The vibrations of the bike rumbled through him and he sat plastered against the long, slender line of her back. Involuntarily, his hands tightened on her waist and he had to consciously relax them. Worse, his body reacted to the nearness of hers and he knew there was no way in hell he could hide it.
Maybe she wouldn’t notice.
And maybe it was snowing in hell at that very moment. His dick ached, his entire body was drawn tight and all he could think about was getting her to pull the bike over and turn to face him.
He didn’t know what the hell he was doing—well, that was wrong. He did know what he was doing, though he hadn’t planned on starting it here. Great timing, slick. Make a move on her at the cemetery. But he hadn’t exactly made a move on her. He’d just done what felt right. Colby had been with one woman for more than half his life—back when other guys were learning to deliver lines, he’d been focused on one girl—just one. He’d never spent any time learning whatever rules went along with dating and shit, because he’d never had to. He knew the rules of courtesy, because his mother had drummed them into him.
But dating? Flirting? No. Doing what seemed right was all he knew.
And this—riding on the back of Bree’s bike with her slender back pressed close to him—seemed right.
Minutes sped by as she took the winding road farther into the hills, away from the small country cemetery and even farther away from the sprawl of the city. He had an idea where she was headed. She confirmed it a few minutes later, slowing for a light as they neared the small town roughly fifteen miles away from the cemetery. Over her shoulder, she said, “I thought we could just go to the winery and grab a sandwich at the café. Kill an hour or so. That work?”
An hour. He could think of a better way to kill an hour.
Damn it, get your brain away from your dick, he told himself, disgusted. But then he heard it again. Alyssa’s soft, certain whisper.
She’s the reason you came back…
“Works for me.”
He felt too good behind her. Bree knew she needed to get off the bike and get some distance between them, and the winery was the closest place to eat that she could think of, other than her house, and she sure as hell wasn’t taking him there. Every damn mile had been an exercise in frustrated longing, one she didn’t need. Considering she’d been lusting after the guy for more than half her life, she knew all about frustrated longing and needed no refreshers, thank you very much.
But that was what she got.
He spent the entire twenty-five minutes pressed up close and personal with her. Riding on a bike made little room for personal space, but even when she had slowed for the stop sign a few minutes back, had he taken a few seconds to shift away?
No.
Being pressed up close and personal obviously doesn’t affect him the way it affects you, her common sense pointed out.
Except her body could tell otherwise.
She had felt it, the way he’d reacted, his body getting hotter and hotter until it seemed like the air around them should spontaneously combust. The way his hands had tightened around her waist for the briefest second, as if he wanted to tug her even closer, though that didn’t seem possible. She sped down the road to the winery, following the winding twists and turns and trying to focus on them. He dominated her thoughts, though.
The thick, hard length of his cock burned through their clothes, snug against her butt and lower back. Unaffected? Hell, no. She could feel the rhythmic pulse of his penis, and to her horror, her body responded in kind—her nipples throbbing, her pussy aching. All from a fucking twenty-five-minute ride.
Parking in the lot adjacent to the café, Bree waited for him to climb off so she could get a little distance between them.
But Colby took his time.
Way too much time.
Sliding off, his hands lingering on her waist before falling away and, instead of taking a few steps away and giving her some room, he stood right there, practically at her shoulder. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with her helmet and she swore under her breath. Before climbing off, she sucked in a couple of deep breaths, hoping it would clear her head a little.
It might have worked. If he hadn’t been standing so close that she all but tripped over him as she climbed off her bike. Even knowing how close he was, even taking extreme care not to touch him, she stumbled into him. His hands came up, caught her upper arms, steadied her—and lingered. Heart pounding, she lifted her gaze and met his, saw the dark gold depths glinting like hot, molten gold. Her vision narrowed as his gaze roamed her face, lingering on her mouth. Her lips buzzed, almost as though he’d dipped his head and kissed her.
Before she could do anything more to make a fool of herself, he let go.
As he walked away from her, she whispered a silent prayer of thanks.
She could get through this. An hour, ninety minutes, tops, then she could get him back to the cemetery—fuck, another ride on the bike with him—and then leave him alone, go home and crawl into a hot shower and hope she could ease the greedy lust that threatened to overwhelm her.
She could get through this.
Bree continued to tell herself that every few minutes as they walked to the café and placed an order. By the time the food was delivered, she even halfway believed it. Out of desperation, she’d asked Colby more about the story he’d been working on. It was one guaranteed way to get him talking so she could focus on the task of getting herself together.
When he talked about writing, he got animated. She could all but see the way it was unfolding for him. Sometime during his response, she managed to relax, even managed, just barely, to quit clenching her knees together with the hope of easing the empty ache inside her.
Yeah. She could get through this.
But then they finished eating and started back outside.
Right when they got to her bike, as she started to wrap up her personal pep talk, Colby turned to her. Bree was reaching for her helmet, but he caught her wrist. With a faint smile on her face, she lifted her eyes to his. The smile died, though, at the look on his face.
“If I did something I probably shouldn’t do, would you forgive me?” he asked, rubbing his thumb along the sensitive skin of her inner wrist.
“Ah…I guess that would depend on what the ‘something’ is.”
His voice was gruff and low. “This.” He let go of her wrist and used both hands to cup her face and tilt her head back. Then he kissed her.
Not some friendly peck on the cheek, either.
His tongue pushed inside her mouth, delving deep. Her knees buckled and she instinctively brought her hands up, wrapped them around his wrists to steady herself. It was a waste of energy though—nothing could steady her. They barely touched, his mouth on hers, his hands cupping her face while hers clutched at his wrists. But that contact was enough to shatter the foundation of her world.
He eased up, lifted his head just a little. An involuntary whimper escaped her and she swayed toward him. He growled low in his throat and reached for her, hauling her against him until they were plastered together. Her breasts pressed flat against the muscled wall of his chest and his cock cuddled against the mound of her sex.
He took her mouth again, tracing the outline of her lips with his tongue before pushing inside. One hand stroked down her side, his fingers grazing the outer curve of her breast, then down, down, down, until he could palm her ass. He did so, drawing her closer and holding her steady as he pumped against her.
She shuddered in response. Her pussy went hot and slick with need, aching, yearning to feel him inside her. Her nipples stabbed into his chest—burning hot, swollen, sensitive.
She needed more. That was all she could think. She needed more.
Everything.
Fisting her hands in his shirt, she rocked to meet him. Whimpered. Might have even begged, if he hadn’t been feasting on her mouth as though he were starved for the taste of her.
She might have even believed he was. If she be
lieved in fairy tales.
A car horn blared, shattering the silence. She jerked, would have torn away from him if he had let her. Panicked, she stared up at him. Colby returned her gaze levelly, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. “That’s the something,” he whispered roughly.
But her mind couldn’t quite process his comment.
Her mind had stopped working, and if he hadn’t closed his fingers around her wrist and helped her climb on the bike, she might have just stood there indefinitely.
Stood there on legs that trembled while her body ached for his and her mind spun around in dizzying, confusing circles.
She wanted to ask him why. Why had he kissed her like that? He took her helmet, put it in her hands but she couldn’t quite get her hands to work the helmet.
Colby ended up taking it from her, sliding it on her head and fastening the chin strap. Bree was pretty damn sure her brain had short-circuited on her. She barely even remembered him taking the keys from her and mounting the bike—a feat that took some skill because he climbed on in front of her.
Her body slid forward to press against his. Now that she could remember.
The heat of his body, the muscled line of his back and thighs so close to her own. Overheated brain or not, she’d have to be dead to not remember the way he felt.
But even the ride home passed in a blur. A fogged, aroused blur where every breath was both heaven and hell because she could feel the strength of his body pressed against her own, where the vibrations of the bike rocked through her, and each small shift had her panties rubbing against her swollen clit. It was one hot, aroused blur.
She didn’t remember getting home. She did remember him walking her through the garage, pausing at the door to press his lips to hers one last time—light and quick—before he locked the door behind him. None of it registered until she heard the rumble of her bike once more.
On watery legs, she made her way to the front of the house and watched through the picture window as he rode off.
Abruptly, her brain turned back on and she started to shake. Her legs gave out beneath her and she collapsed to the floor. Drawing her knees to her chest, she pressed her overheated face against them while her mind replayed the past two hours.
Colby had kissed her.
Colby had kissed her.
She licked her lips and she didn’t know if it was remnant need or just her imagination but it seemed like she could taste him. Her body buzzed as though he still held her tightly against him. Her nipples burned, her pussy throbbed—she was so aroused, she hurt with it. Need could be so very painful.
Falling back onto the hardwood floor, she lay there, shaking, sweating and confused. Her body screamed at her. She was pretty damn sure, if Colby appeared right then and there and just looked at her the right way, she’d come. She needed it—hell, but did she need it. Briefly, she thought about trying to get upright and stumble into the shower. A massaging showerhead made for one hell of a tension reliever, but she discarded the idea almost as quickly as it formed.
It wouldn’t work. Not this time.
Bree wasn’t too certain that anything short of getting very naked, very hot and very sweaty with Colby would work. A few hours ago, her mind would have discarded even the possibility of that. Although she still remembered in vivid detail those few tense, heated moments right in her kitchen a year ago—remembered the hunger she’d glimpsed in his eyes—she knew he hadn’t really needed anything more than comfort that day. The kind of comfort he’d needed might have ripped her heart out, but she would have given it.
But now…he hadn’t been looking for comfort.
Bree recognized a man on the make easy enough, even if she hadn’t ever seen it coming from him. That was all it was, she just couldn’t believe it was anything deeper than that, no matter how much she wanted it. He needed a woman.
Alyssa had been gone a year, and deep inside, Bree knew that Colby hadn’t been with a woman since his wife had become too ill. He needed sex.
But Bree needed him and she wasn’t so certain her heart could handle it if he’d decided, for some fucked up reason, to end his sexual fast with her.
Chapter Six
His hands were sweating.
Ever since he’d driven away from Bree three hours earlier, he’d been in a persistent state of arousal and he hadn’t thought much of anything would ease the burning ache in his balls. Well, anything short of stripping Bree naked and fucking her until she screamed herself hoarse. That would work. At least until he needed to do it again.
But he’d been wrong—there was one thing that could douse the fire burning inside him.
Why it happened then, he didn’t know. It wasn’t that he consciously made the decision that he needed to let go of Alyssa. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t admitted his attraction to her best friend—an attraction that he realized had probably always been there. It wasn’t one he ever would have acted on, maybe not even one he would ever have been consciously aware of, if life hadn’t tossed him one major sucker punch and taken Alyssa from him.
He’d loved his wife. He still did. He never would have broken the promises he made her.
But sometime since he’d let himself acknowledge the fact that—okay, still not easy to think it—Alyssa was haunting him, he’d realized why she’d been doing so. He hadn’t died with her. Even though there had been weeks where he wished he had, he hadn’t. He was still alive.
And she hated how he’d shut down. She loved him enough, even though she was gone, to want him to be happy. She knew him enough to know who could make him happy.
He’d thought maybe he could get past the guilt.
Then he found himself standing in front of the door to their room. The room he’d shared with Alyssa—the room where he’d held her in his arms as she quietly passed away in her sleep.
He hadn’t gone in there once since he’d returned home. He didn’t want to go in there.
But he couldn’t turn away either. He inched forward, one slow, shuffling step at a time, and every step he took, memories flashed through his mind. Alyssa as she had looked on their wedding day. Bree standing in the rain when Alyssa’s coffin was lowered into the ground. Alyssa’s lashes lowering over her eyes as she’d drifted off to sleep that last day. Bree kneeling in his yard, surrounded by vivid bursts of color, tending to the flowers she’d helped Alyssa plant.
Alyssa… How often she’d been whispering to him over the past six months. But what if it wasn’t her? What if she really wasn’t okay with the fact that he found himself looking at Bree and realizing he had feelings for her? What if it was just some rationalization his guilty conscience had dreamed up?
Reaching out, he closed a hand over the doorknob, turned it slowly. He pushed it open and sagged against the door frame.
Sunlight drifted in through the windows to fall across the bed in pale splashes of gold. The hospital bed had been removed. Bree must have taken care of that. Their old bed was back where it had always been, neat as a pin. His throat went tight as he made himself walk into the room.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, dragging the air into his lungs. Before, the room had always smelled of Alyssa—sexy and female. Now the air had a sterile quality, the faint scent of lemon-scented Pledge lingering in the air and nothing else. On the dresser, he could see her hair brush and a tangle of silver and gold chains thrown onto a silver tray. Just as it had been when he left.
Colby crossed to the dresser and stroked a finger down the tray’s edge. It was an antique that she’d found at some garage sale or second-hand store. Alyssa had used to love going to places like that. When she had brought this tray home, it had been all but black with tarnish.
Tugging open the top drawer, he found himself staring at silk and lacy swathes of filmy material that hadn’t hidden a damn thing when she wore them. Hooking a finger in something Alyssa had called peacock blue, he lifted it up. It just looked blue to him.
It was a chemise, so damn skimpy she couldn’t wear it f
or anything other than driving him crazy. She’d loved lingerie. He’d loved seeing her in it. Loved buying it for her and wondering when she’d wear it for him. So why in hell couldn’t he remember how she looked wearing this?
Something dark and bitter moved through him and he crumpled the filmy bit of nothing in his hand, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. She’d been dead a year and he was already starting to forget how she looked. A year and he was already so damn hot to fuck her best friend, he’d all but stripped her naked in public. So damn ready to do whatever the hell he wanted that he was dreaming up ghosts just to rationalize and make it all okay.
“She wasn’t anywhere close to being naked. And I’m not a rationalization, babe.”
Colby wheeled around, following the sound of her voice. When he saw Alyssa sitting on the edge of the bed, the bed visible through her, he stumbled back. His butt bumped into the dresser and that was all that stopped him, otherwise he just might have kept backing away. “You aren’t real.”
Alyssa sighed and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “Didn’t we already talk about this? I am real. As real as a dead person can be, anyway.” Then she winked at him. “I wasn’t ever the rational type, so don’t try to use rationality to explain me away.”
“You can’t be real.”
She shrugged. “People say that about Bigfoot too, but you believe in him. Why can’t you believe in me?”
He scowled at her. She was right. She hadn’t ever been the rational type. Not too many people, besides her, could draw a connection between her transparent form and the existence of a cryptid. “I believe he could exist. I don’t necessarily think he does exist.”
She gave him a brilliant smile. “Then you could at least give me the benefit of the doubt and believe I could exist.”
She glanced down and Colby followed the line of her gaze until he realized she was looking at the blue chemise he still held clutched in his hand. “I went shopping with Bree the day I bought that.”
“So what? You went shopping with Bree all the time.”
“She picked it out.”
Guilty Needs Page 8
