The First Time Again: The Braddock Brotherhood, Book 3

by Barbara Meyers

  Except when Baylee was around. Something about her presence made him think starting over wasn’t so bad. After being with her in bed, he had to wonder if it wasn’t the first time he’d been fully present with a woman. The first time in a long time, that was for sure.

  Baylee had been hurt, certainly, but she wasn’t jaded. Regretful, perhaps, of what she’d been through with her ex-husband, but she wasn’t bitter.

  He heard her car pull up outside. Damn. He hadn’t showered. Hadn’t even looked in the mirror. His hair was probably stuck up in six different directions. He thought about hightailing it into the bathroom, but he realized what his accelerated heartbeat meant. He couldn’t wait to see her.

  He’d left his journal on the table outside. Had he closed it? He couldn’t remember. What if she saw everything he’d written? About her? About his feelings?

  He took a step toward the door as she opened it. She stopped short when she saw him. They stared at each other across the expanse of linoleum floor for a few seconds. Her hair was in the ponytail. He wanted to release it from the elastic and let it tumble around her shoulders so he could run his fingers through it. He tightened his fingers around the handle of his mug instead.

  “Good morning,” he managed.

  “Hi,” she breathed. She gave him a small, uncertain smile and set down her bucket of supplies and bag of rags.

  Neanderthal thoughts ran through his head while arousal pushed against the fly of his pajama bottoms. Could he seriously pick her up and drag her back to his bed and have his way with her? That’s what he wanted to do.

  She was dressed for work, in shorts and sneakers and a T-shirt, ear pods from her MP3 dangling around her neck. He ought to get out of her way and let her work. Except it was his house, his kitchen, and he didn’t want to leave. He wondered if she’d mind if he watched while she cleaned? If she’d talk to him while she worked? Or maybe she’d let him help.

  He smiled at the thought. He’d never done housework and had absolutely no inclination to start now.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Sure. Why?”

  “You’re staring.”

  There was that disarming directness again. Trey grinned. Maybe he could learn a thing or two from Baylee. “That’s because I like looking at you.”

  “Oh.” Baylee glanced down at herself, then back at him, a glimpse of uncertainty in her eyes. “Really?”

  Her tone somehow combined both bravado and innocence. He lifted the carafe of the coffee pot. “Want some coffee?”

  “O-okay. Sure.”

  He poured her a cup and walked it over to her. He set it on the counter. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  They continued to regard each other. Trey caught a whiff of the scent she wore that made him think of ripe fruit and fresh-cut flowers. Raw need tore through him, and he didn’t think about what he was going to do before he did it.

  “Can you take this thing out of your hair?” His voice sounded husky even to his own ears, as he indicated the elastic band of her ponytail.

  She kept her gaze steady on his as she reached up and, with one motion, pulled the band away, allowing her hair to tumble free.

  Trey buried his hands in it and lowered his mouth to hers. She met him full force with her body and her mouth. He’d never known such lust, such need, such wanting.

  He wanted to be inside her. Now. He unsnapped her shorts, lowered the zipper. They fell away to her ankles, and he went to work on her panties, yanking them away, allowing access for his exploring hands over her buttocks, then between her legs. All the while their mouths glued themselves to each other. The way she sucked his tongue made him think of the way he’d been in her mouth. Was it only yesterday? Twenty-four hours ago?

  She shoved the elastic waistband of his pajama bottoms away, her hands exploring his raging erection.

  He swore softly, while a tiny part of his brain wondered where, how, here in the kitchen? Up against the counter? But the majority of him knew only need.

  Logistics fell away. Somehow her legs wrapped around him and they were braced against the wall or maybe the countertop. He had no idea, only knew he was where he wanted to be: inside her. He couldn’t stop touching, caressing, kissing, fucking her. Pleasure so intense he was certain he’d never felt anything like it before washed over him as he pounded against her, thrusting again and again and again and oh, God, again.

  Sexual encounters always started out so hot and delicious. But they always ended. Often leaving the participants feeling vaguely foolish, certainly disheveled, and forced to face each other.

  Trey didn’t want to let go, even as he felt himself wither and Baylee’s legs slide down his own until she was back on her own two still-sneakered feet.

  He buried his face in her neck, not quite willing to face the truth of what he’d done. For one thing, he’d taken her almost fully dressed, standing up in the kitchen. For another, he hadn’t used a condom.

  Idiot!

  Now he’d have to face her. Apologize for his uncontrollable lust. Deal with the consequences.

  “I think I’m in love with you,” he whispered over her shoulder. What? Where had that come from?

  He coughed and straightened, attempted a smile though he wasn’t feeling very cocky at the moment. “Sorry. I mean I think I’ve definitely got the hots for you.”

  Baylee stared at him as if she were trying to figure something out. She wasn’t exactly frowning but there was a slight pucker between her brows.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  She shook her head.

  “I didn’t use a condom.”

  “I know.”

  “Think it will be a problem?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Trey bent and pulled his pajama bottoms up. Except for her sneakers, Baylee remained naked from the waist down and made no move to cover herself. She continued to regard him.

  “What are you thinking?”

  His question seemed to pull her out of some sort of reverie. She grinned. “I like that you have the hots for me. I like having sex with you.”

  Trey moved in and slid his arms around her. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Good. Want to do it again? With a condom?”

  He slid his hands under her shirt and cupped her breasts. He heard her sharp intake of breath. He doubted that coupling just now had done much to satisfy her, although it had temporarily slaked his lust. He whispered in her ear about what he’d do if she’d let him take her back to the bedroom.

  Her nipples beaded against his fingers. He smiled and maneuvered her down the hallway.

  So this was what it was like to be at the mercy of your sex drive, Baylee thought over an hour later. Her work ethic had flown out the window along with every ounce of practicality she’d ever possessed. She’d be perfectly content to stay in bed with Trey all day and do nothing but have sex with him.

  Once they’d reached the bedroom earlier, he’d relieved her of her sneakers first, caressing her feet and ankles in before sliding his hands all the way up her legs. He’d touched the moist skin between her legs with his thumbs, one on either side, then dropped a kiss there before taking off her T-shirt and bra.

  He’d yanked off his T-shirt and pajama bottoms, and it was like what had happened in the kitchen had never occurred.

  As if he’d downshifted from sixth gear into first, Trey took his time, lingering over her breasts, kissing and suckling them, before stroking between her legs, first with his fingers and then with his tongue. He liked spreading her legs, liked looking at her, watching her reaction to him. That in itself was a turn-on. This was what it felt like to have a man interested in her.

  She couldn’t have chosen anyone better to help her explore her own sexuality than Trey. The fact that he not only wanted her, but that he seemed to like her, allowed her to shed any inhibitions she might have had. With him, she found, she had very few.

  There was something there, between them, but Baylee didn’t want to defin
e it. Trey’s earlier whispered words had threatened to throw her even further off balance. She didn’t want him to be in love with her. She didn’t want to be obligated to him or to worry about hurting his feelings. She wanted to be with him like this. With mutual affection and lust and enjoyment. She didn’t want to be weighed down by yet another relationship or expected to give more than she had to offer.

  So when Trey’s tongue found her, when he nudged her over the edge, she indulged herself, let the deliciousness of her orgasm wash through her, let herself go mindless with the pleasure of this right-now moment. Of Trey in bed with her.

  When her body settled down again, she turned her head. Trey lay on his back next to her, his eyes closed. She propped her head on one elbow. She caressed his chest. She loved his body, the broad shoulders and chest that tapered down to tight abs. The muscles, the strength, even with his various injuries. His skin was covered with blondish-brown hair everywhere. She ran her hand through the extracrisp portion on his chest.

  He turned his head and opened his eyes. Those clear, laser-blue eyes pinned her, and for a moment she lost her breath. The thought flittered through her brain before she could stop it, but she didn’t say it aloud. I love you. She could understand why Trey had whispered almost the same thing to her earlier. There was something about being close this way, about sex or making love or whatever name you wanted to call it that could make you think those thoughts.

  But she knew sex and love were two very different and separate things. Trey probably did too. He’d been married. He’d surely loved his ex-wife. Baylee had loved Scott. But it hadn’t been enough to save either relationship. With or without the sexual component.

  What was love anyway? She loved the way Trey made her feel. She loved looking at him. Touching him. Having sex with him. But love him? She couldn’t answer that. Couldn’t define what that meant.

  “You’re thinking deep thoughts,” Trey told her. He picked up the hand she’d laid on his chest and kissed it. Then he slid forward for an embrace. “What are you thinking about so hard?” he whispered.

  “How much I like you,” she whispered. “How much I like being with you like this.”

  He eased back so he could see her face. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  He hugged her to him again. “Even though I’m a Neanderthal who takes you up against the kitchen counter as soon as you walk through the door?”

  “I love Neanderthals.” She nearly choked on her whispered reply as emotion swept through her. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to make Trey understand how much him wanting her that way meant to her.

  She hugged him back hard, hoping to convey her acceptance of him.

  His erection pressed between them, and another delicious thrill went through her. She pressed her lips to his neck, since it was so convenient. Then her tongue, then her teeth. She eased the embrace to slide a hand between them and wrap it around him.

  Trey groaned and she smiled.

  She nipped his earlobe. “I think we need a condom.”

  An hour later they sat across the table from each other, good-naturedly arguing. They’d eaten breakfast and were now lingering over the last of the coffee when Trey said, “I want you to know that if I distract you from your work, you still get paid for your time.”

  “But I allowed you to distract me. I could have said no.”

  “Not if you didn’t have a chance.”

  “I wouldn’t have anyway.”

  “I know.” Trey grinned at her and Baylee chuckled.

  “You can’t pay me to have sex with you.”

  “I know.” Trey drummed his fingers on the table. “Could I give you a bonus?”

  “Like a retainer? Like I’m your mistress?” Baylee bristled.

  “No, no, no.” Trey frowned. “You get the salary we agreed on every week no matter how many hours you’re actually working.”

  “But the sex is free?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay.” Baylee slid her chair back and dropped a kiss on Trey’s lips as she walked by. “Besides, you couldn’t afford me.”

  He smacked her bottom before she got out of range. “That’s probably true.”

  He let her get to work, but from his seat at the dining room table, surrounded by correspondence she’d sorted and checks she’d made out for his signature, he was always aware of her presence. He made some calls, sent some e-mails, paid some bills, all the while listening to the clink of dishes, the hum of the vacuum and the washing machine and dryer cycles.

  Occasionally he heard her voice as she sang a few lines from whatever song her MP3 played in her ears. Each time it made him smile, as he imagined her doing her impromptu dance steps to go with the music.

  He got corralled into a long conference call with his agent and a couple of the ESPN executives. It was winding down when Baylee tapped on the woodwork and stuck her head in. “I’m leaving,” she mouthed.

  He held up a finger to keep her there until he got off the phone a few minutes later.

  He came around the table. “How about dinner?”

  “Don’t you mean lunch?”

  “No, I mean, how about going to dinner with me tonight?”

  Her gaze fell away from his. “Oh. Um.”

  “What, Baylee? If you don’t want to go to dinner with me, say so.” He didn’t know why her hesitation annoyed him, but it did. She’d done the same thing the other day when he’d suggested she stay or come back that night and she’d told him she had plans.

  “It’s not that exactly.”

  At least she looked him in the eye when she said it. How, he wondered, could a woman be so direct in the bedroom and so noncommittal out of it? Maybe he should only ask her questions when they were naked between the sheets.

  “Then what is it exactly?”

  “Hendersonville’s a small town.”

  “I’m aware,” he drawled.

  “I don’t want it to look like we’re, um, dating.”

  “We’re not.”

  “But if we go to dinner together—”

  “Why do you care what other people think?”

  Baylee pressed her lips into a thin line. “Fine. Have it your way. No. I don’t want to go to dinner with you.” She turned on her heel, her sneaker making a squeaking noise on the clean floor.

  “Baylee.” Trey hit the right note, part command, part plea, to stop her in her tracks. She turned back to him. He came toward her. “Just tell me, okay?”

  “I like this.” She waved a hand at their immediate vicinity. “I like you, and—the sex.” She took a shaky breath. “But I don’t want expectations.”

  Trey’s eyebrow rose. “Expectations? From whom?”

  “You. Me. Anyone.”

  “Expectations of what exactly?”

  “Anything. That this—us—is anything more than what it is.”

  “And what it is is sex between two unattached, consenting adults?”

  “Maybe more than that,” she conceded.

  “But not much more.”

  “See, this is what I don’t want. I don’t want to be obligated or pressured or made to feel like I should do something when I don’t want to!”

  “So you don’t want to have dinner with me?”

  “No! I do.”

  Trey lowered his voice. He stepped closer and ran the palms of his hands up and down her arms. She shivered. “Baylee, tell me what you want.”

  “Can we go to dinner somewhere else? Asheville, maybe?”

  “Of course. Anywhere you want.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll pick you up.”

  Baylee shook her head. “I’ll meet you back here. It’ll be easier.”

  She slid away, picked up her things and left.

  Easier for whom? Trey wondered.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Matty opened the gate leading through Mamacita’s front yard to the door. Des had told him it’d be best if he parked his bike on the front porch and, if he
had a bike lock, to use it. Even though Mamacita was well-known throughout the neighborhood and beloved by her long-time neighbors, crime ran rampant, especially among the disadvantaged and unemployed youth of Hendersonville.

  He closed the gate behind him and startled when a voice he didn’t recognize said, “Hi.”

  Warily he looked in the direction from which the voice had come. “Over here.”

  The sun was still bright and the day had been hot. Matty squinted toward the house next to Mamacita’s. A figure rose from a rocking chair on the front porch, and a young woman came into view. She held an infant against her shoulder and gently patted its back. When she smiled at Matty, he realized he knew her. Correction. He knew of her. Jasmine Kendall was in his class at Hendersonville High, but so far above him in social status, he’d never spoken to her. She was an honor student, a varsity cheerleader and class secretary. Although he had no yearbook of his own, he’d seen she’d been voted Best Smile as well as Most Likely to Succeed in the junior class.

  He took a couple of steps up the crumbling walkway and paused. “Hi.”

  She walked to the end of the porch and sent him one of those winning smiles. “I heard you’re helping Mamacita.”

  “Yeah,” Matty said. He ambled closer to Mamacita’s porch. There was no reason he could think of that Jasmine Kendall would start a conversation with him.

  “My cousin Cecily had twins. She’s staying here with my aunt Micheline until her husband gets out of the military. My mother decided I should help Cecily with the babies because it will discourage me from having any of my own anytime soon.” Jasmine grinned at him. He found himself smiling back. “I could come over later maybe. Visit with Mamacita.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re Matty, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m Jasmine. See you later, then.” She awarded him another smile and went into the house.

  Matty stayed where he was a moment longer, trying to recover from the surprising discovery that Jasmine Kendall knew his name. Maybe Mamacita had mentioned it to her aunt when Matty wasn’t around. He proceeded up the steps, leaned his bike against the porch railing and secured it with the rusty bike lock. Jasmine Kendall had acknowledged his existence. Jasmine saw him. He had an odd, tingly sensation inside at the thought that he might be in her company again before the evening was through.