by Eden Ashe
That had been five years earlier.
As if his mind had traveled to the same place hers had, he asked, “Megan said everything healed properly after….”
She curled her lip in disgust. “I call him Dickhead Asshat.”
“Fitting. I like it.” His mismatched gaze scanned the large room again before settling on her. “My lawyer said the terms are clear; we have one week to make a decision.”
Their lawyers had been in constant contact, and wanted Luke to sell the house. While she didn’t blame him, it wasn’t his ancestral home. It was hers. And even if she could afford to buy him out—she couldn’t—they had a non-negotiable contract. Either they agreed to sell it, or they had to live in it together.
Seeing as he was the ultimate bachelor and she had dreams of turning St. James Manor into a boutique gift store, complete with artwork by local painters, their living together wouldn’t work.
But she’d be damned if she gave into the alternative and sold her family’s home.
It didn’t help that he’d always treated her like one of his little sisters. No matter that Jilly and Megan were both twenty five, he still insisted he knew what was best for both of them.
Not sure what to do, she wandered around the space and tried to figure out where to start.
“You could hire someone to come and box it all up, then put it in storage until you’re ready to deal with it,” Luke said, his voice gentler than he’d ever directed at her. His voice rough-edged, it sounded as though he had to force every word spoken to her out against his will.
Moving over, she sat on the step below him, so close to him her shoulder bumped his thigh. Unprepared for the jolt of sheer, unrestrained need that shocked her down to her toes, she gasped.
“I might.” She turned and braced her back against the wall, giving her a better angle to study his beautifully rugged face. “Eventually. Right now, it kind of feels like it should be my responsibility. You know?”
Luke swallowed hard. He clenched his hands into fists, and still, the need to grab her and devour her was so fierce, he trembled with it.
Get a grip, Bannon. They were talking about her newly dead grandmother’s belongings. Not exactly the time to be fantasizing about one thousand different ways he could unleash Jilly’s fiery side in bed.
When the lecture did no good, his body not cooperating with his decision to keep her at a distance, since he hadn’t been this close to her in five years—five long, goddamned years—he sprang to his feet and headed for the door where she’d left the rest of her boxes. But when he reached it, it wouldn’t open.
“What the hell?”
She let out a loud ha! “I’m not cracking up! I told you the door was screwy.”
He glared over his shoulder in time to see her jump to her feet and give a quick little hip boogie. Christ. How had he forgotten how fucking cute her happy dances were?
“Do you mind?” Deliberately using his best stern voice, the one that had the men on his crew shaping right the hell up, had no effect on her. She only grinned and did it again. “This could be a problem, Jilly.”
With a roll of her eyes, she stopped dancing and plopped her hands on her luscious hips. “There are other exits, Luke.” She said his name in the same tone he’d said hers, half in frustration, half in humor as she headed toward the kitchen at the back of the house. “It’s not like we’re locked in here.” He followed her to the back door and not simply to watch her perfect ass in skin-tight jeans. Her back stiffened with her hand on the doorknob and gave it a fruitless twist. “Okay, I’m willing to admit this may be a problem.”
Christ alive, she smelled good. Barely managing to stop before burying his face in her hair and getting a better sniff of her, he stood behind her and wrapped one arm around her slender waist. With an indrawn breath, he reached over her shoulder to try the handle.
His hand slid right off. He scowled because he’d replaced the door—hinges, frames, hardware, all of it— only a few months earlier.
After trying one more time, he let her nudge his arm out of the way to give it another shot. When it didn’t work, she scooted around him and over to the kitchen window.
Despite his growing concern, he had to chuckle when she opened the bottom cabinet door, stepped into it, and used the leverage to hoist herself up onto the counter. Propping a shoulder against the door, he crossed his arms and grinned. “You know, I could have gotten that for you.”
With a glare in her pretty eyes, she repeated his words in a mock-angry, sarcastic voice then said, “Not funny, Bannon. I’m not that short.”
“Sure. Keep telling yourself that, St. James.” Lifting an eyebrow, he made a show of bending sideways to get a better look at what she was doing. “Don’t forget to unlock it.”
She gave what could only be described as a growl. A feminine, wholly cute growl, and his eye twitched. Jilly had always been so much goddamn fun to tease.
After pointing a finger at him in warning, she returned her attention to the window and he had to admit, he could stand there all day watching her move and stretch while trying to get that damn window open.
Finally, he stepped forward and grabbed her off the counter. Though he ignored her indignant squeak, the shock of her in his arms sent his lust into overdrive.
Mine.
He’d known it for years. Since the night he’d found her broken and terrified, courtesy of the bastard she’d been dating. The rage that had flooded through his system had been beyond anything he’d ever experienced—beyond what he’d always thought was leftover emotion because of her attachment to his sisters. As if someone had picked his world up, flipped it upside down, spun it a few hundred times, then sat him back in the middle of it. He’d had no idea what to do with the emotion, except he had to take care of her then figure it out later.
While Megan had kept him updated on Jilly’s life, boyfriends and all, he’d cut off all contact with her. At first, it had been because he’d disappeared off the map to drag the bastard out of the hole he’d hidden in to escape charges. Then, after Luke had put the asshole in the hospital, the last thing Jilly’d needed was a hovering beast of a male who couldn’t keep his feelings for her in check.
After that, she’d moved on. Finished college, found a new life on the opposite side of the country, and forgotten about her best friend’s brother. Because she’d never see him as anything else.
And five years had passed.
“Luke?” The whisper-soft voice dragged him out of his head, and he lowered his gaze to hers. She watched him out of wide eyes, confusion flickering in their depths. “Are you going to put me down?”
“In a minute.” Fuck no. “Let me try the window first.”
“I don’t think you need me in your arms to do that.” She poked his shoulder, and tried to wiggle out of his arms. In an instant his cock became diamond-hard and he had to drop her. The second her feet touched the floor, he was on the far side of the room, bent over at the waist and trying to catch his breath.
What the hell is happening to me?
Chapter Three
Luke didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him, but he didn’t like it. Something vicious burned in his chest, lighting his heart on fire, his jeans were ten sizes too small against his cock, and lust raged through him. Like a goddamned fifteen year old who’d somehow managed to come face-to-face with the naked woman of his dreams. Only Jilly wasn’t naked, and he had no intention of letting their relationship ever hit that point. Besides, he hadn’t exactly been a monk the last few years. And since she’d never know how he felt about her, he wouldn’t feel guilty over it, either.
Even if it seemed wrong.
A blast of air hit him, so cold his bones ached.
Soft footsteps sounded behind him, before Jilly bent sideways and stuck her face underneath his. That quickly, the cold spot disappeared. The concern in her blue eyes staggered him and he had to clench his fists again to keep from reaching for her.
She tipped the
brim of his cap up, out of his eyes, to study them better. “Luke? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He grunted at her, and forced himself to straighten. When she followed him, he glared at her. “Forget it. We need to check the rest of the windows in this place.”
For a moment, when she continued to stare, her gaze searching his face, he worried she’d push the issue. The last thing he wanted was to be a dick to her, but they were both better off if she didn’t how far gone he was over her.
Putting as much space between them as he could in the house would be the best plan he’d had in…ever. But he’d only made it halfway across the kitchen before her slender fingers wrapped around his wrist, and she tried to tug him to a stop. “Hey.”
Christ. She had to stop touching him. Yanking his arm away, he backed up, not giving a shit he looked like a cowardly ass. He was and he had no problem admitting it.
“Look, sweetheart.” Not sure what to do with himself, he shoved his fists into the pockets of his jeans. “We’re not friends, all right? You’re my little sister’s best friend, and I’m only here to convince you to sell this place. That’s it.”
Hurt flickered over her face, and she took a step away from him. “Got it.” She headed for the stairs. “I’ll check the top floor windows.”
He didn’t give in to the need to go after her. Every cell in his body wanted to chase her down, apologize for being a huge dick, and lay it all out for her.
Instead, he checked the first floor doors again, then moved down to the cellar. Despite the warm day, the cellar was frigid. The temperature continued to drop to a violent, dangerous level the deeper he went. He gritted his teeth against the chill, checked the windows, and sighed in relief when he escaped to the second floor.
When he still hadn’t heard from her a half hour later, he took the stairs to the third floor three at a time. “Jilly?”
Christ, how could one place have so many rooms, alcoves and room-sized closets? And stuff? He couldn’t even identify half the crap in the place, but he’d come to the conclusion Jilly’s grandmother had owned enough blankets and pillows and towels to warm the North Pole.
“Jilly?” Worry churned in his gut. While he didn’t want to panic, they were locked in this place. And if something could lock them in, there was no telling what else it would be able to do. “If you’re buried under linens or angel figurines, I need you to let me know.”
Instead of an answer, he found the stairs to the attic. Thin and old, and hanging by chains instead of railings, they were unsafe as all hell, but he had no idea where else to look.
Praying to whatever god wanted to listen that the warped wood would hold his enormous weight, he squared his shoulders and started up them. By the time he got to the top, the urge to lecture her for risking herself without him being there to catch her if she fell burned a hole through his tongue.
“This is not funny, St. James.” Ducking under the low ceiling beam, he squinted, trying to see through the dust filling the air.
Nearby, the distinct, terrifying sound of sniffling reached him right before he spotted her curled up in a dormer window seat, her knees to her chest.
Shit.
“Hey, don’t cry.” He walked, half-hunched, toward the far side of the cramped space. Damn sure he had to be the biggest asshole on the planet, he crouched beside her. “I didn’t mean to be an ass, baby.”
She rolled her eyes and swiped her palm across her cheeks. “I’m pretty sure we’re locked in here.”
He lowered next to her and pulled his knees up, resting his forearms against them. “Yeah. I came to the same conclusion.” All doubts and lectures forgotten, he brushed a damp curl off her cheek. “I am sorry.”
“I’m not crying because of you.” One blue-tipped finger wiped at her tears again. “Well, not just because of you.” She brushed at her tears again and looked down at him, putting her so close to him her beautiful face filled his vision. Her sweet scent, like wildflowers in the rain, would have knocked him on his ass if he wasn’t already there. “It’s being back here without her. I thought I’d prepared myself for the hurt.”
He silently cursed. Damn it, he should have thought. Should have remembered how much she’d adored her grandmother, even if everyone else in town could barely tolerate the old bat.
Rising, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go get you some water then figure out how to get out of this place.”
***
Luke was acting…weird. Not just that he’d snapped at her for the first time in her life, though that had surprised her on more than one level. He’d always been a stable, cool-headed giant of a man. Even when he’d get frustrated with one of his sisters, usually after they’d disobeyed him and ended up hurt or in trouble, he’d still barely raised his voice.
But though he’d pulled her off the window seat, he didn’t move. Simply stared at her with a shuttered look in his eyes that had her belly tingling and her thighs trembling.
She sucked in a breath when his gaze dropped to her mouth. She should run for her life, but her knees weakened at the sheer hunger in his face. Luke Bannon could eat her alive without breaking a sweat.
And dear God, she wanted him to.
Confused and unable to do anything about the way her nipples puckered beneath the thin fabric of her T-shirt, she returned his gaze, afraid if she blinked, she’d break whatever spell caused him to look at her—her, for cripes sake—that way.
“Luke?” She kept her voice soft, her nerve endings tingling as he ducked his head toward hers and angled his body closer, so if she took a deep enough breath, her breasts would brush against that solid wall of abs. “I….”
The words were forgotten as his hand came up to tangle in her hair. The callused pad of his thumb brushed over her cheek, her bottom lip, then dipped between her lips before he brought it to his mouth and swiped his tongue over the tip. “Jesus. I knew you’d be sweet.”
“What?” She ignored the breathy tone of her voice. “You’ve thought about how I’d taste?”
“No. Yes. Goddamn it.” In one quick, dizzying move, he had her pressed against the wall next to the window seat, his giant-sized body nearly covering her from head to foot. His mismatched eyes burned into hers, and she suddenly wanted more than anything in the world for him to make good on the dark, wicked promises in them.
“Just once, baby. Let me taste you one time, then I swear to God, I’ll leave you alone. I’ll sign the goddamn house over to you, whatever you want. Just…please. Kiss me.”
She didn’t know what knocked her off balance more—that he wanted to kiss her, or he wanted it enough to beg. And then one large hand wrapped around the back of her neck while the other grasped her hip and yanked her up against his straining cock.
Because denying him suddenly felt like cutting off one of her own limbs, she nodded and strained up on her toes to fasten her mouth to his.
Shock rippled through both of them. Jilly moaned as need—hot and fast and dangerous—tore through her, consuming her, while he let out a raw, starving sound and somehow managed to pull her closer. His hips ground into her, hitting that perfect spot between her legs, where she needed him most, over and over until his strong arm hooking around her waist became the only thing holding her up.
“Luke.” Without her permission, her hands were under his shirt, her greedy fingers busy tracing over hard, bulging muscle. His magic mouth destroyed her defenses and ate her up at the same time, until she couldn’t remember her own name. “Don’t stop.”
“Can’t. Can’t stop, baby.” He hitched her up suddenly and changed the angle of the kiss, somehow taking them deeper. His tongue took, conquered, offered. Devoured. When she wrapped her legs around his waist, he shifted her so she fitted right where they both desperately needed him. Where she ached. Desperately.
Jilly had never been kissed with so much focus before. Like it wasn’t about the possibility of sex, but her that he needed. Like he needed a taste of her,
the feel of her, so much he couldn’t get enough of her. And though her hands were busy exploring and touching, all of his concentration focused on her mouth.
She was boneless when he finally pulled back to let them both breathe. Her brain had short-circuited until the house and her grandmother were forgotten and the only thought in her brain centered on how to get him to do that again.
More importantly, how to get him to do more. All.
Megan would kill her for the thoughts, but Jilly couldn’t remember why that mattered. Then the words tumbled out before she’d given her brain the okay to say them. “Can we do that again?”
Chapter Four
He’d lost his mind. It was that simple. And that fucked up. Because once he’d discovered what she tasted like, he would never stop craving her.
Worse, so goddamn much worse—she’d responded to him like she needed him, too. Like years of passion had been unlocked inside her, igniting her into something so fiery and greedy, he’d been terrified he’d be lost forever in the brilliance of her.
Her question rang in his head, tempting him and drowning out every ounce of common sense he’d ever possessed. His body trembled with the need to taste her again, to feel her perfect curves mold into his body and see how far she’d let him take them.
But even then, if he gave in to the need, he wouldn’t be able to stop. There would be no holding himself in check, no remembering his rules or reasons for keeping his feelings to himself.
Denying her felt like slicing his own heart out of his chest. Pain tore through him, but he kept his gaze locked on hers. “No.” Dropping his hands to his sides, he moved around her¸ heading toward the attic stairs. “We can’t do this again.”
“What?” The simple brush of her fingertips against his skin when she grabbed his wrist, nearly shattered his resolve. She darted in front of him, her eyes dark with lust and confusion. “Why not?”
