Entangled (A Tryst Novel)

by Alex Rosa

  “No.” There’s light at the end of the tunnel as Blake compresses his lips as if to stop a laugh. “Bickering is kind of our thing, though.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Uh, yeah, it is.” He raises both brows to emphasize his point, matching his charming grin, and without him even trying to woo me, my knees still go a bit weak.

  I pause, finding humor in the realization as I, too, get a grip, trying to hide my smile. “Okay, maybe we do bicker, but let’s try not to.”

  “Ten bucks says your brother will say something to piss me off.”

  I shake my head, ending the conversation.

  I turn to open the door and my brother is already standing in the foyer, fiddling with his white-collared shirt and dark red tie, obviously in a rush to leave. However, I can’t help but proudly admire my brother’s dashing presence in a simple suit. His midnight hair is slicked back as if he’s going to attend a red carpet event, and I wonder if he’s going to a work function for another one of his clients.

  His grin has me mirroring his enthusiasm, too, as he shouts, “Sprout! Just the girl I need to see.” His wide smile falters when he notices Blake trailing behind me. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were alone.”

  I huff, finding the exchange bizarre. “What difference does it make, Josh?”

  He shakes his head, admonishing me. “It doesn’t. Help your bro out and tie his tie.”

  As he lifts his chin upward to invite my help, I giggle. “You wear a tie nearly every day. Why the need for assistance all of a sudden?”

  Blake’s ego makes a surprise appearance from behind me as he quips, “It’s got to be because of his girl. What’s it this week, Josh?”

  Josh’s stare frosts over, but if anything, among his anger I sense a bit of fear as he grunts, “Shut up, Blake.”

  Blake sticks his hands in his pockets and struts around us, nose in the air. “C’mon, man. Don’t act like I don’t know you. There are only two things that make you nervous as hell. One is spiders, you pussy. The second, well, that’s easy—commitment.”

  My throat goes dry as I loop my brother’s tie into a Windsor knot. I mean, this conversation is perfectly normal, but let’s not forget Josh is my brother, and his girlfriend, Vanessa, is one of my best friends. The idea of throwing commitment into the already awkward equation rattles me because it hits too close to home.

  I peer up from my tying to see Josh staring at me apprehensively. He chews the inside of his cheek, and lets out a chuff. “I’m not a commitment-phobe.”

  Why is it I feel like I’m intruding on their conversation as I make my final adjustment to my brother’s tie?

  Blake swivels around, smug and smiling, as if preemptively proud to admit whatever he’s about to say. “Bullshit. You and I both know we avoid commitment. It’s practically why we became friends. We understand each other. We avoid commitment by nature, but hey, that was until we met girls that handed our hearts to us on a silver platter, right?”

  Josh cannot fight his agreeing chuckle, but tries to cover it up as he shoots me an apologetic smirk. “I guess I can’t argue with that. Vanessa’s worth it, though. And don’t forget, you break my sister’s heart, I ruin you.”

  “Oh, ruin me? No death threats this time?” Blake goads.

  Josh turns around to face him, and it almost seems playful. I’m hopeful for an element of normality between them.

  “I think it’s fair to assume both.”

  Blake clicks his tongue, and I hate that I think Blake looks hot when he goes into alpha-asshole mode when I know I should be scolding him, but then again, sometimes it’s good to stand up to Josh.

  “What makes you think she won’t break my heart?” Blake brazenly retorts.

  There’s a pause in the room, and both men swing their stare to me.

  Do I look like a deer in the headlights? Because I feel like one.

  The thought never crossed my mind that I would ever break anyone’s heart, let alone Blake’s. I consider my college friend and tutor, Richard Bennett, a possible broken heart when I denied his advances, but he ran back into the arms of his ex, Heather, so it seems far from fair for it to qualify.

  Josh smiles warmly before turning back to Blake. “Skye? She can barely kill ants. What makes you think she would do the heart-breaking when you’re far more experienced in that department?”

  Blake’s angular face blushes an adorable pink that’s so unlike him as he bashfully turns away, avoiding Josh’s glare. “Because I love her, man. Duh. She holds all the cards. When have you ever heard me say that?”

  Josh swallows down the idea before huffing, “I don’t know how I expect to get used to hearing that.”

  With Josh’s back to me I release my full ear-to-ear grin at hearing Blake. He peers over Josh’s shoulder to purposefully lock his stare with mine. The delicate and charming wrinkling around his eyes confirms everything, and more.

  I’m caught in his spell as I pull in a deep inhale, eager to breathe him in, touch him, feel him—to just be near him. He knows it, too, as the corner of his mouth arches upward, and it’s as if he’s beckoning me.

  Josh, sensing the forming tractor beam going right past his face, turns his body, which only gives me the opening I need to begin my sprint into Blake’s arms.

  Blake pulls his hands out of his pockets just in time to catch me.

  I look up into his eyes, trying to speak in a whisper. “You don’t have to say things like that, you know?” I think that maybe he says them to prove something, whether it’s to me or Josh.

  He runs the tip of his nose down the bridge of mine, and that perfect bubble forms around us, and I haven’t got a care in the world.

  “I know I don’t have to, but I want to. It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  Josh clears his throat loudly, rolling his eyes as he does it. Blake and I turn our attention to him.

  “Spare me the PDA until I get used to it, will you?” Josh snaps.

  Blake defiantly drags his hands down my back, getting dangerously close to my ass. This time I’m the one who wants to roll my eyes, but it’s hard to ignore my body-reverberating buzz at his touch.

  Could we NOT do this in front of my brother, please?

  Blake flashes his wicked grin, which I know only riles Josh up. “Get used to it now.” Without releasing me, and thrumming his fingers over my hips, he continues, “By the way, what’s with you and Vanessa, then? You’re nervous because . . . ?”

  Josh’s eyes flit over Blake’s grip, and he squints disapprovingly before turning away. His annoyance is on the brink of reappearing. He takes a deliberate step toward the door, as if it’s a safety precaution. “I’m meeting her parents tonight. They’re in town from Boston.”

  I open my mouth to respond, maybe even to argue that it’s too soon for Josh, but just as I’m about to speak a hand clamps securely over my mouth, and with Josh already heading out the door, he doesn’t bother to turn around.

  I’m smiling under Blake’s hand, but I hate being muzzled like this. I’m not the one who needs muzzling from time to time. I want to squirm out of it, but Blake’s other hand squeezes at my waist, signaling me to still as he says, “Knock ’em dead, Josh. I’m sure you’re any parents’ wet dream.”

  Josh, apparently too overwhelmed by his best friend and sister’s relationship, still doesn’t notice how Blake has shut me up. He absentmindedly grabs for his keys as he swings the door open. “Yeah, whatever. Oh, by the way, we board our flight at eight a.m. on Friday. Be ready to head to the airport by six a.m.”

  Once Josh is out of sight and the door shuts behind him, I bite down on Blake’s palm in annoyance, and he frantically pulls it away.

  “Ow! Was that necessary?”

  I pout, attempting to step out of his grasp. “Absolutely necessary. I was madly in love with you only moments ago, but now I’m j
ust mad at you!”

  Too quick, he bends down, wrapping his arms around my thighs, lifting me up off the ground, and throwing me over his shoulder.

  “Blake!” I screech. I slap at his back, but it does nothing to stop him.

  “Funny, I’m pretty sure those two emotions run pretty close together, at least where you’re concerned . . . babe.”

  “Blake!” I squeal again as I try to flail in protest. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting you exactly where I want you.” He strides toward his bedroom. “And as if I was ever going to let you start that conversation with Josh about Vanessa! I leave for New York soon. We need this evening to ourselves, or would you rather argue with your brother? C’mon babe, keep your head in the game.”

  He slaps my behind hard as he enters his bedroom, causing another yelp to squeeze through my pout.

  “I hate talking about New York!” I yell, and it feels so good to let it out.

  The deep baritone of his laughter reverberates from his chest and against my thighs, causing that familiar tingle to start right in between my legs. Damn him.

  “I’m fully aware you hate talking about it, but we have to. However, first I need you in a better mood.”

  He lets my body go as I slide leisurely down his toned chest until my feet are planted firmly on the floor.

  I’m angry. So angry, for some reason, and I cannot help but find the sudden transition from admiration to anger bizarre. Maybe Blake’s right, they’re nearly one in the same—at least when it comes to us anyway.

  I don’t know what my plan is, but I know in Blake’s bedroom, with his wonderful, soapy, musky scent wrapping around me like a seductive blanket, that this is a losing battle if I want to go with anger.

  I push at his chest and it only ignites his grin. “I’m mad at you!”

  He takes a step forward and I take a step back. I’m all too reminded of Blake’s predatory skills in a nanosecond.

  “How can you be mad at me when I’ve done nothing wrong?” He takes another step forward.

  I take a step back, trying to imply my anger is serious, but it does nothing to his feral stare as he watches me step back, bumping into his closed bedroom door, trapping me.

  “I can still be mad,” I retort, getting distracted by the mischievous lift to the corner of his ridiculously perfect mouth.

  He shakes his head, biting on his bottom lip as he agrees. “That’s true. You can be mad.”

  Thinking he has more to say, I’m on edge with anticipation as the silence lingers. I’m holding my breath and am utterly at his whim, my veins suddenly churning red-hot as his eyes drag slowly over my body before closing the distance between us.

  “Blake . . .” I breathe out, and I’m unsure why. Is it for him to stop? For him to continue? Who knows?

  He tilts his head to the side. “How mad are you?” he asks, toying with me.

  I nibble on my bottom lip. “Furious.”

  “Like . . . angry-sex furious?”

  “Aren’t we going to talk about things?” I whine, noticing my breaths have moved from nonexistent to shallow, only personifying my body’s wanton state.

  “We are, but I’d like angry sex first, then talking, and then make-up sex.”

  A tight giggle escapes me as he presses his body against mine.

  “What makes you think we’ll be having make-up sex?” I goad, letting my body feel some sense of relief as I allow my fingertips to reach out and rest on the waistband of his jeans.

  “Because, if I know you, you’ll be angry at me now, and I’ll make it better, then we’ll talk, and it’ll rile you all up again, and you’ll just have to forgive me, hence the follow-up make-up sex. Make sense?”

  My eyes twist into feigned annoyance. “That’s your plan?”

  He leans in toward my face. “Unless you’d like to object?”

  “I told you, I’m still mad at you.” I exhale, with his lips only inches away from mine.

  “Can’t I ask you to take it out on my body?”

  My own body nearly turns into a puddle right in front of him. I want to own the situation, but I feel too much at his whim to be angry any longer. That’s until he speaks further.

  “Unless you’d rather go daydream about a new Italian friend of yours?”

  Excuse me?

  My shoulders regain their tension from earlier today. I jab him in the chest with a pointed finger, but it comes in contact with nothing but solid muscle. “I knew you were jealous.”

  Blake sighs as if this isn’t the direction he wants the conversation to go, but seems to surrender to it as he responds, “Of course I’m fucking jealous!” His breath comes out hot and humid against my face. The heat causes my body to rumble with anticipation, knowing I’ve struck a chord, igniting my desire, and suddenly I think I understand this stupid sexy game.

  “You don’t like Giovanni Vigilucci, as you put it, ‘the renowned photographer,’ putting his hands on me, do you?”

  Blake’s eyes sizzle at the comment, and it’s his jaw clenching that follows that has me reeling.

  “I know what you’re doing, Skyler.”

  He enunciates my name more crisply, and that’s how I know he’s getting angry . . . and I like it.

  Still trapped in his presence I clamp down on my bottom lip. “What is it that I’m doing? Gio is nice—really nice, actually. Maybe he can keep me company when you’re away in New York?”

  Blake pushes his hips into mine, pinning me to the door. A mixture between a gasp and a groan slips from my lips. His hand curves over my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

  “It was your idea I go with you to your photo shoot!” I bark.

  He grinds his teeth. “I was stupid to do it. Gio means well, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “But you’re mine!” Before I can get in another word he crashes his lips into mine. The capture is hard and possessive, and I can’t restrain the moan that wills its way through my lips.

  His tongue dips into my mouth, tasting me, and it isn’t until he’s satisfied that he pulls away to say, “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

  “Looks at me like what, Blake? You said it yourself that it’s his job.”

  “Yeah, but he likes you.”

  “And that makes you mad?”

  “Yes, but I know it shouldn’t.”

  I take advantage of Blake’s vulnerable state as I drag both my hands under his shirt, and up his torso, causing a slow exhale to release itself from him.

  “Why not?” I ask as I pull the shirt over his head and toss it on the floor.

  His hand goes back to my face, brushing a strand of hair out of my eyes so he can get a better look at me.

  “Because, honestly, I think it’s good for you. It’s about time you realize how beautiful you are. I hate”—he grinds his teeth once more,—“and love that Gio sees what I see, but I pray that it’s merely professional.”

  My heart flutters, and I can’t be mad anymore. There’s just no way.

  I realize that maybe under all of my ridiculous angst it isn’t my anger that needs catering to, but instead Blake’s secret insecurities.

  As I look into Blake’s eyes, the harshness has softened into vulnerability.

  “Who knew you were such a softie, Blake?” I allow my fingers to leisurely rake over the sinews of his toned chest, basking in the radiating heat and his rapidly beating heart beneath my fingertips.

  He grunts as his eyes examine my features before landing on my lips.

  “So much for angry sex,” he quips as his hand, cupping my face, pulls me toward him, and this time his lips make delicate contact with mine. He speaks each word in a staccato between each gentle kiss. “I. Love. You. And nothing will get in the way of that, not New York, not my job, not anything. O
kay?”

  I hum my understanding against his lips, letting my anger drift away as I reach for the button on his jeans, regaining my sense of self, and our sense of us.

  “Show me . . .” I whisper, and it’s his wry smile that I feel against my lips that confirms everything will, in fact, be okay.

  He pulls me into the room, swiveling around in the direction of his bed. My heart rate has a hard time keeping a steady rhythm as each pulsing beat accelerates with every stumble, feeding off my body’s frantic need for him.

  I push his pants over his hips and slide my hand inside his briefs, taking a firm grip of his cock, the hot, steely velvet heavy in my hands as he gets harder by the second. His lips against mine get interrupted by a growl he can’t seem to hold back.

  “Fuck, Skye. You make patience impossible.”

  I drag my tongue across his bottom lip. “Whatever do you mean?”

  He pulls away just enough to drop his chin to watch my hand sliding up and down his shaft. “I want you touching me all the time, and once I get it, I’m in over my head. Sometimes I imagine licking and kissing every inch of your smoking-hot body, and I tell myself that that’s what I’m going to do the next time I see you, but when I have you, I can’t seem to control myself. You turn me into an animal. I just want to fuck you into next week, okay?”

  “So romantic,” I chide, shooting him a smirk before leaning in to place slow, determined kisses on his chest, up his neck and onto his jaw until I reach his ear, “Then what are you waiting for?”

  I hear him suck in a breath. His hands find their way to my hips, curving over the skin above my jeans. His hands are like sinfully hot irons against my skin. With brash determination he grabs for my shirt, pulling it off my body.

  He moves to peel my hands from him, pushing me until I fall back onto his bed.

  I’m in awe staring up at him at my shirtless boy wonder, his hand reaching for his cock as he stares right back.

  “Hard and fast?” he questions, but it’s definitely rhetorical, because I’ve never been one for soft and slow.

  “How about dirty?” he adds.

  I nod eagerly, licking my lips, my eyes fixated on his erection, getting turned on and soaking.