Fuck this.
She was right the first time for not wanting to talk about it. She should’ve listened to her gut. He already knew far more than he needed to. “So now I live in her house and my parents and I don’t speak,” she finished lamely and jammed a dumpling into her mouth whole to stop her loose tongue from wagging.
Time stretched between them, and Bryan drummed his fingers on the counter before setting down his chopsticks and shoving off his stool.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I think this is going to be one long night if we just keep asking each other questions. My life is a little too boring for all that.”
She let out a long breath, grateful for the change in topic. “Your life as a military trauma doctor?” She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, sounds like a real snooze.”
“Your own life always seems boring to yourself. No matter how truly fascinating you are.” The words seemed weighty as he said them, and she eyed him as he walked around the counter and into her living room. “You got any board games? We can play checkers or something while we talk.”
“What? No. I mean, my gram might, she used to keep them under the TV, but I haven’t seen them since I was really young.”
She swiveled around in her chair to find him riffling through the cabinet under the television, five long, dusty boxes already stacked next to him.
“Trivial Pursuit, the 1930s. Damn.” He lifted up a box and set it with the others. “Do you know anything about Hoover towns?”
She popped one last bite of rice into her mouth and headed back to the living room. When she finally finished chewing, she plopped onto the sofa. “Nope.” She crossed one leg over the other and surveyed him for a long moment before adding, “But we could play a game I used to play in boarding school,” she offered.
“I’ll warn you right now I don’t pillow fight.” Bryan stood and joined her on the couch. It was wide enough so that they never touched, but the proximity still felt strangely intimate.
Shaking it off, Serena went on, “No, nothing like that. We only did that when we wore our schoolgirl outfits with the knee-high socks and miniskirts.”
“Wait, seriously?”
She rolled her eyes and tossed a pillow at him. “No, not seriously.”
He laughed and clutched the pillow to his chest. “So what’s the deal with this game, then?” he asked.
“I don’t really remember the name of it, and I think drinking was involved, but the basic rules are that there’s one serious question and one silly question. We ask them in rounds, and the first person who refuses to answer loses. Kill two birds with one stone. It will be more fun than just reciting our life histories, but we’ll actually get some useful info out of it.”
“Sounds fair enough. So who goes first?” Bryan asked.
He set the pillow he’d been holding to the side and stared at her questioningly. Perfect. She’d managed to derail the all-too-intimate conversation, but now, without a slab of countertop between them and with those hazel eyes drilling into hers, she was lost.
Lord, he was handsome.
…
Man, she was hot. But in spite of those catchy little sounds she made in the back of her throat when she ate and the porn faces every time she opened another little white carton, he’d gotten all the way through dinner without yanking the chopsticks out of her hand and seeing what he had to do to get that same reaction from her.
He was calling it a win.
“I can go first,” she murmured. “We’ll start silly.”
She sat quietly for a moment, tapping a manicured fingernail to her bottom lip as if in thought. Yeah, he was pretty proud of himself so far, but if she kept drawing attention toward that heart-shaped mouth of hers, there was no telling how tonight would end up. He was only a man, flesh and blood…even if most of it was pooling southbound.
“What was the worst thing you ever did to your sister growing up?” she asked at last.
“That is not a silly question,” he argued.
“It is, too. I bet it’s a silly answer.”
“Maybe so, but it’s not a silly question.” If he had to say the word “silly” one more time, he was pretty sure he’d have to hand in his man card, but he kept the complaint to himself.
She rolled her eyes. “Fine, then. You want me to start serious, since I clearly haven’t mastered the comedic art of twenty questions?”
“You can do whatever you please, but we can call this one a gimme. When we were young, the worst thing I used to do was trade Q’s dimes for nickels. I convinced her they were worth more since they were bigger.” And she still wouldn’t let him forget it to this day.
“I did that once to someone when I was young, but it was the au pair my father had hired.” Serena laughed. “She was in her midtwenties. Not too bright, but then again, my dad didn’t hire her for her brains.”
That caught him off guard. Not only because of the implications of what she’d said, but also the way she’d said it. Like it was no big deal. A fond childhood memory like feeding ducks in the park or ordering out on Friday nights. But most surprising of all was the fact that her words made him want to share something in kind.
“My father was a bastard, too.”
Serena surveyed him, her head tilted to the side, then asked, “To your mom or all of you?”
He shrugged, still struggling with the idea of letting her so far into his life. For Christ’s sake, they’d only just met the other day. Still, pretty much everyone in town knew the Metcalf story. What was one more person on that list?
But more than that, he wanted to tell her.
“All of us. He was in the military. Took it very seriously. His family obligations, not so much. He was like a visiting superhero a few months a year, coming into the house, fixing the roof, meting out discipline, pretending he’d never left…until he left again.” With every word, the admissions became easier. Like the understanding expression on Serena’s face was inviting him to continue. To pour it all out.
So he went on. “When I was around eight or so, my mom found out that he was a serial cheater while he was away. Had a woman at every port. My mother struggled with it for years, calling to check up on him, breaking plates, creating scenes when he came home, the whole to-do. It was ugly all the time, but she stayed anyway. I don’t know why. I think she could’ve forgiven him if he ever even attempted to ask for forgiveness.” And he and Q would have, too. Until they found out the rest of it. “Turned out he also had another whole family in Vietnam. Kids and all.”
“Wow.” Serena’s hand stretched momentarily toward his, but she dropped it just as quickly. “That must have been…”
“Yeah. Not good times.” He drew back and pursed his lips, wishing he could rewind. He was a grown-ass man now, and none of that should matter anymore. He might have opted to honor his father’s deathbed wishes out of the love he had for a wartime hero whom he couldn’t separate from the man himself, but he’d managed to avoid being like him in any other capacity. In his book, that made him a better man than his father had ever been. There was no point in crying over long-spilled milk.
“Anyway, that’s my sob story. Everybody has one. What’s the rest of yours?”
“You want me to follow that?” She raised her eyebrows.
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? Christ’s sake, yours is like a Lifetime movie, and I’m supposed to tell you why I’m fucked up? Poor little rich girl, two parents who are still living. You have the Led Zeppelin of horrible childhood stories and I’ve got, like, I don’t know…Yanni or something.”
The tension gripping his gut unfurled some, and he grinned at her, grateful that she’d read his mood and lightened things up. “Come on, don’t put yourself down. I’m sure your childhood was terrible.”
Bryan grabbed the throw pillow she’d tossed at him from the floor and chucked it back at her.
“Want me to ask that serious question, or would you rather show me how a silly que
stion is done?” She pursed those delicate lips in a way that made the rest of his body respond with adamant approval.
“How about you give the silly question another go.” They’d skated a little too close to home, and they could both use a breather for sure.
“Okay, then…what’s your secret?”
“You mean other than patrolling the streets of Gotham at night as a caped crusader?” He knew what she was referring to, but hell if answering that question didn’t seem like jumping from the frying pan into the fire.
“No, Batman. I meant what’s your secret with all these women? How do you get them to lose their shit for you? Is it the tall, dark, and handsome thing? Because no offense, but I’m not sure I see the full benefit of your charms.” She smirked at him and tossed the pillow in her lap as if daring him to prove her wrong.
And, sucker that he was, he had half a mind to do just that.
He cleared his throat, trying to get a grip. If he didn’t, this whole plan was going to go to shit before they even got it off the ground.
“You can’t handle the truth,” he said.
“It’s quoting military movie lines? Equally lame,” she answered. She stared at him for a long moment, but when he didn’t bite, she tried again. “Are you one of those guys that writes poetry? Like, do you tell women that you’re super deep and then you go ahead and whip off a profound haiku or something? Is that your MO?”
“You got me. That’s it,” he said with a fake grimace and nod.
“No, no, no. Wait. I got it. You’re one of those guys who stares deep into a girl’s eyes.”
She crawled across the floor until they were nose to nose, bringing with her the smell of lavender that always clung to the air surrounding her. He tried to hold his breath, willed himself not to really look at her.
She wasn’t even there. No blue eyes. No blond hair. No perfect view down the front of her shirt…
“And you get in close like this, right?” Her warm breath fanned across his face, and he willed himself to meet her gaze. Damn, that was a mistake. They were still true blue, but slightly more hooded than they’d been before. Like she was just as affected by the proximity as he was, but trying not to be.
“Then you say something like, ‘Girl, has anyone ever told you that you have the most beautiful eyes on this planet?’” Her warm breath washed over him, but just when he was most tempted to lean into her soft, inviting lips, she fell back onto her bottom and crossed her legs in front of her. Though, if he was keeping score, he also noted that she didn’t bother to scoot away. Instead they were nearly hip to hip, her body heat radiating off her in waves.
“Yep, you got me again. But then, also, sometimes I pull over to the side of the road and I put a kitten in a tree just so I can save it later. It’s a roundabout process, but it gets ’em every time.”
“Logical.” She nodded. “I can dig it.”
“Don’t you have a move?” He arched a brow toward her.
“We’re still on my question.”
“I answered your question. Kittens and haikus, remember?”
“Bullshit answer.” She scoffed. “I’m totally not counting it.”
“Then double or nothing if you answer mine.”
“Do you think I need a move to pick up men?” she asked, making a duck face that should’ve been ridiculous but just made him want to lean in and kiss her.
He bit back his answer, but even as he tried to look away, his gaze roamed over her body, stopping at her delicate ankles, the space where one long limb crossed over the other. Then higher. His cock jerked as he settled on her breasts, taking in an enticing vee of cleavage beneath her shirt.
What he wouldn’t give to bury his face between those breasts and suck each of those stiff nipples…
He swallowed hard past his too-dry throat. “I wouldn’t think so, no.”
The laughter that had played around the corners of her mouth was gone. Instead, her full pink lips were slightly parted. Poutier than he remembered. Tempting.
Her tongue peeked out from the corner of her mouth, and she swiped it along her top lip, though he was sure it served no purpose other than to drive him insane.
“That’s my move,” she said, her voice huskier than it had been even seconds before. “If we’re being totally honest.” A smile tugged at her lips as she did it again. This time it was punctuated by her perfect white teeth biting down on her lower lip as she stared at him.
God, what he wouldn’t give to do that. To close his teeth over those lips. To lick and touch the rest of her…
But that was an invitation, wasn’t it? She’d shown him her move. Any man worth his salt would respond in kind. Fuck, it would be rude not to. And it wasn’t like she didn’t know the score, or even have a scorecard of her own. She was as anti-relationship as he was. Plus, she knew full well that he was leaving in a few weeks.
Two adults. Surely there was nothing wrong with enjoying each other while he was still here.
“Double or nothing, right?” he said, his voice sounding gritty to his own ears.
She nodded.
“Well, if total honesty is a rule of this game, I do have a move.”
“What is it?”
“I’d rather show you.”
…
Questions and answers, moves or poems, none of the crap they’d been spouting off to each other since they’d met mattered in that moment. What mattered was the way he was looking at her, like he was picturing how he was going to rip off every inch of her clothing.
Her breath caught as he inched toward her. It was like the air itself was charged with his electricity, pinging off her skin and skittering over her nerves. She was aware of every move, every breath.
And when his mouth slanted over hers? That energy sparked into a fire. She responded without thinking, pulling his body in closer and parting her lips to taste him. It wasn’t fast or furious like their first kiss. If anything, it was slower than any kiss she’d ever had. Intense but soothing. Demanding and pleading all at once.
Most of all, though, it was entirely irresistible.
She was supposed to be over her little crush. What had happened to one time only?
He pressed into her and she sank backward, into the cushions. She didn’t know what she thought anymore. Why was she wasting her time thinking about any of that? What did it matter?
With the way her heart was pounding, the way the ache built between her legs, there was only one thing she could know for sure. There was no going back now.
He pulled back for a moment, and she forced a shaky smile. “Slick,” she murmured with approval. “Was that the move?”
He cocked a brow. “This? Wow, you must really have low expectations of me.”
His fingers closed around the hem of her shirt and she lifted her arms as he pulled. When she was finally free of it, she expected his lips to close over hers again. She even leaned in, hoping to continue where they’d left off.
Instead, he rolled from over the top of her. “Get up.”
“What do you mean—”
“Just do it.”
The words weren’t harsh, but there was a command there, and she bit back the urge to argue if only to keep her feet mired in something familiar.
He sensed her hesitation and sent her a sizzling look that melted it away. “It was dark on that beach, and I want to see all of you this time.”
“Then are you gonna do the move?” she asked.
“No.” He shook his head with a pained laugh. “But for right now, I want you to forget about that. All I want you to think about is getting naked for me.”
She furrowed her brow but stood, stepping back so that the hallway light slanted over her body. Of all the things she’d expected tonight, it had definitely not been this. Why couldn’t he just bend her over the sofa and pull her panties aside? Or better yet, they could have done it right there on the floor.
This? It felt, well, intimate, and she paused over the hook of her bra and survey
ed him, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.
This was like no other encounter she’d had before, and she wasn’t sure that it was a good thing. All she knew was that she couldn’t bring herself to end it yet.
So she unfastened the hook and let the bra loosen, though it didn’t fall away that instant. If she wanted to, she could still change her mind. She could back out of this. All she had to do was say so…
With a whoosh of air, the bra fell to the floor, and she was bare before him.
There was a long, heavy silence until he spoke again. “Now the pants.” He nodded toward them. This time, his voice was gritty, like he’d been sucking on glass, and it sent her pulse skittering.
He was breaking down her wall of resistance, brick by brick, and if she let herself stop spackling the holes for even a second, she was going to wind up defenseless and primed for a hurting.
“Since when do I take orders from you?” she murmured halfheartedly, though a shiver went through her at the intensity of his gaze, and she hooked her thumb under the elastic of her pants all the same.
“Since I told you to.”
“You first.” She gestured toward him, all too aware of how her naked breasts bounced as she moved.
“Will that put an end to your stalling?”
“It’s the best chance you’ve got,” she shot back.
He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. Jesus Christ, when would she learn to be careful what she wished for? Had she thought that his panty-dropping hotness had been a trick of the light last time? Or, really, every time she’d seen him since? If she had, she was woefully mistaken. His wall of muscles rippled, his biceps flexing as he worked open the fly of his jeans.
“I’ll do you one better.” He pulled the jeans off and stepped from them one leg at a time until he was in nothing but dark red boxers.
That thin scrap of fabric was the only thing blocking him from her touch. All she’d have to do was go over there and pull, close the distance between herself and the hard, impressive bulge beneath…
Her heartbeat sped more, pounding in her ears until it was a constant, rhythmic reminder of just how fragile it was. If she pulled off her pants and let him have her again, she’d lose something to him this time. She knew it in her gut, and while she couldn’t bring herself to turn away, she couldn’t bring herself to step toward him either.
Dirty Deal (A Perfectly Matched Novel) (Entangled Brazen) Page 8
