My body was demanding. It wanted more. It wanted to be brought to the very top of a mountain and then shoved off, plummeting me into the deep abyss of pleasure.
Brody broke the kiss and drew in a ragged breath. I could feel the way his abs contracted with every quick breath he took. I was wearing an oversized chambray shirt over a pair of leggings and I hadn’t bothered to button it all the way to the top. Brody slid his palm into the opening at my neck and pulled away the fabric, exposing my collarbone and shoulder, scooping down and scraping his teeth across my flesh.
I tingled as the sharp edges scraped over my flesh and shuddered when he went back over the same spot with that wicked tongue of his. I tried to lean forward, to kiss any part of him I could reach, but he pinned me back, shaking his head, and dove into the side of my neck like he was some kind of starved vampire.
But he didn’t bite me. He sucked at the flesh, drawing it into his mouth, and the tugging sensation made my thighs tighten around his leg.
My hand ripped away from the waistband of his jeans and I thrust it up beneath the hem of his shirt, drawing my nails across his washboard abs, traveling up so I could cup his pec in my palm. The second I brushed over his nipple, it tightened into a rock-hard pebble, and I grasped it between two fingers and pinched.
A hoarse sound ripped from his throat and he stopped kissing me, his head buried in my neck. I actually felt slight trembling throughout his limbs, and knowing he was just as turned on by me as I was him was a heady aphrodisiac.
Feeling a little bolder, I pinched his nipple again, twisting it slightly, and he shuddered. I rotated my hips over his thigh and made a little purring sound.
“Damn, Taylor,” he groaned, pulling back to look down at me. “You make it really hard to stop.”
I didn’t ask him to stop. In fact, I wanted him to continue.
Brody slowly lowered his leg until my feet touched the floor. When he stepped back, I had to give more of my weight to the wall because without the support, I would have collapsed in a quivering puddle.
“Every time I kiss you,” he rasped, brushing a finger across my cheek, “your skin turns a shade of pink.”
“Curse of a redhead.” I smiled.
“It’s not a curse. It’s damn cute.”
I wrinkled my nose. I didn’t want to be cute, not to him. I wanted to be sexy. I wanted to make him flustered with need. It was only fair because that’s the effect he had on me.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, changing the subject. I didn’t care to talk about my cuteness. And trying to make him leave again was useless. I wasn’t completely positive that he really did just want to spend time with me, but I didn’t want him to go.
“I’m always hungry.”
“Come along, then,” I called, trailing through the house and into the kitchen where the scent of cinnamon and vanilla drifted through the air.
I glanced at the untouched French toast bake on the counter and felt my stomach rumble since the first time I left the hospital. After pulling out a tub of butter from the fridge, I opened the cupboard to reach inside to grab a couple plates.
The muscles in my body protested when I stretched up to reach and a renewed sense of weariness washed over me. I didn’t like feeling this way so I tried to ignore my feelings.
Brody came up behind me, invading my personal space, sandwiching me between the counter and his chest. I resisted the urge to sink back into him, the comfort of his body so enticing.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, brushing away my arm and reaching onto the top shelf with ease. “You shouldn’t be moving around so much.”
“I figured eating off plates would be better than our hands,” I quipped. I mean really, like putting food on a plate was that taxing.
When he lowered his arm (plates in hand), he brushed against the side of my body and leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “I like a woman with a little bit of attitude.”
I snatched the plates from his hand and spun, only he stayed where he was. My breasts brushed against his chest, and beneath my clothing, my nipples tightened. “It’s getting cold,” I said. The proximity of his body was like someone handing you a hot fudge sundae just dripping with sweetness and telling you not to eat it.
He smirked and stepped aside, letting me by. I shoved away from the counter and went to the granite-topped island where the French toast was cooling.
“You really shouldn’t be in here cooking,” he admonished again. I heard the concern in his voice so I decided to ignore his potent bossiness because it was clear he really did care about my wellbeing.
“I didn’t make this,” I told him, setting out the plates and picking up a knife to cut into the thick bread-and-egg mixture. “My Dad has a housekeeper that also does some cooking. She was here this morning, but I sent her home.”
“Trying to get rid of your babysitter?”
“Yeah, and then you showed up.” I glanced over my shoulder to mock scowl at him. The scowl didn’t go very well though because I was completely distracted by the way he leaned his hip into the counter and casually flung out his leg. His arms were folded over his chest and the tattoos on his arms were in full view.
Did I mention I really, really liked the way he looked?
“I’m not so bad, am I?” He gave me a knowing smile.
I plopped a huge helping of the casserole on a plate, added a little butter, a drizzle of syrup, a fork, and handed it to him. I wasn’t about to tell him just before he arrived I had wished I could see him.
He took the plate, scooped up a huge forkful, and shoved it in his mouth.
“You’re going to choke,” I admonished.
“You know mouth to mouth?” he asked around the food he was chewing.
I rolled my eyes and served myself a much more sensible piece. I sat down on one of the nearby stools and Brody came over to sit beside me. “What is this?” he asked, shoving yet another huge bite into his mouth. Then he growled. “It’s good.”
“It’s pumpkin French toast bake. She makes it a lot. It is really good,” I replied, taking a bite. The bread melted in my mouth and the sugary sweetness of the syrup slid over my tongue.
“Is she single?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“Think she’d marry me?”
I snorted. “She’s twice your age.”
“I like a woman with experience,” he quipped, shoving the last bite into his mouth.
I knew he was only teasing, but part of me felt a little disappointed. It was clear by the way he kissed and by the way he moved that Brody was very experienced. While I had dated, my experience was a lot less than his.
I pushed another bite into my mouth to avoid having to reply. He pushed off the stool and went to the coffeemaker sitting on the counter. “How do you work this thing?”
“Just push the start button. It should already be ready to brew.”
A little beep filled the silence and then the fresh scent of brewing coffee filled the room. “So do you live here with your dad?” he asked as he helped himself to another huge piece of French toast.
“If he had his way I would,” I answered, setting aside my fork. “But, no, I live a few miles away in a townhouse. My best friend lives there with me, but right now she’s in Europe.”
“So you’re staying here.”
“For now.” Brody returned to the stool right beside me and I turned toward him. “He’s very protective, to the point of frustration, but I can also understand.”
“Is it just you and him?”
I nodded. “For the last two years. My mom passed away from breast cancer. Before she died, he wasn’t as bad as he is now, but losing her was…” I paused and cleared my throat. Just thinking of her and the pain she went through before the disease finally claimed her life caused emotion to well up inside me. “It was really hard. Now I’m all he has left.”
“Cancer sucks,” Brody said, shoving another bite into his mouth.
I laughed. I was
so used to hearing the obligatory, “I’m so sorry for your loss,” that having him come right out and say what he was thinking was refreshing. “Yes, it does.”
“I figure you take after your mom in the looks department?”
“Yes, I look a lot like her. Which I think is also another reason my father is so protective.”
“Makes sense.”
“What about you? Do your parents live around here?” I asked as he finished up his second plate of food.
“They live outside of Raleigh. I don’t see them much.”
“Do you have any brothers and sisters?”
“I have a brother, but I don’t see him much either.”
“Oh.” I was very close to my father and mother before she died. I’d always wanted siblings, but by the time my parents thought of having more, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and having more children wasn’t an option. She went into remission when I was ten, for several years, but then it came back. She fought it for a very long time, but eventually her body just couldn’t fight anymore.
“With the kind of life I live, the kind of job I do, it’s safer for my family not be around me so much,” he explained, watching me.
“That sounds lonely.” My heart ached for him. I knew he thought staying away from his family was only helping them, but what about him? He didn’t have anyone.
“I’m hardly ever alone.”
“But are you surrounded by people you actually like?”
“You need to eat more than two bites,” he told me, ignoring my question. Brody picked up my fork and stabbed a bite of food on it to hold up to my mouth.
I parted my lips, allowing him to slip the food inside.
I didn’t ask the question again because his lack of response was a very telling answer. Brody was lonely. He was just either too blind to see it or too stubborn to admit it.
15
Brody
Her hair was in two thick braids that fell over her shoulders. Her black pants were like a second skin and the loose, blue shirt buttoned up over her body couldn’t disguise how sexy she was. She still seemed a little worn out, with light-purple smudges beneath her eyes, but even tired, she was beautiful.
I wasn’t used to thinking of women as beautiful. Hot? Yes. Desirable? Of course. Likable? Sometimes. But never beautiful.
There wasn’t much beauty in the world I lived in. Even physical beauty could be overshadowed by what lay just beneath the surface. Living in the ghetto, living deep undercover for years taught me that. Usually, if I did meet a woman who could be considered beautiful, she ruined it all by opening her mouth, getting into a bar fight, or ho-ing herself out to every guy she thought would give her a little bit more than what she already had.
The streets weren’t kind to beauty. Beauty was easily corrupted. Beauty was easily tarnished.
Taylor was untarnished. Her beauty remained even after she opened her mouth. In fact, her beauty intensified. I might not like her father, but he did right by this girl. He shielded her, he took care of her, and he kept the rareness of her beauty intact. Sure, he was a little overprotective, but the more time I spent with Taylor, the more I understood.
Even guarded by money and a loving father hadn’t kept her innocent. I was glad for that. I was too corrupt for innocence. True, I didn’t know her very well, but I knew enough to see she had the kind of backbone a person only formed when adversity stepped in their path.
But never mind her backbone and beauty.
Kissing her made me crazy.
So crazy that it was practically all I could think about. I was like an addict who only wanted their next fix. Just the mere thought of her lips, of her full bottom lip, turned my cock to granite.
I wasn’t lying when I said her father’s request was just an excuse. An excuse to be near her, to get in her. And I wanted in her. I wanted to bury myself so deep in her body that I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began.
But I couldn’t.
Not yet anyway. I had to wait until she was sure I wasn’t here because her father paid me to be.
So I followed her into the kitchen to eat some awesome-ass French toast. But her laugh got to me. Her closeness got to me. And the way she seemed to identify what I was feeling when I myself had no idea got to me.
That sounds lonely.
Yeah, maybe I was. Or maybe I was just tired of trying to be two different people. Maybe I didn’t know who I was at all. I kinda felt homesick… only I had no home to go to.
“Hey you wanna get out of here?” I asked as I fed her yet another bite of breakfast. I might not be able to go home, but I could go to the last place I felt relaxed.
“Where?” she asked, chewing thoughtfully. Just the movement of her lips as she ate was enough to make me contemplate bending her over the stool she was sitting on and taking her.
“Fishing,” I said, my voice husky.
I abandoned her fork and plate to get up and rummage through one of the hundreds of cabinets (seriously, what man needed this many cabinets?) for a coffee mug.
“You want to go fishing?”
I grunted as I opened yet another door to look.
“They’re over here,” she said from close by. Taylor opened a cabinet and reached in to pull out a white mug. When I reached out to take it, she yanked it back, stuffing it back into the cabinet.
“Hey…”
She grinned over her shoulder and then turned back. “I need up,” she said, pointing to the highest shelf in the cupboard.
I could have moved her aside and reached for whatever it was she wanted.
I didn’t do that.
Instead, I wrapped my hands around her waist, loving the supple feeling of her body under my hands. The sides of her waist dipped in like it was made just for my hands. “Up you go,” I said, easily lifting her and wrapping an arm around her hips to anchor her against me as she reached for whatever she wanted.
Her little giggle made my stomach flip.
After several seconds, she patted me on the arm. “Got it.”
Careful of her injured arm, I let her slide down the front of my body. When her ass hit my crotch, my hips moved without thought and thrust toward her, bringing my throbbing length right up against her.
The travel mugs she was holding fell onto the counter, and she melted back against me. I reached around her front and filled my hand with her breast, wishing her bulky shirt wasn’t in my way. She made a little sound of appreciation and I squeezed, kneading the mound with firm, confident strokes.
Taylor’s arm came up to snake around my neck. Her fingers slid up the back into my hairline, making little chills of need race all way into my toes. Keeping her hand around the back of my neck, she slowly pivoted around, her body brushing mine as she turned and looked up at me with darkened emerald eyes.
Damn, I fucking loved seeing that look on her face.
Like I was her entire world.
Her hand pulled me down so our lips could meet, could caress each other in a slow, lazy kiss. There was no tongue involved this time, but it didn’t matter.
Her nails raked down the side of my neck and over my chest, traveling down until it fell completely away. I pulled back, actually feeling fuzzy headed.
No girl ever made me feel dazed before.
“You pour us some coffee to go, and I’ll get the hot dogs.”
My brain was still operating a few batteries short. “Hot dogs?” I asked.
She gave me a half smile. “For the fish.”
Oh, yeah. We were going fishing. Who the hell came up with that idea? Sex was a much better way to pass the time.
“Brody?” The tentative way she said my name, almost like asking a question, drew me out of my dirty (yet satisfying) thoughts.
“Yeah?”
“Did you change your mind?”
“What would you say if I did?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow. I stepped toward her, reaching around to grab her ass. “What would you say if I told you I’d rather stay in?”
Her body swayed toward me and her chin tipped back. “I’d ask you what you would rather do.”
That was not the answer I was hoping to get. She was supposed to say she didn’t want to stay in. She was supposed to act like what I was proposing was dirty and offensive.
I liked dirty and offensive.
She wasn’t supposed to as well.
It made me want her even more.
I growled and gave her ass cheek another squeeze and then pushed back to go make the coffee. I was making damn coffee when I could be ripping off her clothes.
I was out of my damn mind.
A short while later, we were sitting in my old Ford, heading down I-40 toward Lake Crabtree. It was a hot day, but rather than turn on the AC, we rolled down the windows. At first I thought she might worry about her hair or something equally girly, but she didn’t. Instead, she laughed and stuck her hand out the window, allowing her fingers to play in the passing wind.
Wisps of cinnamon hair escaped the playful braids over her shoulders and caught in the breeze, tugging all around her head. Almost immediately after climbing into the cab of the truck, she discarded her shoes and propped her bare feet up on the dashboard. Her feet were dainty and her toes were painted pink.
For a woman I knew came from money, who had the best offered to her from an early age, she seemed comfortable in my old beat-up truck with fishing poles rattling around in the back. Country music came through the radio and neither of us spoke, but sometimes she would sing along in an off-key, enthusiastic voice.
About twenty minutes after leaving her house, we turned into Lake Crabtree County Park. Sweeping views of the five-hundred-and-twenty-acre lake sparkling in the sun was a welcome sight. After we parked and I rented a small rowboat, we threw two fishing poles, a tackle box, and the hot dogs onto the wooden floor.
I grabbed an orange life jacket and held it out. “In you go.”
“I know how to swim.”
“Humor me.”
She stared at me mutinously for long moments, but then she relented with a sigh and held out her good arm. “You want me to take off this sling?”
“Nope,” I said and fastened the jacket around her, essentially leaving her one-armed.
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