She wiggled a bit, and he moved an inch or so, his body tight as she slowly reached for the front clasp and undid her bra. The silky material fell open, sliding across milky-white skin until she was exposed. Her dusky nipples puckered, and with a groan, he bent forward.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured, eyes riveted to her chest. His hard-on was killing him, but he knew the longer he waited, the better it’d be.
For both of them.
“No one’s perfect,” she replied, thrusting forward, giving him what he wanted. Nash would have debated the point, but he had other business to attend to. He took a moment to drink her in. Long dark hair a mess around her shoulders. Smoldering eyes, heavy lidded with desire. Half-dressed. Exposed skin. Beautiful, round breasts and nipples that begged for his touch.
“Really, Booker?” Her words were whispered, the tone husky. “Let’s get on with it.”
His eyebrow shot up at that, and slowly, he touched her, a gentle swipe of his fingertips across her nipple, and a rash of goose bumps spread across her skin. He waited a heartbeat and then touched the other nipple his fingers lingering there so he could pinch it, not in a rough way, but to enhance her pleasure. She wriggled and licked her lips, chest heaving. He smiled and bent forward, flicking his tongue where his fingers had just been.
But only a fleeting touch—a whisper, really—nothing more.
Honey inhaled sharply, eyes on him, her expression unreadable. Her skin was flushed, those high cheekbones a delicate pink, and he held her gaze as he leaned in once more, this time taking the entire tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the puckered flesh and then suckling hard.
She groaned, and her head fell back, her fingers gripping the edge of the bar. Nash took his time, his mouth and tongue and hands giving equal attention to each breast. He would have kept at it, hell, he’d have taken all night, but her hands suddenly grabbed hold of his head, and she yanked him back. They were both breathing heavy, and her eyes glistened in the low light.
For a moment, he thought he’d done something wrong—the expression in her eyes puzzled him.
“Just so you know, Booker. This right here…this is a sure thing. We don’t need all the foreplay.”
She pushed him back and lifted her hips, using her hands on the bar to steady her body. “Undo my pants.”
A strange kind of electricity sizzled between them, and in the recesses of Nash’s mind, he knew the game had just changed. The problem was, he didn’t know what it meant or why.
“Now,” she commanded. The tone of her voice was off, and he looked at her sharply.
“Now you’re just being bossy,” he said, reaching for her jeans.
She didn’t reply but kept her hips elevated so he had easy access. He undid her button and pulled on the zipper. Jesus. H. Christ. The woman went commando. Nash gave a slow whistle as she was laid bare to him, his eyes riveted to the sweet spot between her legs. She moved and kicked her feet a bit until he yanked her jeans down to her knees.
Which she spread.
And holy hell, she glistened from between her lips, her arousal scenting the air between them.
“Your turn,” she said raggedly.
Nash was so far gone, he didn’t hesitate. He reached into the pockets of his jeans and pulled out a condom.
“Nice to see you’re prepared,” Honey said, watching him from behind half-lidded eyes. He wasn’t about to mention Jade or the fact he had planned on getting busy with her tonight. Because then he’d have to examine the real reason he’d ditched the blonde. And that reason was right in front of him.
He took exactly three seconds to appreciate the visual of a woman who still wore her clothes but was fully exposed to him. And damn, but the combat boots made it all the more sexy.
He undid his jeans and pulled out his cock, watching her closely as he slid the condom over his dick. He was hard as hell, and without pause, he lifted her down, turning her around and bending her over. Considering they were still clothed, it was the only way.
She arched her back, and the sight of her perfect ass nearly did him in.
“Now, Booker,” she growled.
That was all it took. He sank into her balls-deep, one hand on her hip holding steady, the other pressed against the small of her back. She began to move, and he had to work to keep up. She was tight and hot and so damn wet. She fit him like a glove, and Nash looked up, his eyes drawn to their reflection in the mirror.
She made no effort to hide from him. In fact, she held his gaze, her eyes full of desire and lust and satisfaction. Something happened then. A zig to his zag. It punched him in the gut, and he struggled to keep his shit together. This was different. She was different.
They moved together in silence. The only sound was the echo of his body slamming into hers as he drove himself home. He’d worry about that other stuff later, because this was gonna be quick and dirty. He couldn’t help himself.
“Faster,” she gasped, reached back for the hand he had at the small of her back. She pulled it away and guided him around front. “Here,” she said.
Later, when he had some time to reflect, he’d smile at the way she ran the show. At how she was so comfortable with her body and in tune with her needs. But in the moment, he didn’t think of any of those things. He pressed his finger against her swollen clit and circled the tight bud, pleased when she groaned her pleasure.
Nash increased his rhythm, and she matched him stroke for stroke. He felt her tighten, smiled savagely when she swore and bucked against him. When Honey came, she screamed, and her body shuddered against him. Three strokes later, he followed her down and came so hard, his legs began to shake.
Nash didn’t stop. He pumped her body until every last drop of him was released, until his body slowed down, until he could catch his fucking breath. And for a moment, that was all he heard. Their jagged breathing. He wanted to pull her into his arms and get rid of the rest of their clothing. To feel her heat awhile longer. To see every inch of her.
He looked up once more and found her eyes on him before they slid away. Slowly, he withdrew, and she turned around. She hiked up her jeans but didn’t bother to do them up. Her long hair was tangled, and she pushed it back and squared her shoulders. She looked at him, the air between them rife with unspoken things and an energy that wouldn’t leave.
His dick stirred. Christ, he was ready to go again.
“Thanks for that,” she said, a slight smile curving her mouth—a mouth Nash had a hard time tearing his gaze from. God, she had great lips. “It was good.”
Wait. What? He jerked his head up, dark eyes slamming into hers. Was she kidding? “Good?”
“Yeah it was good.” The smile widened, and she stretched like cat, nodding as she did so. “I’ll sleep like a baby tonight.” She moved away from him, and Nash had to work to keep his mouth from gaping open. Shadows enveloped her as she headed toward the back door that led upstairs to her apartment. “You might want to give that barstool another wipe.”
“That’s it?” Was she serious?
“Does there have to be more?” She sighed and turned around. “Thanksgiving dinner doesn’t make us friends. We barely know each other.”
“You make a habit of banging men you’re not friends with?” It was a low blow, and he regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.
She didn’t bother to acknowledge them. She headed for the stairs. “Don’t forget to lock up when you leave.”
Nash stood by the bar, his shirt open, pants undone, his sex-induced euphoria long gone. What the fuck? What they’d shared was more than just good. Hell, he’d made her come so hard, he was pretty sure she’d scored the top of the bar with her nails.
Had he read the situation wrong? Was he that stupid?
He stared into the shadows for a long time. So long, in fact, that his thighs cramped and the back of his neck ached. He scowled and zipped up his jeans before grabbing his leather jacket from his office. He turned off the lights and swore.
Nash Booker had been used for sex and tossed aside like a piece of meat by a woman who didn’t give a rat’s ass about him.
He scowled and gazed into the darkness. Huh.
So this is what it feels like.
9
Contrary to what Honey told Nash, she didn’t sleep like a baby. In fact, she lay awake for hours, her mind racing, thinking of things that had nothing and everything to do with Nash Booker. Sex with him had shaken her. She’d felt things she had no business feeling. A connection that could only lead to trouble because Honey didn’t do connections for a lot reasons. And if she went down that rabbit hole, she might not find her way out.
She didn’t want to remember the things that had shaped her. The things responsible for the invisible scars beneath her skin and the ones hidden in plain sight. Things like a drug-addicted mother who’d brought a never-ending parade of men into their home. Men who used women for their own selfish needs and tossed them aside like garbage. Men with no moral compass. Men who didn’t care if you were thirty-five or fourteen.
She’d grown up surrounded by chaos and instability, with a mother who used drugs to ease the pain of heartache and her own foolishness. Somehow, Honey survived, and she’d clung to that knowledge and worn it like a badge of honor.
But had she survived? Wasn’t she living a lie? Acting like she had her shit together when she was so far from normal, it wasn’t funny? If she was normal, she’d have invited Nash up to her room for another round of sex. And they’d take it slow. Savor it. Enjoy it. Instead, she was alone in the dark, twisted up and pissed off because she didn’t want to think or remember any of these things.
With a groan, she rolled over and pulled her pillow over her head. She’d known better than to sleep with Nash, because she’d known it would be different. He was different from the men she’d known before. He was a man’s man, no doubt about that, with a touch of arrogance offset by an overabundance of confidence and more than his share of testosterone. He was a leader. A man who turned heads. But he was also loyal and fair. Quick to smile and offer encouragement. She’d seen how gentle he was with his nephew. How much he loved his family. Even Cam, though at the moment, he wouldn’t admit to it.
He was also her boss. That, coupled with the great sex and that connection she didn’t want to acknowledge, was asking for trouble.
“Fuck,” she whispered into her pillow.
She needed to be careful. Nash wasn’t part of her plan.
Honey’s alarm sounded again. She turned it off and headed for the shower. She would not spend one more minute dwelling on the night before. Or Nash Booker. Or her past. Or the fact that she had aches and pains in places that hadn’t ached or pained in a long time.
Nope. All that shit was in her rearview, at least for today. Tuesday was her day off, and she had somewhere important to be.
Forty-five minutes later, Honey pulled into the parking lot of Crystal Lake’s Community Support Centre, a large building on the north side of town, which housed local agencies and a youth drop-in. For the past few months, Honey had been volunteering at the drop-in center, working with local troubled teens. Brooke Atwell was one of them.
At sixteen, the girl had attitude that matched the massive chip on her shoulder. She was sullen and verbally abusive. She acted as if she didn’t give a crap about anything—not even herself—but Honey saw through it. She saw the quiet moments when Brooke thought no one was watching. The moments when her eyes misted and darkened with pain. When the sadness covered her in a shroud that kept her shoulders hunched forward and her eyes downcast.
Those were the moments the mask slipped and her soul shone through.
Watching Brooke was like looking in a mirror. Honey understood the anger and helplessness. She wanted to ease all of it. At the moment, volunteering at the drop-in was the one pure thing in her life, because it was honest. Here, Honey had no agenda. Here she could open up and be herself.
She locked her beat-up Malibu and headed inside. Molly, the receptionist, angled her head around the large potted plant on her desk and greeted her with a smile. Though it dropped a bit as she nodded to the office on her left.
“Hey, Andrea’s waiting for you.”
Surprised, Honey paused. “Everything okay?”
Molly sat back in her chair and sighed as she tugged a large gray woolen sweater tighter across her chest. She was in her late fifties and volunteered her time to the center. Her chocolate-brown hair was cut into a blunt style whose sharp edges curved along her jaw, and it was shot through with silver. Her pale blue eyes were kind as she tucked her hair behind her ear.
“I’m not sure, but I know a board meeting has been called. Could be nothing.” She winked and reached for the phone as it rang. “Andrea asked that you pop by her office before going to the drop-in.”
Honey gave a quick knock on Andrea’s door and let herself in. Andrea Lee was a pretty woman, with long curly blonde hair, sunny blue eyes, and a quick smile that made a person feel good.
At the moment, it was nowhere to be seen, and unease shifted inside Honey. Andrea was on the phone and waved Honey in, forehead furrowed as she listened to whoever was on the other end. She slipped into one of the chairs in front of Andrea’s desk and waited for the conversation to end. She tried not to eavesdrop, but the words budget and shortfall and grants were repeated several times. When the woman was finally done, she set the phone back in the cradle and sank back into her seat. For a few seconds, there was silence, and then with a sigh, Andrea leaned forward, resting her elbows on her desk.
“Bad news, Honey.”
Outside, Honey kept her composure. Inside, she was shaking. Had Andrea found out about her past? Was she going to be axed?
“Anything I can do?” Honey spoke carefully, watching the woman across from her.
Andrea shook her head. “Not unless you have an extra fifty thousand dollars kicking around.”
“Sorry.” Honey had some money saved, but it was more in the range of five thousand dollars, not fifty.
“There was an issue with the last grant we applied for. I thought…” Andrea grimaced. “We all thought it was a done deal, but things didn’t turn out the way we wanted them to. We’re not getting the money, and our fundraiser isn’t planned until the new year.”
“What does that mean?” Honey asked, sitting forward.
“It means we’re going to have to cut some programs, at least until the grant comes through or we get monies from the fundraiser.” She looked at Honey. “The youth drop-in will be first to go. We can’t pay the rent on the unit, and the landlord can’t afford to let us use it for free. He’s got a liquidator who wants to come in for a few months.”
Honey sat up in her chair. “But all those kids. Where will they go?” Alarmed, she cleared her throat. “Brooke needs this place, Andrea. You don’t know what her home life is like. She’s on the edge of something dark. I can feel it.”
Andrea gave a small, sad smile. “I know it’s hard to hear. And trust me, this isn’t the first time this has happened. We’ll get through it eventually. Unless we can come up with the funds, we’re going to have to close some programs including the drop-in.”
Honey clenched her jaw and looked away. Why did the ones in danger always have to be the ones to suffer? The ones on the fringe? Those with mental health issues, drug problems, or unstable homes. Why was everything about money? Anger rolled over her, and she clenched her hands, her nails digging into the soft skin of her palms.
She didn’t know anyone with that kind of money to burn.
Yes, you do.
Honey’s heart sped up as her mind raced ahead, considering the possibilities. She jerked out of her chair and jumped to her feet. “Don’t cancel anything yet.”
Andrea looked up at her in surprise. “We’re having a board meeting tomorrow night, Honey. It’s going to happen.”
“Just promise me you won’t do anything until you hear from me.” Honey didn’t wait to hear Andrea’s reply. She ran out
of the office, past Molly and the big-ass plant, and headed for her Malibu. She hopped in, revved the motor, and gripped the steering wheel with cold, stiff fingers. Don’t think. Just go. She put the car in Drive and tore out of the parking lot.
Five minutes later, she parked in front of a red brick building that took up nearly an entire city block of downtown Crystal Lake. It was old, a heritage building for sure, but the brickwork and mortar had been recently sandblasted, and it looked pristine. There were large cedars planted on either side of the entrance, and Christmas lights were threaded throughout the branches. She switched off the engine and glanced up at the sign above the frosted glass double doors.
Blackwell Holdings.
Did she have enough balls to walk in there and ask them for money? Hadn’t that been the plan all along?
Honey blew out a long breath and looked in the mirror at the same eyes that had been staring back at her for the last twenty-five years. Large. Blue. Specks of green. She saw him, and anger sliced through her, fueling her actions. She got out of the car before she convinced herself not to, and strode up the front steps, her boots making impressions on the fresh-fallen snow—which she tracked across reception.
The foyer was a huge open space that made heavy use of the original woodwork and architecture from well over one hundred years ago. On either side of the room, large Greek revival columns spiraled to the ceiling, offsetting pale, eggshell-white wainscoting. Coupled with granite, light and dark gray, with splashes of crimson, the space was a beautiful blend of the old world and the new. An impressive Christmas tree was off to the right, and a young man dressed in black slacks and a purple dress shirt was busy decorating it.
“Excuse me,” Honey said, moving forward when she couldn’t find anyone else behind the front desk. “I need to see Mr. Blackwell.”
You Own My Heart Page 7
