by Tracy Wolff
It might have been his imagination, but he was pretty sure Cherry Cherry flinched. God knows he did. Was the car rolling forward ever so slightly? If he didn’t know better, he’d say Cherry Cherry would like to use Harmony as a speed bump.
Which was a problem. He really needed everyone to get along here.
Gently, he patted Cherry Cherry’s hood.
“She didn’t mean it. I promise.” He glared at Harmony. “You don’t just go and spit on a man’s car. It’s rude and unsanitary.”
“More whining?” Harmony opened the passenger’s door and climbed into the car. “Why are the seats sticky?” She took a deep breath. “It smells like pot in here.”
Heath slid behind the wheel. “Cherry Cherry’s previous owner had interesting proclivities.”
“I bet.” Harmony put on her seat belt. “So why do you call your car Cherry Cherry?”
He turned the key and cranked the engine. Neil Diamond crooned “Cherry Cherry” as soon as the car roared to life. He pulled away from the curb with no further explanation.
After the song finished, it started up again.
“I get that you like the song, but can we choose another one, please?” Harm pressed the button to roll down the window but nothing happened. She kept pressing it. “What’s wrong with this thing?”
“That’s weird, the window worked on the way over.” He hit the button for her window on his door. Nothing. He rolled down his window; it worked fine. He rolled it back up. He sniffed the air. It smelled like exhaust. Black smoke billowed out of the vents in front of Harmony.
Oh. Cherry Cherry was mad.
He pulled off the road, rolled down his window. “Come on, Cherry Cherry. Harmony’s already pissed off at me. She just took it out on you. No hard feelings … she’s Lyric’s sister. You like Lyric.”
The check engine light blinked twice, and Harmony’s window rolled down. Heath couldn’t help but notice that his hands were on the steering wheel and Harm’s were in her lap. Maybe the car had more Christine in her than he had originally given her credit for.
Harmony obviously seemed to think so as she turned huge blue eyes on him. “This car is haunted.” She threw off her seat belt, kicked the door open, and jumped out. “I’m not riding in that.”
Cherry Cherry’s door slammed and the window rolled up, as if to say, “Fine, bitch, you can walk.”
“Your car is possessed. It tried to kill me.” Harmony crossed her arms and stomped down the sidewalk.
He threw Cherry Cherry in reverse and followed alongside her. “Where are you going? Get in.”
“I’m walking back to my house and getting my truck.” She held her head high as her feet chewed up sidewalk. “There’s not a chance in hell I’m getting back in that thing.”
Cherry Cherry’s front passenger’s door locked. Clearly, she felt the same way.
“Okay, I’ll meet you at the jewelry store.” He had to admit, he was a little disappointed. He really hated it when the women in his life didn’t get along.
Ten minutes later, he pulled up in front of Legend Jewelry. It stuck him as odd that he knew exactly what he wanted in an engagement ring for Lyric. Him … Heath Montgomery, who’d never bought jewelry for a woman. Sure, he’d given past girlfriends lavish presents, but never jewelry.
He could see it in his mind. He wanted a giant heart-shaped diamond on a thin platinum band as the engagement ring, and a plain platinum band for Lyric’s wedding ring. On the inside of the band, he wanted tiny sapphires—that matched her eyes—in the shape of the constellation Lyra. It was classic and a little quirky … just like Lyric.
A 1950s delivery van pulled into the parking space next to him. It had “The Wright Way Bakery” painted in bold red on the sides surrounded by colorful flowers and the occasional Día de los Muertos skull. Harmony stepped out. The van suited her, and so did the art on the side. Death metal, skulls, and killer brownies—Harmony had found her calling in life. He really was lucky to have her as his sister.
* * *
Chapter 21
* * *
Lyric was exhausted. Thanks to Heath, she’d spent all day listening to her mother and Gregor talk about weddings.
Big weddings, small weddings, society weddings, yacht weddings, beach weddings … the list went on and on. While she kind of understood Livinia’s interest in big society weddings—in her mind Lyric and Heath were going to have the wedding of the century here in San Angelo—she really didn’t understand the two-hour-long conversation about yacht and beach weddings. Because, really, the closest thing they had to a body of water in San Angelo was Lake Nasworthy, and nobody was putting a yacht on that thing. Hell, most of the time people were hard-pressed to paddle a canoe around it.
Her tension headache had its own migraine. Fake wedding planning was hard work.
She wandered into the kitchen. Something was up. The table was set for two and a bottle of wine was open on the counter.
“I made dinner.” Heath hunched his shoulders sheepishly. And just like that, her heart melted, and the distance she’d been keeping between them came crashing down. He opened the oven door and pulled out a casserole dish. “Lasagna.”
“That’s one of my favorites.” The scents of basil, oregano, tomatoes, and cheese filled the air. It smelled amazing.
“I know. I wanted to surprise you.” He put the dish on the stove and closed the oven door. “Are you hungry?”
He moved over to the refrigerator to get out the salad he had crisping here, and though he was trying to fake it, she could tell from the way he was moving that he was in a lot of pain. The last thing she wanted was to have him moving around the kitchen serving her when his knee was bothering him. He never complained. Nope, Heath wasn’t a complainer.
“Sure, but there’s something I really want to do first.” She hated to burst his little domestic bubble—and she was hungry, just not for food.
“Oh.” His whole face fell.
“You know what I’m in the mood for?” Her eyes went to his shirt, and she imagined that eight-pack and sucked on her bottom lip.
He must have caught the hint in her voice, because suddenly Heath looked a lot less dejected and a lot more interested. “What?”
“A shower.” She took his hand and gently started tugging him toward the stairs. “I need to relax.”
“Of course you do.” Heath’s frown had definitely turned upside down. “Do you need any help with that relaxing?”
Playing the femme fatale didn’t come naturally to her, but she’d seen Harmony do it enough times to be able to fake it. “You know what? I think I just might. Are you volunteering?”
“Absolutely. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do, after all.” He squared his shoulders and accepted the job.
This was a little bit naughty and felt so right. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Halfway up the stairs, his knee nearly gave out on him, and he slammed his fist into the wall. Not hard enough to do any damage, but definitely hard enough to hurt. He must have hated what he perceived as weakness.
She wrapped an arm around him, and they took it one step at a time. He wouldn’t make eye contact. There was shame on his face.
Most of the time he was so upbeat that Lyric hadn’t realized until now how much his injury had been weighing on him. How could it not be?
And he was in physical pain too. She hadn’t realized just how much.
Tonight she wanted the world around them to disappear. They both needed a night off. No thinking about the future, or the wedding, or football … just some good, clean—or, well, dirty—fun.
Tomorrow could take care of itself. It always did. For tonight, they were living in the moment.
She helped him into his en suite bathroom. “Go turn on the shower.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “You’re giving the orders tonight.”
“Yes.” She drew out the s. “Turn on the water.”
“I’
m at your service.” He steadied himself with a hand against the wall and bowed. After he straightened, it was another moment before he moved to turn on the water.
The pain must be bad tonight if he was using the wall to hold himself up. But she knew better than to ask him about it.
She reached for his shirt, began to slowly unbutton the dark-blue button-down. His hands rose to hers, his fingers clasping hers in a soft but unbreakable grip.
“What’re you doing?” His voice was low and growly and so sexy that her knees actually trembled.
“Whatever I want.” She undid the last button, and the shirt dropped to the floor.
“I’ve always admired that you go your own way. Independence is a beautiful thing.” His dark brown eyes stayed on her.
“I’m dying to get my hands on all these beautiful muscles.” To prove her point, she leaned forward and licked a slow, sultry path down his neck.
He groaned and reached for her, but she stepped back, refusing to let him grab hold.
“So that’s the way this is going to be.” He crossed his arms. “Who am I to stand in the way of a woman on a mission?”
His belt was next. She unbuckled it, then unbuttoned his jeans and slid the zipper down. Slowly, she ran her palm over the front of his black boxer briefs, relishing the hot length of him under her hand.
She dropped to her knees in front of him and pulled off his socks before slowly sliding his jeans and boxers down his legs. He sprang free, hard and thick and so, so long. She paused for a moment, hands trembling, body shaking with a desire she was afraid she’d never be able to satisfy. Then, because she couldn’t help herself, she pressed a long, lingering kiss to his abdomen, right beside his navel, even as she stroked a hand up and down the hot, silky length of him.
“Lyric.” Her name was barely recognizable in the growl that came from his chest, but she relished it. The proof that Heath was as into this moment as she was. That he was on the verge of losing total and complete control just because nerdy Lyric Wright had her hands on him.
This was powerful.
Pushing to her feet, she kept her eyes locked on his as she slipped out of her own clothes. Then she stood there for a moment in the black lace bra and panties she’d picked up from Target because Agent Provocateur hadn’t exactly made it to San Angelo.
“Nice.” Heath’s eyes darkened even more, their pupils growing enormous in the dim light as she stripped down until she was as naked as he was. “I could stand—”
She laid a finger on his lips. “Shhh.”
Not talking was going to be a problem for Heath.
Eyes locked with hers, he slowly drew the tip of her finger into the wet heat of his mouth. He sucked on it for a second, then nipped at her before laving his tongue over and around her finger in an effort to take the small sting away.
It felt so good, he felt so good, that she wanted to lose herself in him forever.
She stood there, enjoying the heat coursing through her body.
Wanting to make him feel as good as he made her feel, she took his hands in hers and pulled him into the shower. He stiffened as the warm water hit him, then relaxed, his eyes going sleepy and his body turning liquid against hers.
Loving the way he looked when he was all tranquil and loose, she ran her hands over his arms, across his chest, down his back to his waist, massaging as she went in an effort to keep him that way.
As she did, he sighed a little, lowering his head so that his brow rested against hers. It was a perfect moment in time. They breathed the same air. What had started out as just sex was becoming something more. This was intimate.
Love and compassion, fear and joy, sadness and determination crashed through her in an inseparable tangle. They were all there in a mixed-up mess that she had no idea how to deal with. All she knew was that she didn’t want to lose him, didn’t want to lose this indefinable closeness they shared.
Sliding her hands slowly up his spine, she threaded her hands through his hair and gently tilted his head back until the shower spray could wash over it.
His eyes sprang open, and she smiled softly at him, reassuringly, before reaching behind him and grabbing hold of his shampoo bottle. She squirted some into her palm and then carefully rubbed her hands together before lifting them to his hair.
She shampooed him gently, concentrating more on relaxation than cleanliness. At first, he stood stiff, watching her with wary eyes. But as she dug her thumbs into the base of his neck, he groaned a little and let his head fall back again.
That’s when she knew she had him.
She massaged his scalp for another minute or so, then eased his head back under the water. She made sure to keep her fingers relaxed as she soothingly stroked his scalp and rinsed each strand of hair. Then she reached for his conditioner, and did the same thing all over again.
###
It was all Heath could do not to dissolve into a boneless mass of quivering arousal as Lyric stroked her long, sexy fingers through his hair.
When she nudged him, he obligingly tilted his head back so the warm water could slowly stream over his head and down his body—his very aroused body. He was growing harder with each touch of her talented fingers. He knew she felt his arousal nestled against her stomach, knew she could see the tension and the need for her burning in his eyes. But she didn’t react to it. Instead, she just kept rinsing out the conditioner, and stoking the flames between them.
After an eternity, and after his hair had finally been rinsed clean, Lyric grabbed a bottle of shower gel and squirted some onto her hands. She rubbed them together, worked up a nice lather, and then slowly began to soap him up. He nearly lost his mind before she’d moved more than an inch or two.
This was Lyric who was touching him—beautiful, brainy Lyric who was making him burn. Making him need. Making him want her for so much more than just a few days. For so much more than a fake engagement.
Her hands slid down his neck, over the width of his shoulders, and down his spine to the small of his back, where she rubbed and rubbed until he could feel the knots he’d carried there for what felt like forever slowly dissolving. Then she worked her way back up his spine, kneading and massaging until he felt simultaneously both more relaxed and more inflamed than he could ever remember being in his life.
She spent a long time on his shoulders and upper back. He tried to stop her, to return the favor, but she just laughed, low and sexy, and swatted his hands away. Then got more soap before trailing her talented fingers over his neck and collarbone to his chest and ribcage. She circled his nipples with her soap-slicked fingers, making him nearly insane with the need to be inside her.
And then she moved lower, tickling his navel and caressing his hips before reaching between them and wrapping her hand around his hard, aching length. His eyes nearly crossed as she stroked him, up and down, up and down. When her thumb swept over his tip, circling him again and again, he nearly lost it completely. He pulled her against him.
“Lyric.” He bent his head and took her mouth with his own.
His hands tightened in her crazy curls, and he relished the feel of them beneath his hands. Warm and wet from the water pouring over both of them, the strands wrapped themselves around his fingers with a mind of their own, chaining him to Lyric and, more importantly, chaining Lyric to him.
This was going to last. He would make sure of it. She was in his arms, and he wasn’t going to let her go until he had to. And even then, only if she promised to come back to him.
She breathed out on a soft, ragged sigh that parted her lips and had every nerve ending in his body standing up and taking notice. Taking advantage of the opening, he slipped his tongue inside her mouth and tangled it around her own. She tasted sweet, like whipped cream and tart strawberries and the sea-salt caramels he’d grown addicted to in Hawaii.
He wanted more of her, needed more of her, and she must have felt the same way, because her hands went from massaging to clinging in an instant. Her nails dug into the
muscles of his upper back, and lust roared through him at the sweet pain of it. Part of him wanted to lift her up, press her back against the shower wall, and plunge into her again and again and again until they were both so sated and exhausted that the rest of the world no longer mattered. But there was so much they hadn’t done last night, so much he still wanted to learn about her body. He wanted to know what made her whimper and what made her scream. He wanted to know what would make her tremble in his arms and what would have her clawing at his back and demanding more.
He wanted to know it all. Just as he wanted to explore every sweet inch of her until she was screaming for him to take her. He backed off the kiss. Turned it slow and soft and leisurely as he stroked his tongue over her lower lip, lingering at the upturned corners of her mouth.
She pressed closer, and he relished her responsiveness as he eased them both into the shower spray, rinsing away the last remnants of soap. They might have been friends for more than twenty-five years and lovers for only one night, but when he touched her, she lit up like Wranglers Stadium on the Fourth of July.
It was both humbling and exhilarating.
And frustrating as hell.
Lyric pulled her mouth from his and started licking her way down his neck, and he gladly gave up control. When her mouth skimmed over his chest, stopping to toy with first one nipple and then the other, he lost all sense of restraint. He cupped the back of her head and held her in place as streaks of lightning sizzled through him.
She nuzzled and licked her way down his chest before once again dropping to her knees before him. Then she wrapped her arms around his upper thighs and pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses over his abdomen before pausing to tickle his navel with her tongue. He gasped and tensed.
Her laughter, deep and sexy, billowed out before she continued her downward path, kissing along the light dusting of hair that ran from his belly button to his groin.
