The Three-Week Arrangement (Chase Brothers)

by Sarah Ballance

  Almost shyly, she touched his shoulders, marveling at their strength. He was so solid. Not a broken man, but a man wholly consumed. As her fingertips skimmed his muscle, he leaned to lightly kiss her hand.

  And then he stopped.

  “I am an idiot,” he said. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this, but I don’t have any protection. I can run to the store.”

  As if she’d let him get away. No chance of that—not when he had her spinning so hard she could only hold on for the ride. “No need. Check my purse.”

  He gave her an odd look.

  “It’s in the other room.”

  He left, and when he came back he’d taken the concept of bedroom eyes to the next level. His gaze smoldered, setting fire to all those places she’d just laid into him about. And she didn’t figure there’d be any chance of putting them out tonight. If anything, they’d burn brighter and hotter and more out of control. She knew just from kissing him that he wasn’t the kind of man you could experience and forget.

  He tossed a couple of packets on the bed. Then he straddled her and pulled her to a sitting position and stripped her of her shirt, then managed to unhook her bra on the first try.

  “You’re good,” she whispered. Words she barely heard over the raging of her heart.

  “No,” he said, kissing her. “Lucky. Damn lucky you locked your keys in your car.”

  “That was a stroke of amazing luck, but I bet you’re just full of amazing strokes.” As she spoke, she unbuttoned his pants. Before she could get too involved, he eased out of her reach. But he didn’t go far. He leaned in from a new angle—one that kept her from his zipper—and gently kissed her breast, but not the part begging for him. Instead of giving her any of that sweet relief, his lips touched everywhere else. Driving her crazy. She abandoned her attempts to get to him in favor of threading her fingers through his hair, desperately trying to guide him to touch. Or better yet, suck. The thought of his mouth closing over her was almost enough to send her over the edge, and considering he was barely touching her, that would be a record first.

  “Ethan, could you please—”

  She lost her ability to speak when he blew on one nipple, simultaneously circling the other with a fingertip. “I’m beginning to think,” he said, his lips barely grazing her tight flesh while she squirmed, “that you might like it rough.”

  Her semi-coherent thoughts didn’t manage to form words.

  “Or maybe you just like it deep,” he said. “Solid. Full. Un. Mis. Take. Able.”

  He punctuated each word by touching his lips to her poor, tortured breast. He didn’t take her in his mouth—no, that would be too merciful.

  “I definitely like it deep,” she said. God, if she could only breathe. “And I like it hard. And I want it sweet. And I want it rough. I want to know every side of you, so—”

  He sucked her into his mouth then, and the pleasure was so blisteringly harsh that it was almost pain. The only thing she managed was to hold on to him while his tongue laid claim to the best sex she’d ever had.

  Only. His. Tongue.

  His tongue and one nipple.

  She was so screwed.

  “I want you,” she managed. “Right now.”

  He didn’t argue, thank God. He just released his hold on her—hell, she hadn’t thought that through—and stripped. Despite the selfish need clawing at her, she couldn’t help but gawk at his body, all hard and strong and, well, hard.

  She didn’t wait for him to undress her. No sane woman could. He managed to finish what she started, tossing her clothes aside, a slow, easy smile more than she could take.

  “Seriously, now.”

  He sheathed himself and climbed over her, kissing her sweetly, thoroughly, until he’d touched every part of her. But definitely not distracting her from the blissful moment he parted her thighs and buried himself inside of her.

  Niceties at this point were not needed. He was thick and full, and she’d never experienced such fulfillment. The pressure was exquisite. Complete. And it only built, because instead of slamming into her, he pistoned deep, shifting somehow to change the angle and managing to own her with it. That part was usually frantic. Flailing. But Ethan was in control. She had no idea how, considering she was spinning at a blistering pace despite his slow, driving one, but she managed to hold on. Or she thought she had. Orgasm built so deep from within her that she hadn’t seen it coming until the swell crested, and its thundering power dragged her under, and still he was there, kissing her so sweetly, loving her so thoroughly that for the first time, she didn’t fall.

  There was no falling.

  And if she ever caught her breath and came to her senses, she’d probably realize there was no loving.

  But in those first moments, it didn’t matter. Because he didn’t leave her. He held her.

  “I hope you felt that,” she murmured.

  He pushed her hair away from her face. “Do you really think I didn’t?”

  “You’re still conscious, aren’t you?”

  He laughed weakly. “Trust me, I’m perfectly capable of rolling over and going to sleep, especially if you’ll stay with me. But I’m not going to stop until you beg.”

  “I’m going to be doing a lot of begging,” she said. “But I won’t be begging you to stop.”

  “That’s a promise,” he whispered, “I hope like hell you’ll keep.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ethan didn’t need to crack an eyelid to realize something in his world was very, very different, and it started and ended with the woman in his bed. The one he’d had amazing sex with.

  Twice.

  How his heart could sink and soar at the same time, he didn’t know, but the two directions tore at him to the point that he didn’t dare move, and not just because she was so absolutely stunning lying there, dark hair a striking contrast against his white sheets. Her very presence was a striking contrast to what he’d become, and he had no idea what to make of what it meant or where he was going. It wasn’t as if they were going to be a thing—not with her poised to hit the road—but admitting that would be admitting to casual sex. He always assumed he’d one day move on, but he never thought he’d turn his back on his wife for a fling.

  A goddamned fling.

  The reality of that made him sick.

  Rue was gorgeous. Fearless. Alive.

  And he wasn’t. She didn’t deserve that. The woman was boundless, and he’d said one good-bye too many. That knowledge didn’t stop him from wanting her any more than the guilt did, but as he watched her now, guilt was strangely silent. Guilt was blown the fuck away by amazing sex.

  “Ethan.”

  He immediately found her eyes, and in them he saw endless possibilities. But those possibilities weren’t his. They were hers.

  But she’d known that going in.

  She’d never planned for them to be a thing. She carried condoms in her purse, for heaven’s sake, and while he in no way believed she jumped into bed with every guy she met, he suspected the decision to have sex had to be less earth-shattering for her than it had been him.

  That knowledge made him ache, but for all the wrong reasons.

  He swallowed, his throat suddenly thick. “Hey.”

  She greeted him with a sleepy smile. “I half expected you’d be gone.”

  “From my own apartment?”

  The grin took on a mischievous slant. “Maybe from your bed. But look at you, still naked. I’m impressed.”

  “I hope you were impressed before that,” he said dryly.

  She sobered, the tiniest of nuances in her expression. Something he had no business noticing after less than two weeks. “There are a lot of things I could say,” she said, “but to be honest, I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing.”

  He forced a smile, then—because he knew she’d see right past that—he brushed back a strand of her hair and let his thumb trail over her cheek. And he wondered how, with all she’d done with her mouth, her lips could still
look so perfectly pink. He hadn’t guessed that luscious color could possibly be her natural shade. He hadn’t guessed a lot of things.

  “Just say it,” he said. “Whatever it is, don’t soften it.”

  “I don’t think soft is much of a problem,” she said, her hand closing around him.

  “And I don’t think that’s what you were worried about saying.” God, she wrecked him. He couldn’t have known ahead of time what he was getting into, but he should have. She was everything in bed that she was in life, only strikingly intimate. Everything wild and free about her had been his. And it terrified the hell out of him.

  “Okay, fine.” She spoke softly, staring up at him from his jumbled bedding. From his pillow. “I didn’t think you’d go through with it,” she said, “and I figured when you did, you’d hate yourself for it. And I figured it might be awkward.”

  He hadn’t thought it awkward then, but it had just taken a turn in that direction. And the fact that she actively stroked him didn’t do a whole lot to remedy that. But that didn’t stop him from getting hard.

  Or wanting her.

  “But it wasn’t,” she said softly. “It was amazing. Way too amazing for something that won’t last.”

  And wasn’t that just the hell of it. He knew he couldn’t have her. He wasn’t ready for a relationship. He might have more questions about himself now than he’d ever had, but the one thing he did know was he wasn’t ready to let go again. Which meant now was the time to do it. Only she clearly had something else in mind, so rather than run from her, he kissed her. Just drew her in, felt the fires set around them, and pushed on, kissing her deeper, pushing away the ache and the uncertainty, knowing it would be back in force.

  Knowing that because he knew it was good-bye.

  He snagged a condom from her stash and rolled it on as he crawled over her, and before he could over think it and change his mind, he drove into her. The searing heat felt more like electricity. Like a blinding, beautiful thing where she was damn tight and he was a part of her and nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. Just every soft curve of a body so essentially female, he couldn’t see her as anything less than perfect. He rocked against her, grinding that spot he knew she loved, while she clutched his hair, then she tore at the strands when he found her breast and sucked, hard. Despite his own body begging for the blessed relief of a frantic pace, he held on, pumping slow and thick, licking and sucking and driving harder, deeper, memorizing her every breath. She arched against him, then sank into the mattress, whimpering, when he found her other breast, then her neck, then her mouth. And still he held on, filling her so slowly, he thought he’d break.

  And then he did. Fuck all, he shattered. Shuddering and losing it and so blown away by the intensity of his own orgasm that he could do nothing but hold on to the woman who’d brought him there. He wasn’t sure if the convulsions were hers or his, but either way they rocked through him, setting fire to his blood. Drowning him.

  Awkward, hell.

  It changed him.

  He eased away from her, rolling over to land on his back. She didn’t move, other than to take his hand. It was enough.

  It was brutal.

  Because telling her they couldn’t do that again—not ever—didn’t seem like the best idea, he eased from the bed, losing her hand in the process, and pulled on his jeans. He didn’t bother to zip them, nor did he make the mistake of lingering on her sleepy, sated smile. At least not after the first time his gaze landed on her beautiful, perfect face.

  “Breakfast?” he asked.

  She stared at him through heavily lidded eyes. “How are you even standing?”

  Not standing. Running. “I think breakfast is the least I can do. Plus the dog probably needs to go on a walk, and at some point, I have to go to work. You’re off today, right?”

  She sat and nodded. “I completely forgot about Shaggy being here. Don’t you dare tell her.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. Want to take her out? Grab something on the go?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Thirty minutes later, it kind of was. Or it would have been if perfect wasn’t the last thing he needed. Walking down the street with her, holding coffee in one hand and bagels in the other, was comfortable. Too comfortable. He was grateful her hands were also full—one with Shaggy’s leash and the other with her iced coffee—because holding her was out of the question. He needed distance. He needed time to think. He needed…to make up a work emergency. But that wouldn’t work without getting a text or a phone call, so he waited until they got to the park and she knelt to play with Shaggy to fire off a quick text to Liam.

  Call me ASAP.

  Minutes later, the phone rang.

  “What’s up?” Liam asked.

  Ethan waited a few seconds before replying, presumably enough time for Liam to tell him about some crisis, and tried hard to ignore the questioning look on Rue’s face. “I’m on my way,” he finally said, ending the call before Liam could spit out a response.

  “Something wrong?”

  “They need me at work.” Uttering the lie made him feel like a complete ass, but admitting he couldn’t handle the aftermath would be worse. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t just sit there and drown any more than he could expect her to save him. That part was over before it had begun.

  It had to be for both their sakes.

  Her brow furrowed. “I thought you were off until later.”

  “You’d be amazed at how inconveniently things break down.” At least that part was true. He dug in his pocket for his key. “Do you mind taking Shaggy back when you’re ready? I have a spare key at the office, so I’ll just get it from you later.”

  “Sure thing,” she said brightly. A little too brightly. “We’ll make a girls’ day of it.”

  “Thanks,” he said. He hesitated for a moment, unsure what the proper good-bye was for a fucking lie, and settled for kissing her cheek. Again, awkward. At least on his part. She looked kind of pissed. He couldn’t pinpoint what made him think that, which only made him feel worse. He wasn’t the kind of guy who could read women, but he was a little too tuned into this one. A sudden urge to tell her the truth hit him hard. She’d understand, probably before he fumbled through half an explanation. But then she’d tell him to stop worrying and stop hiding and live. He admired that greatly about her, but that wasn’t him. Where she was impulsive, he was dedicated.

  Where she was free, he’d flail.

  “You’d better go,” she said, making him realize he’d just been standing there, staring at her.

  He nodded and took the first couple of steps in reverse, not quite willing to turn his back on her. And then he had to, because that’s what casual sex people did. They walked away.

  He probably walked faster than most.

  The distance back to his apartment wasn’t that great. Within minutes, he was back in the comfort of his truck. He fired it up and sat there for a while, eventually realizing he’d have to drive.

  The trip wasn’t long enough.

  He was at the office before he wanted to be. Inside, Liam looked up from the computer and back down again.

  “That’s it?” Ethan asked.

  Liam sat back, his gaze settling this time on his brother. “I’m pretty sure I know what happened, and I’m not sure I want to hear the details, so yeah, that’s about it.”

  Suspicion narrowed Ethan’s eyes. “What do you think happened?”

  Liam shrugged, though despite the casual gesture, he pinned him down with a razor sharp stare. “I think you realized you were falling for her, probably after you had sex, and now guilt has you feeling like hell.”

  “I don’t feel guilty,” he said. The realization had toyed with him, but saying it out loud did funny things to his heart. “I feel guilty about that, but I don’t feel guilty about the, um…”

  “The sex?”

  “Yeah.” Admitting that had happened shifted something inside of him. The strange feeling wasn�
�t so much that the confession made the sex real. It was that the sex made the relationship real. Not necessarily big, and certainly not forever, but definitely more than he’d bargained for when he’d asked her to the gala.

  None of the horror Ethan felt was reflected in Liam. “She’s great, Ethan. Really great. Probably the last person I would have ever expected for you, but she’s right.”

  “Right about what?” Ethan asked. Liam sounded suspiciously like he knew something, but Ethan had been with Rue until the last thirty minutes. There was no way he could know anything.

  “She’s right for you,” Liam said.

  Ethan sank into a chair. “No, she’s not. I don’t know what I want at this point, but I do know what she wants, and that’s to leave.”

  “Estelle wanted to leave, too, and look what happened there.”

  Ethan could only wish it was as easy for him as it was for Crosby and Estelle. “Estelle wanted to go home, and home just happened to be on the wrong coast. Rue wants to free dive off Antarctica, for heaven’s sake. I can’t sit here flipping through invoices knowing she’s out there like that.”

  “Then go with her.”

  “You’re hilarious. And not very helpful.”

  Liam glared. “I called you and got you out of there, didn’t I? Besides, you don’t want help. You want to be told you’re right, that you should absolutely give up on her because that’s easier than figuring out how to love someone again.”

  The words stung, even though Liam was wrong. “I am right, though. She doesn’t want ties, and I’m just so damned tired of saying good-bye.”

  Liam leveled a hard look. “Then don’t.”

  Something terribly close to defeat clawed through him. He really couldn’t win. “What do I do, then? Just turn my back and pretend she’s not leaving?”

  Liam snorted. “Yeah, if that’s your way of getting around a good-bye, you go for it. Let me know how it works out for you.”