if she felt differently about any of that now. If she was ready to bend the rules a little…or a lot.

  “Has Owen showed you the shop yet?” Hank’s question jerked Owen out of his thoughts.

  Rose shook her head. “He hasn’t.”

  “Forgive my son’s manners,” Hank said. “You’d think I’d have raised him better than that.”

  “You know I’m sitting right here,” Owen said.

  Rose laughed. “Where’s my tour? I’ve heard all about his work, but he hasn’t shown me anything.”

  “I’ll take care of cleanup,” Hank said before Owen could use that as the obvious excuse. “You kids head downstairs.”

  “We really don’t have to—” he started, but Rose was already pushing back her chair.

  “He’s afraid I might steal his trade secrets.” She said it to Hank, as though teasing. But her eyes on Owen were full of meaning. I won’t, they said. You can trust me.

  He gave a small nod.

  But he was still nervous. Not only about that.

  But he was showing her his space. His life. Everything that mattered to him.

  “Did he tell you about the new commission?” Hank asked.

  “No.” Rose whirled on him. “But he’s about to.”

  Owen took a deep breath. “Remind me to never let you two meet again,” he said as he opened the door to lead her downstairs.

  “Is it the bedroom set you’ve been working on?” she asked.

  “It’s a new one,” Hank called out as they started down the stairs. “Tell her how you drummed it up.”

  “That’s enough, Dad!” Owen called back and closed the door behind him.

  He loved his father plenty but thank everything they were finally going to be alone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Wow,” Rose said as soon as she stepped into Owen’s workshop. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Something small, with a few nice pieces in progress. CUBE always made these places sound so minor.

  But this was amazing.

  “This is so beautiful,” she said, running a hand over the surface of a dresser. It was dark wood, shiny and rich, with intricate detailing all along the edges. “How did you find this on Craigslist?”

  She looked up at Owen. His face was red, and he wasn’t quite looking at her. Did she say something wrong? Maybe he hadn’t been joking upstairs and really didn’t want her here. Maybe they weren’t as close as she’d thought.

  “It’s—that’s one that I made,” he finally said.

  Rose dropped her hand. “You made this?”

  He nodded. “It’s the commission I’m finishing.”

  “The one your dad was talking about?”

  “Actually…” He paused.

  “What?” she asked. Why was he being so weird?

  “That one’s part of the bedroom set I’ve been working on since before I met you. I can show you the rest of the pieces, too. The new commission is one that’s just getting started. We’ve only had a phone call so far.”

  “Owen.” She took a step toward him. “Are you telling me you got a second commission and didn’t immediately call me? And tell me to bring over champagne?”

  “It’s still in the early stages,” he said, holding up his hands to stop her from jumping up and down.

  “But to even start the conversation is huge. How did you find them?”

  “They found me. Can you believe it?” He gave a sheepish grin. “The people I’m doing the bedroom set for told their friends about it, and the friends said it was just the kind of thing they’re looking for.”

  “Holy shit,” she said. “That’s perfect! They’re so lucky to have found you.”

  She was happy for Owen. Over the moon happy.

  But then something else struck her. She didn’t want to admit it, but she also felt…sad.

  She’d come to Owen’s place excited to tell him what Jason had told her in his office: that there was room to promote one advertising assistant, and the executives wanted it to be her. She’d start having a say in strategy and planning, not just compiling other people’s notes.

  But the words to share her news stayed locked in her throat. What Owen was doing here was real. Beautiful, memorable, and real. The kind of work anyone would be grateful to hold onto for generations, the way she’d held onto her grandmother’s bed.

  Working at CUBE had never felt particularly meaningful to her. But it felt that much more meaningless now.

  She ran her eyes over the dresser again, taking in every stunning detail. It was incredible to realize a person could sit at the bench in front of her and carve such art with his hands. What had she ever done that could compare?

  “What are you thinking?” he asked, coming up to her. “You suddenly got quiet.”

  She didn’t know what to say. “I just can’t stop looking at what you’ve made,” she said truthfully. “What are you doing to drum up more work? You have to. It’s too good not to have everyone see this.”

  He laughed, but it wasn’t one of his big, easy ones. It was laughter edged with something else, a side of him she couldn’t quite read. “Is this a business meeting?” he asked.

  “Of course not.” She shook her head. “It’s just—I’m impressed, that’s all.”

  “You didn’t think it would be good.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” How could she begin to explain?

  He stepped closer and lifted her chin. “Then what do you mean?” he said softly, gazing into her…through her…lighting up some place inside her where she’d never looked before. “Tell me,” he added softly. “I know we were joking around upstairs, Rose. But you can tell me.”

  She pressed a palm to his chest. She closed her eyes, his heartbeat pulsing beneath her fingertips. “I just feel like what you’re doing is really important,” she said. “And what I’m doing isn’t.”

  It was childish to compare herself to him like that. But he’d wanted the truth. This was her being honest with him.

  She was surprised to feel his lips on hers. Her eyes fluttered open, and then she closed them again, sinking into the kiss.

  “Your work pays to keep the lights on,” he said after he fin
ished the kiss. “And you’re obviously conscientious and capable and good at it. That’s something to be proud of. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.”

  “But this is on a whole other level. I’m serious, Owen. What are you doing to attract more clients? What kind of advertising?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not CUBE. It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Everything works like that.”

  He kissed her nose. “Not me. I’m not your PR guy, giving everything its spin. What you see is what you get.”

  “But you could—”

  She wanted to say more. About Owen, his home, his hilarious father, and his incredible work. About this gift that he had, and how half the city should be banging down his door to get in line.

  But then he kissed her again, and it was hard to remember what words were or why she should use them. It was just his breath, his tongue, his taste, his touch. Everything surged within her like a stormy tide.

  His hands circled her waist. The next thing she knew, he was pushing her back—or maybe she was pulling him toward her—and she was leaning against his solid wood desk.

  He moved papers aside without looking. Something clattered to the floor. She didn’t care. He sure as hell didn’t seem to, either. He never stopped kissing her, touching her, running his hands over her back, her sides, threading his fingers through her hair. Anything to bring their bodies closer.

  He hitched her up, so she was perched on the edge of the desk. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He stood between her thighs, pressing into her, still kissing and kissing. When his lips went to the side of her neck, she groaned softly, unable to hold it in anymore.

  “Shh,” he breathed in her ear. “My father.”

  She’d almost forgotten. Just one creaky floor separated them from Hank, still puttering around upstairs. When she paused long enough to notice something besides their breathing, she could hear running water and the sounds of him washing dishes, opening and closing the fridge, moving slowly across the floor.

  “Should we stop?” she whispered.

  “Not a chance.”

  “Then you can’t make me scream.”

  He bit her ear lobe. “You’ll have to hold it in for me.”

  She’d been kidding. But he obviously wasn’t. He wasn’t going to hold back just because they didn’t have the privacy they’d grown used to in her apartment.

  His hand went between her thighs, and she moaned. It was just a tiny whimper, a soft noise escaping, but he whispered, “Quiet,” as he stroked her softly through the seam of her jeans.

  “I don’t know if I can.” How could she be quiet with the way Owen touched her? How could she hold anything back?

  “You can,” he told her, and then he kissed her again so her cries were swallowed by his mouth as he slid his hand under her jeans and her panties and fingered her up against the desk.

  She spread her legs wider around him, drawing him deeper. “Shh,” he whispered again.

  The more her urged her to be quiet, the more she wanted to moan. But she knew she couldn’t. If she made too much noise, they’d have to stop. And there was no way she wanted to stop.

  Trying to hold it all in just made everything build up inside her. Her thighs were trembling against him. Her breath tore through her in jagged bursts. She wrapped her arms around him, digging her fingernails into his shoulders as she clung to him.

  “That’s it,” he whispered in her ear. “Nice and quiet for me.”

  He circled her clit with his fingertips then pushed inside her. She whimpered softly and bucked her hips against him, needing him deeper. Craving more. He fucked her with his fingers, her ass braced against the edge of the desk as she clung to him.

  When he pressed his thumb to her clit, with two fingers still inside her, she came with an explosive gasp that she quickly tried to swallow. All the noise she had to keep inside seemed to ricochet within her. She had a sudden fear that it was wrong to be fingered on a desk, in someone’s workshop, with his father upstairs. It’s not what I’m supposed to do.

  Says who? another voice in her shot right back. Maybe it wasn’t what she’d expected of herself when she took the chance on a one-night stand. But there were plenty of things in her life she’d never planned for, and that didn’t make them less real or less right.

  She pressed her face to Owen’s shoulder and laughed, letting his T-shirt muffle the sounds. She just felt so damn good, and she didn’t want to fight it anymore.

  “What got into you?” he asked with a smile, tilting her face up so he could look at her.

  “I think you did,” she said with a smirk.

  “I’m not done being inside you,” he whispered. Her whole body felt soft and warm, weakening at his touch. God, she loved the way he said that. She loved the way he needed her—and didn’t pretend otherwise.

  “You ever done this in here?” she asked him.

  “Nope.”

  “Really?” She was surprised, but he shook his head.

  “You’re the first person I’ve ever brought home.” He paused. “Or I guess I should say the first person who’s ever bribed her way into my apartment with food and wine.”

  She laughed. “Persistence is key.”

  Owen held her face in his strong hands and pressed his forehead to hers. He whispered, gruff and low, “And what is it that you want, Rose? What are you going after?”

  Her heart stumbled. He may not have meant it as a big question, but it was—maybe the biggest one of all. What do I want with my life?

  But in a way, it was easy to answer. She pressed the flat of her palm against the hard outline of his cock standing at attention in his pants.

  She could say something coy. A little shy. Something the old Rose might have said. Like, “Oh, I think you know.” Or, “Whatever you want, honey.” Or, more likely, nothing at all. She couldn’t say the wrong thing if she didn’t say anything to begin with. No one had ever asked her these kinds of questions before. What she wanted. What she needed. What was beating hard within her heart. She didn’t have the words at the ready, so they could roll out as planned and scripted as a glossy ad.

  But she took a breath. “I want this,” she said, stroking him through his jeans. His breath hitched as his hips pressed into her, making it more than clear what he wanted, too.

  Before she could inhale again, he pulled her off the desk, turned her around, and yanked her jeans down. Then he pressed her forward so she was leaning on the table. Her ass hung off the end, naked and exposed.

  She heard rustling then the rip of a condom. Her legs tensed in anticipation. She was so ready for it when he put his hands on her hips, spreading her legs.

  And then he pushed inside her.

  It was everything she could do not to cry out, to beg and scream and moan as he fucked her hard against the desk. The desire kept building, the urge to let it all out. The desk itself began to bang on the floor, and she reached across to grip the edge, her knuckles turning white as she braced herself and braced the desk as Owen drilled hard into her.

  Her pants were around her ankles, her shirt pulled up. His pants were down just enough that she could feel the fly of his jeans against the back of her thighs, the button pressing into her with his thrusts. His hands gripped her tightly, and it might have been too much except she wanted it that way. She wanted to feel like he was never letting go.

  Her spine tingled at how fast they’d gone from talking to fucking. How they couldn’t even wait to get to a bed later on and couldn’t risk taking their clothes all the way off. The fact that they had to keep quiet, no whispers and no cries.

  And yet, somehow, it felt to Rose like the most intimate they’d been. The most intimate she’d ever been with anyone.

  Vulnerable. Bent over. Begging and needing. No place to hide anymore.

  She must have started whi
mpering without realizing it, closing her eyes and getting too into the sensation. The next thing she knew, Owen’s hand was covering her mouth, smothering her cries.

  “Shh,” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear it. Fuck, it was so hot. It only made her need it more.

  She was building to another orgasm, her body taking over where her mind had stopped. She ground against the edge of the desk, finding the place where the smooth, rounded wood pressed just right over her clit.

  “Oh God, come for me again,” Owen panted, obviously realizing how close she was, how her movements had shifted so she was taking his cock and taking her pleasure against the desk where he’d pressed her. She would have reminded him to be quiet except he was still covering her mouth. Then he inhaled sharply, the hard, quick thrusts from his muscular thighs getting even faster, and she knew he was close, and she was closer still—

  She came on his cock, grinding against the desk, letting the dual sensations overwhelm her until there was nothing to do but give in. It wasn’t long before she could tell from the tightening of his body that he was releasing into her, coming just as hard as she had.

  His rhythm began to slow, taking long strokes inside her as they both savored the feeling. He brought his hand from her mouth. When he at last went still, he leaned over her, pressing his forehead to her back.

  Slowly, he pulled out. She missed the warmth of his body, his arms around her. But he was back in a moment, after throwing out the condom, and he turned her and took her in his arms. She sat on the edge of the desk and rested her head against him. His heart galloped in her ear, racing just for her.

  “Shit,” he exhaled softly.

  “I know,” she agreed.

  “That was something else.”

  “Do you think—?” She gazed up at him.

  “We were quiet,” he assured her.

  “It wasn’t easy.”

  He pretended to bite the tip of her nose. “I hope it was worth it.”

  All she could do was grin.

  “Your dad’s going to think we got lost down here,” she said.