Make Me Love You

by Elizabeth Bright

  “He won’t think it’s so hilarious when I turn him into gloves,” Emma said darkly.

  “Luke loves him, for reasons that have yet to be determined.”

  “Oh.” She was quiet, considering. “Maybe I’ll let him live. This time.”

  Damn, she smelled good. He took a discreet sniff of her hair. The burrito smell wasn’t quite as strong as it usually was, though. Pine trees, soap, and a little bit of paint. He shifted onto his back, still holding her close, and she fell against his chest, her leg sandwiched between his. She wiggled, trying to get off him, he assumed, but all she managed to do was rub against his dick in a way that was more likely to get him off.

  “Don’t move,” he said through gritted teeth.

  She froze. “Did I hurt you?”

  His eyes narrowed at her tone, which was far too sweet and innocent to be real. “You did that on purpose.”

  “What? What did I do? Do you mean this?” She slid her thigh slowly along the increasingly hard ridge in his jeans. “Is that what you mean?”

  He hissed a warning through his teeth.

  She did it again.

  He rolled, pinning her flat on her back beneath him. He held both her wrists above her head with one hand and leaned in close, until their lips were only an inch apart. So tempting. God, he wanted to kiss her. Wanted to close that miniscule distance and give relief to all these inconvenient feelings.

  But he couldn’t. It had to be her.

  “This, Ms. Andrews. This is why I don’t want Luke touching you. Yeah, I know I don’t have any right to make claims on you, but I’m going to do it anyway.” He paused, taking in the sudden flare of heat in her eyes. “And you like it. You like that I’m claiming you.”

  “I don’t.”

  He laughed. “Liar.”

  For a moment they both stopped breathing, both of them frozen. Then she let out a shaky breath.

  “Yeah,” she whispered.

  It was all he could do to stop himself from taking her mouth. But he had promised.

  “Well?” he said roughly. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

  He heard her swallow hard, felt her breasts pitch against him in a sharp inhalation. They were so close he couldn’t tell his heartbeat from hers.

  She shook her head.

  He had expected that, but still the disappointment was nearly unbearable. Her gaze fell to his lips, and she wet her own with the tip of her tongue, and that eased the sting somewhat. She wanted him. She just didn’t want the responsibility of wanting him. How it was she so readily accepted the care and keeping of everyone around her, but was such a rank coward when it came to caring for her own needs?

  That was a conversation for another day. Right now, he needed to get out of there before he broke his promise to her, and to himself.

  “Are you sure? That’s what you want?” he asked.

  “I will never kiss you, Eli.”

  “Suit yourself.” He released her wrists, placed his palms flat on the ground bracketing her shoulders, and pushed himself up, careful not to crush her. Once standing, he offered her a hand. She refused, scrambling to her feet without his assistance.

  He made for the door, swung it open, and paused. “You’re wrong, you know. A kiss like we had, it’s special. You know that’s true, and there’s no sense in pretending otherwise. You wouldn’t have teased me like that if you didn’t feel the same way. Eventually, you are going to kiss me.”

  He just hoped the waiting for it didn’t kill him first.

  ***

  Emma didn’t follow Eli inside. For a long moment she stood in the dim parking lot, debating. Her body was still vibrating with a restless energy from the encounter with Eli. Adrenaline, maybe, from her close escape with Goat. Annoyance from being accused of flirting with Luke, as though Eli had any say in the matter. Horniness. Might as well call a spade a spade.

  Anyway, her fries were cold by now.

  She couldn’t face cold fries and Eli’s smoldering smirk right now. It was too much. She would come back tomorrow, at a time when she could be sure Eli was on duty and not hanging around the bar, and fix things with Luke. What she needed right now was a cold shower and some mindless television to take her mind off Eli and his mouth.

  His words continued to ring in her ears the entire drive home. Eventually, you are going to kiss me. She ground her teeth in frustration. No, she wasn’t going to kiss him. This was lust, that’s all. Lust couldn’t override everything that had gone down between them. The betrayal. They years of nothing. He hadn’t...he hadn’t even apologized. Not once.

  Not even the night it all went down, when she had come home from work to find him sitting in her living room. He had told her, bluntly, that he had arrested her dad. There were no explanations. No excuses. No apologies. He had been entirely dispassionate about the whole thing. And she had screamed at him, terrible words, saying that she never wanted to see him again. Even then, he hadn’t apologized or explained. He had just nodded and left, like it was nothing to him.

  Lust couldn’t change that. She would never forget. But if he kissed her, maybe she could overlook it for a minute.

  She turned on the shower, setting the temperature to nearly scalding. She angled her body so the stream of water bore down on the tight knots in her shoulders. The bathroom filled with steam, enveloping her in a warm, damp mist. It felt good, but she still couldn’t fully relax. Her mind was still in that moment with Eli, their bodies pressed against each other, their mouths only a breath apart.

  Damn him.

  She scrubbed hard at her hair and body, and managed to remove most of the paint remnants. If only it were as easy to remove this inconvenient craving for something—someone—that was so wrong for her.

  The water was cooling now, and she reluctantly turned it off. She toweled herself dry, squeezing the excess water from her hair, and followed up with a layer of lotion before slipping into her pajamas.

  It was barely nine, but she was clean and cozy. It had been such a long day, years of pre-dawn mornings selling burritos ad conditioned her to go to bed early. Considering the long day she’d had, by all rights she should fall asleep the second her head hit the pillow. She was exhausted. Even her eyelids ached.

  Instead, she lay in her comfy bed, staring blankly into the darkness, her body aching in a way that had nothing to do with sore muscles and everything to do with rolling around in the grass with Eli Carter. Desire was still coursing through her bloodstream like an electric current. She needed relief. She needed release.

  Fortunately, she didn’t need Eli for release. She could take care of that herself.

  She settled more deeply into her soft pillows and tried to relax. She closed her eyes and conjured an image of a rumpled Mr. Darcy walking through a misty field at dawn from Pride and Prejudice, which was her favorite way to start a session of self-pleasure. She slipped her hand between the apex of her thighs.

  Dark eyes burning into hers. The scrape of rough-hewn wood against her back. Her fingers digging into his beard to pull his face to hers—

  Oh, God.

  Her eyes popped open. Mr. Darcy didn’t have a beard, and she was fairly certain that was a barn wall she was imagining pressed against her back. It was Eli’s dark eyes, Eli’s bronzed skin, Eli’s mouth claiming hers. She was thinking of Eli. She was thinking of Eli and touching herself.

  No. No, no, no.

  She jumped out of bed like the sheets had caught fire. What was she doing? She couldn’t do that. It didn’t feel wrong, though. It felt...pathetic. She was exhausted and frustrated and horny as hell and this wasn’t going to solve any of those problems. She could give herself orgasm after orgasm and it wouldn’t touch the ocean-deep well of need she felt for Eli.

  Only one thing could do that.

  She grabbed her shoes.

  Chapter Ten

  Eli had just kicked off his boots and was on his way to the fridge to grab a beer and see what he could throw together for dinner. It had been a l
ong day of work that included a domestic disturbance at seven a.m. Seven was technically before his shift even started, but Billy Combs had chosen that time to finally return home—drunk, of course—and hit his wife for not having breakfast ready for him. There had also been a loose dog to round up, because Hart’s Ridge didn’t have Animal Control, and several speeding tickets.

  The interlude at Goat’s Tavern with Emma hadn’t helped. All it had done was ratchet up the tension in him until he felt as taut as an arrow on a bowstring. One slight motion would send him flying.

  He hadn’t eaten anything there, either. Once he realized Emma had left, he’d lost his appetite and headed home. Now it was late, and he was cranky as hell. The last thing he felt like doing was cooking dinner, but his only other option was to order pizza for the third time that week. Hart’s Ridge had a lot of things going for it, in Eli’s opinion, but takeout at ten p.m. wasn’t one of them.

  But he could have a beer, even if he drank it with a bowl of cereal instead of a real dinner.

  At least, that was the plan until he heard the knock on the door.

  Eli looked around the spare living room, wondering if he had imagined it. It didn’t look like the sort of place people dropped by unexpectedly to hang out, because it wasn’t. It was the exact opposite of where he had grown up, in a house stuffed full of furniture his mom had selected. His dad couldn’t bear to part with any of it, no matter how much it fell apart in later years.

  Eli followed a different philosophy when it came to home décor. The furnishings in his one-bedroom house were sparse: a recliner, a coffee table, a television. But the recliner was made from buttery-soft leather, the coffee table was from a local shop that handmade furniture from recycled lumber and iron, and the television was a fifty-five-inch flat screen. Eli liked nice things, and he liked to treat himself. Who would, if not him?

  He didn’t even keep an extra chair for guests. Who would sit in it? For the first time, it occurred to him that he didn’t have much in the way of true friends. Lots of friendly acquaintances, sure. But no one who would come over to hang out. If he wanted to see Luke, he went to the tavern.

  So it wasn’t a friend at the door, he was certain of that. It wasn’t likely to be someone needing his services as a police officer, either. If someone needed something this late at night, they weren’t going to waste time driving here to collect him. They were going to call.

  The knock came again. Not his imagination. Just in case, he checked his phone on the way to the door. No, he hadn’t missed a call or text.

  Which meant—

  His pulse quickened, pumping blood south even before he opened the door. There was only one person he could think of who would show up on his doorstep this late at night, and only one thing she could want.

  He jerked the door open, and even though he expected her, even though his body was already preparing, he was still stunned into silence at the sight of Emma on his doorstep. She stood there, pale hair swirling around her shoulders in a gleaming mass, eyes narrowed, arms crossed under her breasts. Looking mad as a wildcat and twice as lethal.

  His mouth went dry. He couldn’t hear over the sudden roaring in his ears. He stepped back, giving her space, hoping she took the gesture as an offer to follow him in.

  She did. The moment she stepped over the threshold, he shut the door behind her. Not that he thought she would change her mind, but he didn’t want to make the option too appealing, either.

  “What are you doing here, Ms. Andrews?”

  Her gray eyes flashed at that. It was a dangerous game, egging her on when she was clearly already in a murderous state of mind, but a game he couldn’t resist playing. Maybe if he got her mad enough, she would finally do something about it.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” The words were an accusation. “I’m exhausted. Usually I can’t keep my eyes open past nine. I have to be up at five. But I can’t sleep.”

  Good. He hadn’t slept right since the morning he’d walked into City Hall and discovered they would be working together. It was only fair that he returned the favor.

  He headed for the kitchen. It was the only way to stop himself from dropping to his knees and begging her to put them both out of their misery. Just for a night. Just so they could get some goddamn sleep. “Do you want something to drink?” He opened the fridge, pulled out two beers.

  She shook her head. “I already tried that. It didn’t work.”

  His heart sank into his shoes. If she had been drinking, that would change what happened here tonight. He put one beer back in the fridge and used the counter to pop the cap off the other. “Are you drunk?”

  Her face did something odd, twisting into a sympathetic grimace. “No. You know I wouldn’t drive drunk, Eli. Especially not after what happened with your dad. I had one beer, hoping it would make me relax. It didn’t.”

  Relief turned his knees wobbly. He leaned against the counter, hoping he somehow managed to look sexy and not like a Victorian lady in need of a fainting couch.

  He took a slow pull of his beer. “So here you are. Because you can’t sleep. And...you want me to sing you a lullaby?”

  The look she gave him was so livid with lust that it would have been funny if it hadn’t felt like she kicked him in the heart. The lust he understood, and the anger...well, he supposed he understood that, too. She wanted him. She didn’t want to want him, and she sure as hell didn’t want to admit to any of it.

  But that was too bad, because he was going to make her say it anyway. She could do with a little personal responsibility for her actions. He wasn’t going to allow her to treat tonight like it was just another thing that happened to her, as though she had no role in how it all played out. Once he had done that for her, shouldering the responsibility for something he knew would be unbearable for her to face, but this was different. She could bear it just fine, even if it stung her pride a little.

  If she wanted this, she was going to have to put on her big girl shoes and damn well use her words.

  “You know what I want,” she said.

  He cocked his head to the side and studied her. “I’m not sure I do, to be honest. Why don’t you tell me?”

  She made a short, frustrated sound. “You won’t make this easy on me, will you.”

  “No.”

  She took one stride toward him, then abruptly reversed course. She ping-ponged back and forth a few times while he watched, half-amused, half-terrified that she would change her mind. Finally, she stopped, facing him. She was breathing hard, and he doubted it was from physical exertion.

  “This has to stop. I can’t...I can’t live like this. I can’t spend my nights staring at the ceiling. I can’t walk around all day, like...like...”

  “Like what?” His voice was hoarse, shaken. “You have to say it, honey.”

  She closed her eyes, her throat moving as she swallowed hard. “Like I will die if you don’t touch me. Like I’m going to catch fire at any moment and you’re the only thing that can put me out.”

  Her eyes opened, burning straight into his. Two steps and she was in his arms. She dragged her fingertips down the rough stubble of his cheeks, along his jaw, and swept her thumb across his lower lip.

  “I need you to make it stop, Eli. I need to fuck you out of my system.”

  He understood. For tonight only. To get it out of their systems once and for all. It wasn’t like he was thinking wedding bells and picket fences. He knew forever wasn’t on the table. That was fine. Really. Forever didn’t exist anyway, in his experience. There was no reason to believe this time would be any different, just because it was Emma.

  “I think I can do that,” he said.

  He lowered his head, but she put a hand to his chest to hold him back.

  “This doesn’t mean...” Her eyebrows pushed together in a frown. “I hate you, Eli. This won’t change that. Does that matter?”

  She was giving him an out. Did he want to take it? For a moment he asked himself, quite seriously, if maybe it d
id matter. If maybe this feeling like someone had stabbed him in the gut with a red-hot poker was a sign that he was in over his head...and in over his heart.

  The answer was no, it didn’t matter. At least, not enough. Nothing mattered enough to stop this from happening. Besides, he had heard I love you before. It was generally followed by leaving. It was the last thing his mom had said to him, and it hadn’t made one bit of difference in what happened next. So why couldn’t I hate you be followed by sex? It felt right, in the twisted recesses of his heart. It felt like something he could live with.

  As opposed to walking away from Emma, which was something he didn’t think he could bear. It was unreasonable to even suggest it, now, with her soft skin under his fingers and her scent filling his lungs. He couldn’t say no to this. He didn’t even want to, no matter how much it broke him.

  “I don’t care,” he said, which wasn’t a lie so much as it wasn’t the truth.

  She pulled his face toward hers and claimed his mouth. Like every kiss they had shared before, it wasn’t gentle. He kissed her hard and deep, knowing that tonight was the last time. Come tomorrow, there would be no more kisses.

  But he wasn’t going to think about that right now, because right now Emma was in his arms and that made it hard to even consider future regrets. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to waste his only time with her backed up against a kitchen counter. Kitchen counters were for lovers who had all the time in the world, for slow, lazy mornings of kissing and sex intermingling with pancakes and coffee. Kitchen counters weren’t for them. No, they needed a bed, where he could spread her out and make a feast of her.

  He cupped her butt with both hands and boosted her up. She wrapped her long legs around his waist. Somehow he navigated them down the hallway to his bedroom, his lips never once leaving hers.

  He carefully laid her down on the bed and tried to unwind himself from her limbs, but she clung to him, keeping him close. The unconscious vulnerability of it made his chest squeeze tight. But he wanted—no, needed—her naked, and that wasn’t going to happen if she didn’t let go of him for at least a moment.