The Wrong Man

by Natasha Anders

  “Oh, my love,” Daff murmured, her voice low and sympathetic. She had only recently started calling him that, and Lia could tell that Spencer absolutely adored it—he practically preened every time she used it. “That definitely doesn’t mean what you want it to mean.”

  “What?” Spencer stared at her blankly.

  “Manscaping,” Daff elaborated patiently, and Lia was starting to shake as she tried to control her laughter. Poor Spencer looked completely baffled and the tips of his ears were starting to go pink, as if he realized that he might have used the wrong pop-culture reference. Again.

  Lia lifted her hand to her mouth; the laughter couldn’t be contained any longer and actually exploded through her fingers. Spencer sighed in resignation.

  “It means his pubes, doesn’t it?” At his question, Lia doubled over the kitchen counter and held on for dear life.

  “Mostly,” Daff said, still looking completely earnest and compassionate, her hand stroking up and down Spencer’s broad back. “But it can also mean chest hair. Back hair. Ear hair. Butt hair. I suppose it’s just general male grooming and appearance.”

  “Fuck,” Spencer said, the word soft and heartfelt and just so, so funny. He glared at Lia, who was still bent over and laughing uncontrollably. “Shut up, Lia. Eighty-nine percent of the time you make the same kind of mistakes.”

  “Y-yes,” Lia gasped, her voice hoarse and breathless as she tried to control her laughter. “B-but not this time.”

  “This is why I prefer to keep my mouth shut,” Spencer muttered, and Daff finally lost it. She hugged him and laughed, and because the sound was so joyful, Spencer lost his look of disgruntled resignation.

  “Oh, you beautiful man.” Daff laughed. “This is why I love you. You’re hilarious. And a fantastic sport.”

  Spencer grinned and enfolded his arms around her.

  “Are those the only reasons you love me?” he asked into her hair, and Daff settled snugly into his arms and rested her cheek against his broad chest.

  “Tip of the iceberg,” Daff crooned.

  “Well, then, elaborate, darling.”

  Lia knew that they were on the verge of forgetting her very existence, and she sighed wistfully before bidding them both good night. They were aware enough to separate and give her a proper farewell, but Lia could tell from the dazed expressions on both of their faces that they’d be resuming the “conversation” the second she drove off.

  She went as far as the end of the drive, took the left turn, and then stopped at the entrance to Mason’s driveway. The cabin wasn’t completely dark—the loft lights were still on, and Lia wondered what he was doing. She considered her life, her desire for more, and her recognition that there would be no more. This was it.

  Maybe it was defeatist; maybe it was simply her way of talking herself into this fling with Brand. She needed an excuse, a way to make herself feel better for doing something so completely uncharacteristic. Telling herself that this was a rebound thing for him and a last chance for some sexual excitement for her was that excuse.

  It would benefit both of them. And when it was over, they’d walk away from it without looking back. None the worse for wear.

  Decision—crazy, insane, off-kilter, and totally uncharacteristic decision—made, Lia turned her car into the driveway and drove the short distance to the front door. Once there, she sat for another long while, on her phone, making a list. She needed guidelines, a set of rules to keep her in check. To remind her not to get emotionally involved and to keep her cognizant of the fact that this was nothing more than a short-term, mutually satisfying arrangement.

  Sam was ready for bed. He had made one last check of the perimeter—uh, cabin, old habits—and was ready to head upstairs when a soft knock sounded on the front door. For an instant he froze, not sure if it was an actual knock—the wind was picking up and it could be something loose on the porch—then it sounded again. Three uncertain little raps on the wood. He knew who it was. Of course he knew who it was, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that he’d actually convinced her to come. She hadn’t looked at all into his suggestion that morning.

  Sam stared at the door for a moment longer, feeling oddly uncertain. He mentally cataloged his toiletry bag, trying to remember if he’d packed condoms. Why would he pack condoms? He’d come here to recuperate, not to find a fuck buddy. But he never went anywhere without condoms, so . . .

  The knock sounded again. Even fainter than before, and he swore. What the hell was he doing? She was probably talking herself out of this with every passing second. He surged to the door and yanked it open. The suddenness of the gesture shocked her, and she blinked at him apprehensively. He could tell from her stance that she had been in the process of leaving and heaved a sigh of relief that he’d come to his senses before she could do that.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice a little overeager, and he toned it down. “Uh, Lia. You’re here.”

  “Yes.”

  Jesus, woman. Give me something to work with, he lamented silently.

  “Great, I’m glad. Come in.” He stepped aside and she slowly stepped over the threshold, looking very much like someone heading for the guillotine. Yeah, well, that wasn’t sexy at all. He needed to get her a bit more relaxed. “Would you like a drink?”

  “I need to know,” she said, her shaky voice filled with resolve. “Laura Prentiss.”

  Sam sighed. For fuck’s sake, not this again!

  “I told you before, the relationship we had is over.” It was the most honest way he could think of to phrase it.

  “You were my rebound guy, Brand. And I suspect . . . I feel you need a rebound girl. And I want . . . I’m happy to . . . I think I can be that for you.”

  So many stops and starts as she tried to find the perfect way to phrase that, but Sam didn’t like the way her statement sat with him. It felt completely wrong.

  “Are you sacrificing yourself or something? Returning a favor?”

  “No,” she hastened to assure him, her eyes wide and earnest. “Of course not. I mean, maybe that’s part of it, but I want to do this for me, too.”

  “Why?” Damn it, why had he asked? What did it matter what her reasons were as long as he got her into bed? He didn’t understand his weird reaction to this. He should have her in his arms already; his mouth should be on hers, his hands on her naked skin. Why was she even still dressed?

  “I’m not going to find him,” she said on a whisper, looking miserable, and his brows lowered in confusion.

  “Find who?”

  “The guy. My guy. I won’t find a Mason or a Spencer. I was happy to settle for a Gregory—”

  “Over my dead body,” he interrupted furiously, and she smiled absently.

  “Before I saw how very similar to my ex-fiancé he is,” she added. “I was okay with a man I didn’t really love or feel attracted to. I thought that those feelings would grow eventually, but I don’t think I’m even going to find Mr. Okay, much less Mr. Right. Not anytime soon, at least. Maybe not ever. I’m just tired of all the bad dates and the dashed hopes. After Gregory . . .” She paused before shaking her head. “I just need a break.”

  “So you’re giving up?” he asked disbelievingly, and she shrugged.

  “For now. For this, with you.”

  “I’m not the guy you’re looking for, Lia,” he stressed urgently. “I’m not even a great Mr. All Right for Now. If we’re going to do this, you can’t get attached. If you do, you’ll get hurt, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She smiled warmly, the expression dispelling some of her previous misery. He didn’t like seeing her miserable. It was disturbing and should never happen again.

  “I know that, Brand,” she said, the gentle reassurance in her voice matching the tranquil smile. “But I was thinking about what you said, about you being the last wild thing I do before I settle down . . . and I decided that I want that. I want to be your rebound girl and you’ll be my wild thing. Consider my caution thrown to
the wind. I figure it would be nice to have something like this to look back on when I’m old. To know I was willing to do something uncharacteristic and fun, just because why the heck not?”

  “You’re not exactly old and decrepit, Lia. I doubt this will be your last wild thing,” he amended, and her smile widened, but the edges were tinged with sadness.

  “I’m not known for my spontaneity, Brand. I think one per lifetime is my limit.”

  “And yet this is the third—”

  “No,” she interrupted quickly. “It’s one extended extemporaneous walk on the wild side.”

  “I’ll help you,” he suddenly decided, not sure what the fuck he was promising but just hating to see such abject defeat in her normally sparkling eyes.

  “What?”

  “While we’re flinging, so to speak, I’ll help you find that guy.”

  “That’s crazy. And also quite amoral. I won’t be dating men while we’re involved.”

  “You can date them, just don’t sleep with them. When you find a guy you want to sleep with, we end our thing.”

  “That’s too bizarre; I don’t like it.”

  “It’ll be part of your new wild-woman persona. You can date one guy while sleeping with another.”

  “It feels dishonest. Why are we discussing this? I came here for a fling and you’re—you’re . . .” A delicate frown settled between her brows as she tried to think of a way to describe what she was feeling. “You’re copblocking me.”

  “What?” He blinked, not sure he’d heard her properly.

  “You heard me,” she whispered angrily, and his lips quirked.

  “No, sunshine, I’m not really sure I did.”

  “I said you’re copblocking me.” Her cheeks were bright pink, and in that moment Sam watched his good intentions curl up and float away right before his eyes. The sexy, shy librarian was back, and he wanted her badly.

  “And what does that mean, sunshine?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle, and she flushed as she struggled to frame a response.

  “You know what it means, I just replaced the other word,” she confessed, and he grinned.

  “Oh, you mean cock?” He bit back a laugh at her pained groan.

  “Just stop doing it,” she admonished, and he nodded solemnly.

  “No more cockblocking. Got it.” His eyes ran over her face, and he felt his lips stretch into a full smile. God, she was absolutely gorgeous. His breath hitched and he palmed her cheek with his good hand. “You’re sure about this, right? Because I don’t do regrets.”

  Her breath shuddered from her chest and he recognized that she’d been holding it. Her lips parted and his eyes dropped to them—they looked full, juicy, and he wondered if she’d applied some of that gloss before knocking on his door. Applied it for him. He groaned as he understood that he could finally sample that bubblegum flavor. All it took to go from thought to action was a single breath before his lips were on hers. She sighed and moved closer and opened up for him. It was the only way he could think of to describe it—she just tilted back her head, softened her mouth, and let him in.

  It was fucking fantastic. He couldn’t quite remember if the last time had been like this. He couldn’t remember if they’d kissed. This felt like a first kiss, and he couldn’t remember the last time a first kiss had held this kind of significance for him. It terrified him but at the same time made him want more . . . so much more.

  He wanted to wrap her close, but the cast on his arm hampered him and he made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat as he lifted his mouth from hers. Her lips followed his, soft, lush, and completely ravished. They still wanted more and they pouted when he moved his mouth out of reach. Her eyes fluttered open and those luminous gray irises were almost completely obscured by the black of her pupils. She looked dewy, aroused, ready . . . and Sam wasn’t sure this could be slow or even gentle. He just needed to get through the logistics.

  “Help me,” he grated, and her eyes regained focus as they registered the frustration on his face. He was tugging at the hem of his tank top and she said something, he couldn’t be sure what, but it sounded like cripes or crumbs. It made him smile, and he wondered at the lightness he felt in this moment. He was hard, he was burning up, he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her right where she stood—and at the same time he felt elated. Like a kid at a carnival, he felt excited, happy, nervous, and ready all at the same time.

  She helped him drag the tank up and over his cast and then looked at it for a moment before placing it neatly to one side.

  “At some point,” she said primly, despite the alarming wobble in her voice, “you and I are going to discuss the fact that you were just wearing a tank top. Why have we been struggling with those button-up shirts whe . . .” She stopped abruptly, and he could see exactly when the truth hit her. She gasped softly. “You deliberately made me struggle with those shirts, didn’t you?”

  He laughed and then, because he couldn’t stand the separation any longer, kissed her again. Outrage forgotten, she wrapped her arms around his waist, burrowed against his chest, and, again, gave him everything with that one kiss. He plucked at her clothing with his free hand, groaning at how ineffectual his attempts were, and she made soothing sounds, her hands stroking up and down his bare back, her fingernails alternately digging in and lightly scraping.

  “Brand,” she said, her voice muffled against his lips. “Let me.”

  “What?” he asked dazedly, lifting his head to look down at her, worshipping her with his eyes.

  “Let me. Please let me do this, just while you’re in that cast. I can . . .”

  “You want to drive, sunshine?” he asked lightly, understanding where she was going with this, and she flushed before nodding. He grinned, loving the thought of it. He threw himself back on the sofa and spread his arms invitingly. “Then have at it.”

  Sam wasn’t sure what to expect when he so brazenly invited her to take over, but it certainly wasn’t what he got. She licked her lips, those juicy, bubblegum-flavored lips, and her hands fell to her blouse. She was still in that mint-green pencil skirt and white top that had so turned him on that morning, and he watched with bated breath as she flicked open one pearly button at a time. Her movements weren’t seductive so much as efficient, and that was even more of a turn-on than any blatant attempt at seduction would have been. He watched as she tugged her blouse off, folded it, and placed it aside. His greedy eyes drank in every aspect of the neat, pretty figure now revealed to his gaze. The sweet little nipped-in waist, the cute indent of her belly button, and then her modest cleavage in a pretty, lacy white front-fastening bra.

  She didn’t need much support. The bra seemed entirely superfluous, but it was still such a turn-on to imagine peeling it off her and revealing the loveliness beneath. She didn’t touch the bra, though, instead she kicked her foot back and his throat went dry as she tugged off one sensible pump and then the other. His cock twitched urgently when she skimmed her hands under her ass-hugging mint skirt and hitched it to just below her thighs in order to access her panties.

  Sam growled when she performed a tug and then a shimmy and her lacy white panties dropped to her ankles. She stepped out of them and again folded them and placed them atop her blouse. Still none of this was overtly sexy, just efficient as hell. She barely looked at him while she did her sensible little striptease, while Sam couldn’t take his eyes off her. When he was himself again, he was going to strip her slowly and kiss every single silky strip of newly revealed skin until she was begging him for release.

  “Undo your hair for me,” Sam begged hoarsely, startling her into looking at him. She went bright pink, and he comprehended that one of the reasons she was so determinedly avoiding eye contact was because this was hard for her. It explained the efficiency and the lack of artifice. She didn’t know how to seduce but in her innocence succeeded in seducing him more effectively than any other woman had before her. Her hands went up to her ponytail, and he winced when she tugged th
e rubber band off without any care or concern for the silky stuff bound within. Her soft, sleek hair fell to her shoulders like a dark-brown curtain, and Sam ached to trail his fingers through it, yearned to bury his face and nose in it.

  “Beautiful,” he encouraged softly, and she smiled, running her splayed fingers through the mass before allowing it to settle again.

  “Show me your breasts,” he begged, his voice a whisper. “Please.”

  “No,” she said, her voice stubborn. He scowled, irritated by her disobedience, but instantly forgave her when she fell to her knees on the floor in front of the sofa where he sat and wriggled between his splayed knees. Her forearms rested on his thighs, and she looked up at him earnestly. “I’m quite . . .”

  She sucked on her lip and swallowed back whatever she’d been about to say, and Sam groaned in despair.

  “Don’t withhold your words from me now, Lia. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m quite wet,” she confessed, her voice low. She seemed embarrassed by the confession, and the sound that emerged from Sam’s throat was equal parts amusement and despair. “I don’t remember being this wet before.”

  “God, I want to touch you,” he moaned. “Taste you.”

  “You will,” she promised. “But before you do, I think it’s prudent we do this.”

  This turned out to be palming his thick erection through the thin material of his boxer briefs. She gave another one of those shuddery little sighs that Sam found so damned erotic and finally reached under the elastic waist and wrapped her small, soft hand around his rampant hardness. Sam hissed and arched into her touch, damned near coming in her hand.

  She pushed the material of his shorts out of the way and gently released his hardness and watched in satisfaction as it throbbed against his stomach. Her face was so close to it, he could feel her breath on his sensitive flesh, and part of him was desperate for her to take him in her mouth, but another part wanted something else, wanted to experience the tightness of her body again. Right now, he wanted that much more than her mouth. She stood up and straddled his knees, tugging her tight skirt up to her thighs. Her crotch was level with his eyes, but he couldn’t see her—her skirt was still modestly covering the part of her he now craved the most.