“Nice hat head, Levi.”
His eyes seem to glitter dangerously, and I feel a little thrill in my stomach. “You’re still wearing your coat, hat, and gloves, and you’re going to tease me about hat hair? At least I’m being efficient.”
“Efficient,” I murmur in the best sex kitten voice I can manage. “How sexy.”
“That’s it.” He lunges for me, pulling my hat off and sliding my coat from my shoulders. He kisses the bare skin he reveals at my collarbone before reaching for the hem of my sweater.
“Too many damn layers,” he mutters. “Winter sucks.”
I brush his hands aside and pull the sweater over my head, taking the shirt underneath with it. Levi immediately ceases his muttering, staring at me in a way that makes me feel alive and powerful. Like he can’t believe I’m real.
“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, eyes glued to my body. “Damn, Karen.”
“Who’s the efficient one now?” I ask.
He grabs me by the waist, pulling me close and spinning me around so I’m no longer pressed into the door. He kisses my bare shoulders, my neck, as he walks me backward into the apartment.
“You’re still wearing your thermal,” I point out, breathless.
“Fuck my thermal,” he growls and I giggle. Suddenly, my shins bang into something metal, and I let out a yelp.
“Ow! Shit!” The metal thing crashes behind me.
“The space heater,” he says, releasing me to lunge for it. “I left it on.” Unfortunately, all of the kissing has made me weak-kneed, and I’m clutching him for support—the second he removes his hands from my waist, I go tumbling down to the ground next to the heater. Somehow, my legs get all tangled up with Levi’s, and he’s falling too.
“Ow,” I whimper, rubbing my hip, which now stings just as much as my shins. “Your apartment is trying to kill me.”
“Sorry,” he mutters, struggling to get himself upright so he can deal with the space heater and keep it from burning the place down. He’s leaning over me, his shirt pressed into my face, a knee lodged somewhere near my aching hip.
“Levi,” I gasp. “You’re smushing me.”
He finally manages to right the space heater and pull himself away. “Sorry,” he says again, brushing his hat-head-hair away from his face. He looks so ridiculously cute that I can’t help running my fingers into that hair, ruffling it so it stands up in tufts and spikes.
“Are you still laughing at my hair?” he asks in disbelief. “Right. That’s it.”
His fingers move down to attack the zipper of my jeans, tickling my stomach in the process. I gasp and laugh, slapping at his hands, but he only grins devilishly and continues.
That is, until he tries to slide the denim down my legs. “Slight problem,” he says. “These things are soaked from the snow.”
“Well maybe you need to pull a little harder.”
“Maybe you need to not wear such tight pants. What are you, some kind of hussy?”
His face takes on the look of sheer determination as he tackles my jeans again, and suddenly, I’m cracking up, laughing so hard I can barely breathe.
“Awesome,” he mutters. “The hottest girl I’ve ever had this close to my bed is laughing at my seduction techniques.”
“Levi,” I gasp, grabbing his arms for support. “We’re on the floor. And the space heater and my jeans and…your hair.”
He watches me for a second with a bemused smile, and then he starts to chuckle himself. “We’re off to a pretty auspicious start, huh?”
“You can say that again.”
“Here, let me help you up.” He manages to extract his legs from mine and get to his feet, pulling me up with him. For a second, I’m worried that I killed the mood, but Levi merely grins, running his fingertips lightly down my bare arms, making my flesh erupt in goosebumps. “You’re probably cold, with these wet jeans and all.”
I widen my eyes, going for innocent. “However will you warm me up?”
His eyes flash, and then we’re tumbling onto the bed, any traces of laughter dying in my throat. He kisses me until the room spins, his fingers exploring every inch of my bare skin, brushing against the cups of my bra, making me shiver.
Now that I’m lying down, he manages to pull my jeans off a lot more easily. He kneels next to me on the bed, looking down at me. “You really are gorgeous.”
“Enough compliments,” I pant, pulling on the hem of his thermal. “You’re still wearing all your clothes.”
He grins, reaching down to pull his shirt off. Somehow, my fingers get stuck on the hem as he rolls it up over his chest. “Damn it,” he mutters, and that sets me off laughing again.
“Should I be offended at this point?” he asks, eyes sparkling.
“Absolutely not. This is fun.” And it is. I’ve never had a sexual encounter like this—one where we can laugh one minute and lose our heads in kisses the next. Usually, I spend half the time worrying about what I look like, what the guy is thinking, what will happen next. I didn’t realize sex could be so easy. So fun.
“Glad to hear it,” he says, freeing my fingers from his shirt. “But the laughing portion of the evening is over.”
There’s a sharp swoop in my stomach at the no-nonsense timber in his voice. I like Levi bossy. Then he finally pulls himself free from his shirt and my breath catches. His chest is broad and sculpted, all firm planes and sharp dips all the way down to the edge of his jeans, which are now slung low on his hips. My eyes land on his forearms flexing slightly as he tosses the shirt aside. God, I love a guy with good forearms. And good biceps, I think, actually licking my lips.
How had I never realized how gorgeous he was? How had he ever been eclipsed by the Ransome boys, even if they were world-famous rock stars? There wasn’t a single one of them that had a thing on Levi. He was perfect.
“Did you just lick your lips?” he asks, grinning, more than a little smug.
“Well, they were getting lonely without someone kissing them.”
He immediately rectifies the situation, lowering himself over me so I can feel the full weight of his body pressing down on me.
He ducks his head, tongue trailing across my collarbone, and it feels so perfect, I could cry. And then, because everything is going so well and I’m more than a little bit crazy, I’m struck with a terrible thought.
“I’m not her,” I whisper, my voice thick. Levi pauses over me, his eyes so intense on mine that I have to look away. A finger on my chin forces my gaze back to his.
“Who?”
“Daisy.”
He goes very still, and I think I might have ruined everything. But then he smiles, his expression incredulous. “Karen, I’m not thinking of anyone except for the woman in my bed. I don’t want anyone else. I just want you.”
“Really?” My voice cracks on the word, and I’ve never been so embarrassed. I hate being vulnerable in front of any guy.
But this isn’t any guy. It’s Levi. He slides his hands up to cup my face, cradling my cheeks like I’m something precious. “Of course.”
And then, as if he can sense that it’s hard for me to believe mere words, he shows me. Through his kisses, his touch, the way he slides into me, slow and gentle. The way his breathing quickens, whispering my name, as the gentleness gives way to hurried passion. I can barely breathe, can barely stand it, but still Levi moves over me, in me, his lips never leaving my skin for more than the seconds it takes for him to whisper my name.
Somewhere in the middle of all of that, I stop worrying. Stop thinking at all. The only thing I’m aware of is Levi.
And that’s more than enough.
Chapter Four
Levi
It feels like an hour passes before I’m able to speak again. Or move. Or pretty much, you know, think.
“Wow,” I mutter, turning my head to look at Karen.
“Wow, indeed.” She still seems out of breath, her shoulders rising and falling above the thin sheet she has pulled up over her chest
. She pushes her hair back, palm resting on her forehead for a minute, like she’s trying to get ahold of herself.
“Is it just me, or was that like, completely mind blowing?”
She grins, her eyes flashing in the dim light of my apartment. “Insanely mind blowing.”
A rush of pride and satisfaction courses through me. I had already thought it was good sex. But knowing it made her so happy took it to a whole other level.
“I’m just going to lie here until my brain turns back on,” I explain.
Karen laughs, turning on her side and resting her cheek in her hand. “And I’ll just be here admiring the view.”
I snort. “I think the view is a lot better from here.”
She dips her head to kiss my shoulder, her curtain of hair brushing against my skin and sending an eruption of goosebumps over my chest and arms.
We lie like that for a long time, getting our breath back. Half of me wants to sleep, to float on this feeling into oblivion. The other half of me knows I would be crazy to spend even one second with my eyes closed when a woman like Karen is in my bed.
My stomach rouses us from our laziness with a loud growl. “Sorry,” I tell her, rubbing my abdomen. “I didn’t realize how hungry I am.”
“Thank God,” she says, pulling herself into a sitting position. “I’m starving.”
I’m distracted from the thought of food by her new position. Her legs are drawn up to her chest, the sheet covering everything but her shoulders, arms, and a long swath of her perfectly smooth, tanned back. Her hair floats around her head in a golden curtain. She’s unbelievable.
“So…” she urges. “Do we need to go out for food or…”
“Sorry.” I shake my head to clear it, sitting up myself. “I have stuff for sandwiches.”
“Sandwiches would be great.”
I swing my legs off the bed and walk to the bathroom. In the small studio layout, it’s only feet from the bed, and I feel her gaze on my ass the entire way. I pull a towel from the cupboard, wincing a little at the site of broken tiles and chipping paint. I’m not eager for her to have to use this room. I wrap the towel around my waist, my boxers too wet from the snow, and head over to the kitchenette area.
From the corner of my eye, I see Karen turning on the small lamp next to the bed. I try not to think about what the apartment looks like in the light as I get the sandwich fixings out.
“Turkey or ham?” I call.
“Both.” I grin and set to work making our sandwiches.
I balance the plates on my forearm and root around in the little fridge for a few beers and grab a bag of potato chips off the counter. Once I have everything, I bring the whole spread to the bed.
“Sorry I don’t have like, a breakfast tray,” I tell her, but she merely rolls her eyes.
“They’re sandwiches, Levi. I don’t need linen napkins and proper silver.”
“Good, cause I don’t have those things, either.”
She grabs her sandwich immediately, taking three huge bites before she attacks her beer. It makes me feel kind of cocky to know she’s worked up such an appetite.
But that feeling fades as I watch her look around the room while she chews. The studio is small, the bed taking up most of the space. There’s a sagging little love seat over in the corner, facing a TV on the floor. I had planned to get some kind of entertainment unit for it, but I had never bothered. A small table, more of a desk, really, is the only other furniture in the room. The studio has suited me just fine ever since I moved in. It’s not like I need much.
But now, I examine the space, trying to see it through her eyes. I haven’t hung a single picture or poster on the walls. My DVD and video game collection is sprawling in a mess out of a torn up cardboard box. There’s a layer of dust on everything.
For the first time, I realize that my apartment is pretty grim.
“Sorry,” I mumble into my sandwich. “I know it’s not much.”
“It’s fine,” she says. “You have nothing to apologize for.” She takes another sip of beer. “It’s not very colorful, though. Paige would throw a fit.”
“Paige likes color?”
“You should see our apartment. Hot pink fun fur is the primary design scheme.”
I doubt I’ll ever see her apartment. In fact, I doubt I’ll ever see her again. The thought has me feeling more than a little bit depressed.
“You okay?” she asks, voice quiet.
I give her the best smile I can manage. “Sure. Just a little tired.”
She watches my face carefully, and I know she doesn’t buy my excuse. But she doesn’t press it, either, merely returning to her sandwich and eating in silence. When she’s finished, she sets the paper plate down on the nightstand, finishes her beer, and wipes her mouth before folding her hands in her lap and looking at me. “Thank you, Levi.”
“For what?”
“For the sandwich. I don’t think I’ve ever had a guy make me food after sex.”
“Seriously? I would think they would all pile you with pancakes in the morning in a desperate attempt to keep you in their sight.”
She shrugs a little. “I don’t usually stay until morning. Or they don’t.”
There’s something in her voice that twists in my chest. She has that tough edge to her tone that I’m so used to hearing, but for the first time, I think it might be covering something else.
“Sounds like you date some jerky guys then.”
She offers me a half smile. “I’m legendary for picking the wrong guys. You have no idea.”
“But you’re…Karen.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means—look at you! You’re like, ridiculously beautiful. The guys must line up to get a chance with you.”
“They do,” she mutters, pulling on a thread in the blanket that pools around her knees. “But it becomes abundantly clear that the only thing they’re after is my, uh, beauty.” She grimaces. “Body, more like.”
Shit. “I’m sorry. You deserve better than that.”
She shoots me a wry smile. “I think I deserve exactly what I accept.”
“Then maybe it’s time to start demanding more.”
She snorts. “The last guy I was with, back in Nashville—I thought he was more. I thought he was everything.”
“What happened?” I ask, not sure that I want to know.
“Turns out he’s married.” She tries to laugh in a self-deprecating sort of way, but it can’t hide the obvious pain in her face. “What did I tell you? Legendary at picking the wrong guys.”
I don’t know what to say. She sounds so hurt, so full of self-disgust. That, at least, is a feeling I’m used to.
“I’m pretty bad at picking the right girl, myself,” I tell her. “As evidenced by the fact that I’m here in Colorado instead of wherever my former friends are.”
“L.A.,” she says. “Recording a demo.”
“That’s right. Well, at least I know they’re suffering in the southern California sun while we get to enjoy all of this.” I spread my hands out to encompass the room and Karen laughs.
“Cheers to that.”
I’m glad she’s laughing now, but there’s still something in her face I don’t like. She looks almost haunted, as if the mere mention of the married guy has wounded her in some way. It’s obvious that, for whatever she says about him being wrong for her, she still has feelings for him.
“Come here,” I say, setting my plate on the floor and reclaiming my position against the headboard. I sink into the pillows and pull her down against my chest. To my relief, she snuggles into my side, resting her head on my shoulder. “That’s really nice,” I murmur.
“It is,” she agrees, yawning.
“You want to sleep?”
“No.” She says it quickly, almost desperately, like the very idea of sleep freaks her out.
“Okay.” I rub my fingers across her shoulder, wanting to comfort her. “What do you want to do? I have some video games… Yo
u were getting pretty good at Halo last time I saw you.”
“I would rather stay here,” she says, voice small. “Can we just…talk?”
“Of course we can.”
“Tell me things I don’t know about you,” she whispers. “Things that have nothing to do with Ransom.”
I’m happy she can’t see my face, because I’m sure I’m frowning at the sound of their name. What’s there to tell her? I can’t think of any aspect of my life that isn’t tied up with that band.
Karen seems to sense my uneasiness. “What are your parents like?”
I relax a little. “My parents are perfect. Perfect jobs, perfect house, perfect award-winning flower gardens.”
“Perfect son?”
I snort. “Not even close. They’re very into appearance, my parents. I never really fit that bill.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“You suffer from the perfect-parents syndrome too?”
She makes a scathing noise. “Not even close. They got divorced when I was thirteen. Dad, apparently, was well on his way to starting a new family with his girlfriend by the time he took off. And my mom has spent the vast majority of her time since then in search of husband number two. Far from perfect. But the appearance thing—that I get.”
I’m surprised by how easy it is to talk to her. We lie like that for hours, wrapped up in each other, talking about everything from our childhoods to our favorite foods. She laughs a lot, the sound making me grin like an idiot every time. Her body, so soft and warm, pressed up against me feels incredible. I feel like I could stay right here in this moment for ages.
At one point, she stretches her arms over her head. I’m distracted from the amazing view of her breasts pressing into the sheet by something on her arm. The light catches a mark, right up by her elbow, and I take her wrist, pulling her arm toward me to get a closer look.
It’s a scar. Silvery-white in the dim light from the bedside table, only about an inch long. Now that I’m looking, I can see it’s far from the only one. Little scars run up and down her arm, both of her arms, dozens of them. I feel sick. I have some experience with scars like that. I say a silent prayer of thanks that hers all look old, healed. There are no new cuts.
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