Flip This Love

by Maggie Wells

  Of course, he’d wanted to take her out to dinner. Her mouth watered as he ticked off restaurant after restaurant, searching for the one that would tempt her to say yes. She felt like a fool for turning him down. How was a woman who spent her days dishing dresses supposed to explain the sheer exhaustion brought on by fashionably high heels to a man who’d traded in hard manual labor his entire adult life? In the end, he took her suggestion of the carry-out of his choice with his customary ease.

  He was parked at the curb by the time she’d flipped the locks on the shop door. She’d smiled when she saw the carrier bags emblazoned with the Saûs logo and teased him about lining his own pockets at the expense of her taste buds. He simply shot her a dimpled grin and peeled away from the curb like the hell-raiser he’d always been.

  Dinner had been delicious. Her tiny dining table was now covered with pattern paper and depleted bolts of soft cotton she’d snagged from the clearance table of the local fabric and crafts store, so they sat cross-legged at her coffee table devouring the elevated Southern-style cooking straight from the containers. Conversation flowed from fabric wholesalers to the difficulties of working with plasterwork artisans who only wanted to show up when the fish weren’t biting. They shared bites from each other’s forks and praised the talented chefs Tommy Delacroix had personally trained to create each dish to his specifications, laughing about how horrified the infamously persnickety chef would be if he knew they were eating his precious truffles with plastic forks left over from bucket-of-chicken night.

  The sincerity in Harley’s eyes when he apologized for his abrupt departure had been real and compelling. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to be so open with him. At one time, she’d thought she was almost there. Ready to bare her soft, vulnerable parts with him. Not the physical ones, but the bits of herself she’d never shared with any man. The way the disappointments life had dealt stung. How returning to her hometown without making so much as a blip on the fashion world’s radar made her feel like a failure. The petty way she resented her best friend’s successes. The jealousy she felt whenever she saw Brian look at Brooke. Not that she wanted Brian for herself. But she wanted what Brooke found in Brian. Desperately. Someone to trust with hopes and dreams.

  Now Harley was back in her life, and she felt like she was walking a tightrope again. Every time she saw him, she was nearly overwhelmed by the mix of excitement and anticipation he fired inside her. And, at the same time, she was oddly comfortable with him. They laughed and teased, fueled by a tension that heightened the senses and sharpened her wit to a razor’s edge she hadn’t used on another human being since her high school mean girl days. Watching Harley absorb the low blows she dealt gave her pause. She didn’t want to hurt him. At least, not as much as she wanted to when he first popped back into her life. But she did. She knew she did. She was utterly confident he’d never intentionally hurt her again, but in the end, it boiled down to her or him. And if she had to choose to play offense or defense, she’d take offense every time.

  The detritus of the decadent meal lay scattered across the table. They’d managed to leverage themselves onto the sofa and turned on the television, purely for form’s sake, but neither of them had paid the slightest bit of attention. Taking her at her word, Harley’d pried the too-pretty-to-be-practical pumps off her feet and set to work on easing her pain. Not one to quibble with a determined man when there was a foot massage on the line, Laney had simply stretched out and submitted to his will.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  The gruff question broke straight through her reverie, and a thousand answers rushed into the void.

  Touch me. Hold me. Be here. Tell me everything will be okay and mean it. Please don’t hurt me. Love me.

  Opening her eyes, she found Harley staring at her. Stark hunger tightened his handsome features. They’d just shared a fantastic meal, but this man wore an expression proclaiming him ravenous. For her. Her heel rested in his open palm. He kept his other hand wrapped tight around her leg, but the intensity of his stare told her foot massage time was over.

  “Anything I want?”

  “Say the word,” he replied without missing a beat.

  For a moment, she wondered if he’d regret his offer. What would he say if she told him she wanted to start over? Take a little time. Get to know one another without the jibes or the feeling she needed to invest in Kevlar. She wanted a new beginning. Something simpler. Sweeter.

  Crooking her finger, she gave him a wobbly little smile. “Come up here.”

  Using his superhero-stripper powers, he unlaced his boots and slid out of them in the same fluid movement it took to stretch out over her. “Like this?”

  Laney wiggled down, centering herself on the cushions so she wouldn’t end up with an uncomfortable crook in her neck thanks to the arm of the couch, and tossed the throw pillow onto the floor. “Right here.”

  He lowered himself onto her, lining their bodies up in all the places that mattered most but holding some of his weight on his arms. She smiled and ran her hands up his bulging biceps, appreciating both the gentlemanly gesture and the result, but craving the burden of him. “All the way.”

  Harley braced his elbows and pressed her deeper into the rump-sprung sofa. “Like this?”

  She hummed her assent and wound her arms chastely around his shoulders. “Kiss me.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  His drawl drew the tease out, but the kiss unfolded even slower. First, he brushed his lips over hers. She loved the way he tested her. Thought of it as his take on fair warning. She wondered if he still thought there was any chance she’d reject him after all they’d been through to get to this place. He dished the second kiss out soft and sweet, but with a side of purpose that made it clear this kiss was indeed going to happen and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop it.

  She parted her lips on his third approach, easily fitting them to the curve of his smile. Tangling her fingers in the curls at his nape, she wondered if he even knew he telegraphed the supposed lady-killer kiss with his trademark cocky grin. What would he say if she told him kiss number two truly melted her butter? Would he change his approach? God, she hoped not, because the smug smile allowed her to taste how happy he was to be kissing her. And there was no denying the kiss he kept behind door number three was indeed the grand prize kiss. In fact, the kiss was a masterpiece. A slow, sensual melding of mouths happened so seamlessly it was easy to forget where he ended and she began. His tongue traced her lower lip. With any other man, she might have mistaken the gentle caress for a request for permission, rather than an overt claim of possession.

  But not with Harley.

  From the first time he’d kissed her, really kissed her, she’d known. She hadn’t liked it. The knowing. She’d fought against having a real relationship with Harley tooth and nail and used every tactic at her disposal to push him away. Well, everything but the truth. She’d known why he left. Understood the reasoning behind it better than she cared to admit. Poor Harley. Up until the night she’d given in, he thought there was a chase. He hadn’t tuned in to what she’d picked up on in their very first kiss.

  She was his.

  He was hers.

  God help them both.

  Her breath hitched as he surged up a bit, seating the hard ridge of his denim-clad cock against her. Moisture dampened her panties, making the satiny fabric slick. He rocked against her as their tongues swirled and danced. He shifted his weight to one side and slid a hand up her ribcage, his destination clear as a bell.

  She caught his wrist as he captured the bottom of her breast in the cradle between thumb and forefinger. Startled, he lifted his head, gratifyingly breathless and unabashedly befuddled. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she answered, her own breath in short supply due to the weight of one very large man intent on grinding her into the cushions.

  She wriggled a little and he peeled himself up far en
ough to allow her luxuries like a full inhalation. Pressing the tip of her tongue to the center of her upper lip, she gathered up her courage and did as he’d asked earlier. Looking straight into those clear green eyes, she told him what she wanted.

  “Nothing below the neck.”

  Her voice came out high and thready, almost unrecognizable to her own ears, but Harley latched onto the request with exasperated alacrity. “Nothing below the neck?” He blinked a few times as if he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the complexities of the request. “You mean no touching?” Planting both palms, he executed an impressive pushup without ever breaking eye contact. “At all?”

  Laney nodded, then transitioned to a vehement shake of her head as she pulled him back down onto her. “No, I mean, no hands.”

  “No hands below the neck,” he repeated, grimacing as he settled into the sweet spot once more. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  He felt so damn good there, she knew all too well the challenge would be as difficult for her as it would be for him. Maybe even more so. She was so used to having free reign over all those hard planes and tantalizing ridges. But she wanted something different than their usual race for the bedroom. She wanted intimacy. His full and undivided attention focused solely on kissing her and nothing more.

  “I want to make out.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Like teenagers?”

  She smiled up at him, hoping to bamboozle him enough to say yes. “Exactly. Like we’re in the living room pretending to watch a movie and my folks are down the hall.” Pain lanced through her gut at the mere mention of her parents, but she had no doubt Harley could kiss the hurt away. “I want things to be...simple between us. Just for a little while.”

  He kissed her again, letting his lips linger against hers. They clung together when he pulled away. She wanted to follow him up and demand more of the same, but his gaze pinned her to the spot.

  “Things can be as simple as you want them to be.” He leaned down for another kiss but pulled up short, a grimace squinching his face. “Hang on.”

  Hanging on wasn’t a problem for her. She had hold of his soft, silky waves and could happily spend all night running her fingers through his hair, but with a grunt of exertion, he was gone and she was left empty-handed.

  Laney stared at her hands. She couldn’t believe he’d escaped her clutches so easily. The man was a wizard. She frowned as he planted a foot on the floor for balance and reached for his belt buckle. If he thought he was going to strip down for this make out session, he was wrong. She was the one calling the shots, and if her nothing below the neck rule was going to last more than thirty-six seconds, the man had to keep his clothes on. There was no way she’d be able to resist touching those miles of miraculous skin and muscle.

  “Whoa there, mister. Maybe you’re not clear on the whole making out concept—”

  “I’m crystal clear on it.” He graced her with a smile, then thrust his hand into his loosened jeans. “I need to get a couple things sorted before we get to the heavy petting.”

  She grinned as she watched him rearrange the goods, then button and buckle them away. Stretching like a cat beneath him, she took a moment to wriggle into a slightly more comfortable spot. “I’ve always loved that term.”

  “Because you like to be stroked.”

  He proved his point, and his willingness to play by her rules, by caressing her cheek. His touch was so utterly affectionate she instinctively turned her face into it. She kissed the ridge of work-toughened skin at the base of his fingers.

  Chuckling softly, Harley reclaimed his previous position, but this time he took a moment to press his restrained erection to her belly. Laney was no fool. The man wanted her to know exactly what this little ploy of hers was costing him. And what she was missing.

  “Tell me about your parents’ sofa,” he commanded, settling into the cradle of her hips and lowering his head until his lips hovered above hers. His breath was hot and moist against her already-damp mouth. “I bet it was fancy. White.” His eyelids drooped to half-mast, but he made no move to kiss her. “I can see you stretched out on a big, soft white couch.”

  She wet her lips. “It was floral, actually. And small. An antique. Spindly legs.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “How was that?”

  “Awful,” she said, unable to suppress a grin. “But Trey Dunavan’s parents had a big white couch.” She felt the growl rise up from inside him and toyed with the thought of stringing him along. But she couldn’t. Not tonight. Tonight she’d demanded simple, and simple meant honest. “Not that I ever made out with Trey.”

  He kissed her hard and deep, his tongue plunging into her mouth so forcefully it took a full minute for her to catch on. Reward and punishment all in one. Angling her head to take more of the kiss, she decided she liked it, whatever it was. She liked all his kisses. Even the little pecks he left on her forehead when he slipped out of her bed before dawn.

  But not tomorrow. Tomorrow they’d observe the day of rest. Most likely naked. She didn’t feel so bad about making him keep his drawers on now. There’d be plenty of time spent skin-to-skin. Right now, she wanted mouth-to-mouth.

  For a while, he played along. Enthusiastically. Soft kisses, deep kisses. Ones which left her lips bruised and throbbing by the time he came up for air. Lingering, tender kisses so sweet her teeth almost ached. She tasted the garlic from their dinner on his tongue but couldn’t complain. She’d stolen half his portion of the heavily-laced potatoes. The hoppy tang of his beer should have clashed with the wine she’d sipped, but, in truth, the combination made her feel a little drunk.

  Everything about them was wrong.

  He grew up hard and tough, and she’d been pampered and petted. He drank beer, drove a pick-up, and wore ancient T-shirts rather than Armani. She preferred wine, champagne if she could get it, loved her BMW, even if the car was past its prime, and would never be caught dead wearing anything as tacky as a logo, much less a slogan or cartoon character. Harley was bold and brash and unafraid of failing. After her mother died, all she’d wanted to do was crawl into a corner and stay there until the neighbors complained about the smell.

  Then Harley came back to town, and suddenly, she had something to prove again.

  “If you don’t let me touch you soon, I’m going to give you the biggest hickey the world has ever seen,” he growled into her ear. Then he backed up the threat by planting a loud, sucking kiss square on the side of her neck. “At least let me unzip. Please.”

  The desperation edging his words made her feel flush and feminine. She’d done this to him. This big, strong guy hovered on the brink of begging all because she wanted him to take a little time to enjoy one of the simpler things in life. And because he’d cracked first, she would never have to admit the simple things were difficult to appreciate when all she wanted was to forever have this man hard and hot for her.

  “Above the waist.”

  He groaned but immediately cupped one breast. Laney laughed. His reaction was almost knee-jerk. She said go, and he hit the most obvious spot he could find. She went for his magnificent back first, but she found herself sneaking a hand up under his shirt and staking her own claim on one flat nipple. They were every bit as sensitive as her own. A smile curved her lips as she skimmed a fingernail over the tiny nub, and he kicked up the pace, rubbing against her with renewed vigor.

  Pressing her head back, she watched the emotion flash across his handsome face. Pleasure, pain, lust, greed, and there, behind it all, the bedrock of hedonism told her he relished every moment of their play--even his delayed gratification.

  She surged up to kiss him, fusing her lips to his and dipping her tongue into his mouth without hesitation. The kiss was a reward, of sorts. And more fuel for the fire. Pleased with her assault on his senses, she pressed her fingertip to his lower lip as she fell back to the sofa. The flesh there was tender and damp. Swollen. Red. Irresistible.

  Letting her fing
er trail down over his chin to his throat, she circled the neckline of his shirt, then looked up at him from under her lashes. “What happens if I unzip you?”

  He bared his teeth in an odd sort of grimace-grin and shook his head. “Better not. I’m so worked up right now, I’d probably come the second you touched me.”

  Well, if those words weren’t an invitation to trouble, she didn’t know what was.

  * * * *

  Harley bit his tongue to keep from grinning. She took the bait. Sucker.

  He tossed his head back as she snaked a hand between them to get at his belt buckle. The Delaney he knew never would have fallen for such an obvious ploy. Either he’d clouded her mind with fantastic sex or she was every bit as game as he was. Didn’t matter. Any way he looked at it, he came out the winner.

  He hadn’t forgotten her saying she was a little turned on by the fact he was on the verge of coming on her leg the night they’d reconnected. Well, if he couldn’t coax his proper little Laney into talking dirty to him, maybe he could talk her into playing dirty.

  The next time he kissed her, he took it slow and deep, making sure she tasted every bit of control her game was costing him. His gambit paid off. Suddenly those dainty hands were clumsy and frantic. She fumbled with the catch on his belt, her knuckles rubbing against the fly of his pants with what had to be deliberate slowness.

  He wrapped his tongue around hers and drew it into his mouth, sucking suggestively as she attacked the button and zipper. He’d have figured a woman who’d majored in fashion...whatever…would be a little more adept at handling a fly, but apparently this one wasn’t. Feeling her control slipping out of her grasp was intoxicating. Hell, she had so much trouble unfastening the button, he almost offered her his crowbar.

  Her fingers slipped off the tab as she unzipped and she looked up at him, all wide-eyed apology. “Oops.”