by Liz Crowe
It took every ounce of Jack’s inner reserve not to crush the glass in his fist as he watched that kid put a hand on Sara’s back and guide her to a table. He tried not to watch as the smarmy little shit pulled out her chair, but his eyeballs would not cooperate. His jaw ached already from keeping it clenched nearly twenty-four-seven, ever since she had left and he’d been battling the city. He’d been pouring all his sexual energy into banging Heather’s brains out for the last several weeks. He still twitched with a near constant dissatisfaction.
Shit.
He made himself ill. He wouldn’t let his own sister within a country mile of someone like him. How could he blame Blake for “protecting” her? Christ. He perused his smartphone email inbox on autopilot; ignoring the near-constant stream of dirty texts from the woman he’d swear he’d called Sara at least once the night before. Sighing deeply, he looked up and straight into a pair of eyes as green as the woman in question. Instead of the usual raw hatred, there was pity in Blake Thornton’s eyes as he pushed a fresh glass of bourbon across the bar.
“Thanks.” He turned, not wanting anything resembling conversation with Sara’s brother right now. He had never, in his entire life felt more torn or confused about what to do or how to act. He kept watching her, sipping his drink, flashes of memory shooting through his brain like daggers. How in the hell he’d messed this up so completely, he still wondered. Yes, it was in his nature. He couldn’t be trusted, could he? Certainly, if his behavior recently with the eager Heather was any indication, “pining away” for the woman across the room from him, the one who had so captured his very soul, was obviously not on the agenda. He shot Heather a quick text:
“Not tonight. Too tired. Talk tomorrow.”
“Jack!” He turned to see his old friend, Rob Frietag, walking his way. Rob had been a serious cohort in the deflowering of campus virgins back in their college days. The guy had swung both ways then too, but it hadn’t been an issue for them. Women had fallen for their one-two punch; tall, blonde or dark, and charming, like leaves from a tree, once upon a time. He grinned.
“Pull up a chair. I could use a hard punch in the nose right now. You game?’
Rob shot an odd look towards Sara’s brother, who stood at the other end of the long bar, staring at them. “Huh, might make two of us. I seem to have done a bit of screwing up a relationship with a member of the Thornton family myself.”
Jack rolled his eyes and laughed as the other man eased himself into a barstool. His heart still pounded and spine tingled at being so close to Sara again, but unable to do anything but watch her laugh and lean into the surfer kid who kept reaching out to touch her arm, shoulder. Jack closed his eyes then refocused on Rob.
“Dude, you have no idea.”
As the dinner progressed, Sara forced herself to be calm, to focus on Craig’s dark brown eyes, to listen to his soft Southern drawl as he answered questions she didn’t remember asking. She flinched when she felt his palm on her knee.
“Earth to Sara.” His voice was soft. She sat back and pushed her plate away, no longer hungry. “You still there?”
She smiled at him, letting his smooth, handsome face and calm manner soothe her rattled nerves. “Sorry. Lame.”
“Nah, long as you’re buying, I’m good.” He shot a look over to the bar. Sara wrestled her rapidly rising ire.
“Okay so I’m nipping this in the bud right now Robinson.”
“What’s that, dear?” He finished off his blue cheese burger and wiped his mouth. She found her eyes drawn to his lips, suddenly hypnotized by the memory of them on hers.
“The dick-measuring thing you’re doing with my ex-fiancé over there, that’s what. Cut the shit out.”
He raised an eyebrow and put an arm over the back of his chair, letting his long legs stretch out to the side of their table. She suddenly relaxed as if he’d flipped a switch in her psyche. It was she had no business messing around with him, but there was a buzzing need in her brain that she knew, damn good and well, was the connection she shared with the man currently laughing his head off with her brother’s lover. She also knew she had to find an outlet for it if she were to sever that connection with Jack once and for all. She leaned in on her elbows. He frowned at her.
“Then stop flirting with me. You’re just as bad as he is.” She sat up and glared at him. Familiar words, and ones she did not need to hear right now.
“I am not.” His wide grin made her scalp tingle. “Okay, I am. But not for his benefit.”
“Then let’s get out of here.” He leaned over and grabbed her hand, staring at her so hard that, for the first time in an hour, she forgot about the man across the room. “It’s making me antsy with him over there, I won’t kid you.” He stood, held out a hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to, you know,” he shrugged as she stared at him.
“Act like you’re a dog who felt the need to piss on my leg?” He laughed at that, and hauled her to her feet, pressing her close.
“Yeah, I forgot for a minute to hide my inner dog from your inner bitch.” She let him kiss her, just a light press of lips together before stepping away. “Let’s get ice cream or something, a movie, I don’t care, something so I can prove my good intentions.” She smiled, and without a glance at the bar’s direction, let him guide her out into the cooling fall evening.
As they walked past the bank of windows along the bar where Jack still sat, he grabbed her hand. “I don’t share well Sara, I won’t kid you. So when you’re of him, I’d like to show you how a real man acts, but until then, ice cream is on me.” She gasped when he put her hand to his lips, kissed it, and then kept his long fingers threaded through hers as they made their way down the street.
A sudden light went on in her head, spread its warmth down her spine and caught a slow burn as she watched the handsome young man flirt naturally with the girl dipping ice cream. She followed the line of his shoulders down to a trim waist, firm ass, and long legs and let herself imagine a moment, held by him, easing the ache in her body she should exorcise. Rid herself of Jack’s hold on her for good. When he glanced at her, as sensing her stare, his eyes widened at her pointed look, then feigned a look over his shoulder before pointing his own chest.
She laughed, leaned in and planted her own kiss on his firm lips. “Yeah you. You are too cute for your own damn good, you know?”
“Well, I’ve been told…” he handed her a cone towering with butter pecan. “But you’ll have to find out for yourself I guess.” He grinned, wiped a blob of cream from her nose and put his finger to his lips. She shivered.
Yes. This was the solution. She hoped. If not, she didn’t know what she could do to get Jack out of her life, her head, and her heart. She sincerely hoped Craig wouldn’t mind.
Chapter Eight
Sara shook her head to it as a familiar voice echoed through their office. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, praying she could shove him out of her head and her office by the sheer force of the pressure. It had nearly six weeks since that party, and the damn man appeared nearly daily in her space. She looked up at him as he leaned against the doorway of her cubicle. He smiled, sending signals she could not control clanging around in her brain. She gritted her teeth and turned away.
“How are you feeling, Sara?” he asked, an innocuous comment meant for public consumption. “You don’t look so good.” He moved closer, his eyes changing, losing their cold glitter. Realizing what he was really asking, she straightened up in her chair, observing him, fascinated by his seeming interest in the current condition of her body.
“Hey, you lost your touch? You never tell a lady she’s not looking too good.” Sara tossed her hair back. “I’m fine maybe a little more tired than usual,” she told him, unable to resist. “Can’t figure it out, really, but I’m sure it’s nothing.” She turned to her desk, brain spinning, counting subconsciously, backwards from her last period.
Before she could finish her frenzied mental calculations, she sensed another male prese
nce behind her, and groaned inwardly, wondering what the hell she had done to bring on this testosterone battle. Craig walked into her cubicle past Jack and leaned up against her desk. He addressed her, ignoring Jack completely.
“Hey, I hope you don’t have plans for tonight.” She looked up at him, surprised. They’d had a few pseudo-dates. She’d been to see his band a couple of times. Her plan of attack–to seduce him, get what she needed to shake her physical craving, had been thwarted time and again. He would not engage with her beyond friendly “buddy” status. Stubborn man.
“No. Not really,” she told him, her voice weak, the tension between the two men nearly suffocating her.
“Good, I’ll pick you up at your place, say, seven?” he leaned down and kissed her lips, softly, quickly. “Bring your swim suit,” he whispered into her ear.
Craig walked out, nodding at Jack without speaking, which left her with her thoughts, wondering if she even had a presentable swimsuit, when she should have started her period. She was acutely aware when Jack quit staring at her when he turned and left the building without another word to anyone.
She hurried home at six, wondering what the hell Craig had planned. She found a sexy bikini and shoved it down in a bag, with a hairbrush and an extra set of clothes.
Craig rang the doorbell at seven sharp, and she walked out, the bag over her shoulder, having calculated that her period had appeared on schedule two weeks ago and so Mr. Gordon was off the hook.
He smiled at her, that lazy, relaxed way that caused her heart to flutter with renewed purpose. No, he didn’t set off fireworks in her like Jack did. But that was the whole point. She decided to take the direct method. “Why does this feel awkward all of a sudden?” He glanced at her before starting the engine.
“What does?”
She swallowed hard. “Well, I’ve been trying to get in your pants for weeks now and you are either a virgin or I smell bad. So, I don’t know where this is headed tonight, but I’m interested to find out.”
He put a firm, possessive hand on her thigh. She stared at it. “So what is this about? You tell me.” He leaned over then, pressed his lips to hers before she could answer, the hand now behind her neck, holding her close. The firm, gentle connection calmed her. None of the frantic need she had always had with Jack emerged, but that familiar slow burn ignited in her belly. One she recognized, and welcomed. She broke the kiss. His lovely brown eyes darkened as the silence swirled around them.
“I need this Craig. But I doubt I can offer much more than, well…” She pulled out of his embrace and stared straight ahead, hating the sound of her own voice. “I need you as a friend, but, um, sure could use some benefits. Does that make…mmph…?” She gasped when he yanked her close again over the console, owning her with a kiss that promised much more. She melted, threaded her fingers in his hair and let it take away the yawning emptiness she’d lived with for over a month.
When he released her, his breathing ragged, he pressed a kiss to her hand and tugged it down to his lap. She grinned at the hard heat under his zipper. “Is that a yes?”
He groaned, let go of her and squealed out of the parking lot. “You’re impossible, you know that?” She giggled, the slow burn spreading, making her thighs tingle. She put a hand on his neck, laced fingers through his hair.
“No, I’m not. Just horny. So what?”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “Me too.”
They made their way downtown, and he pulled into the underground lot of a tall condo building. The elevator eased them up to the top floor and Sara allowed herself to admit how wrong this was, but that she could not wait to see what he had to offer.
The doors opened onto the top floor, revealing a glass canopy over a large blue pool. The entire place sparkled with candles. She gasped, and glared at Craig. “You were gonna do this anyway? And still made me say it?” The twinkle in his eye made her gulp. God he was cute. “What do we do when anyone else wants to swim?”
“I’ve lived here for nearly two years and I have never once encountered another soul in this pool, so I’m locking the door behind us.” He showed her the changing room, and she put on her bikini, amused at his modesty. He stared at her as she entered the pool area again; dragging his eyes from her toes to the top of her head, then looked straight into her eyes.
“Wow,” he said, softly.
She was just what he had been imaging for weeks–firm, fit, not too thin, her breasts a perfect match for her body type, her nipples rock hard under the thin material of her suit, and her skin glowing in the soft candlelight. He couldn’t get enough of her, just the sight of her, her lower lip caught in her teeth… he smiled, forcing himself to stay calm, to keep his desire in check–for now.
He had his regular spandex trunks on and made no effort to hide the bulge there. It would have been impossible without a towel anyway. She ran her fingers over his shoulders, as if measuring him for a suit, lightly touched the skin of his biceps, forearms, wrists, and hands. He remained still for her, not moving or touching her, as her fingers lingered on his chest down to his abs.
She stepped back then, seeming to wait for him to make the first move. Something inside him snapped. He scooped her into his arms, reached his hands into her hair and kissed her, kissed her like he’d wanted to do for months, since the first time he’d seen her in that sales meeting. The soft noises she made nearly drove him insane, but he broke away, reminding himself to go slow. Stepping back, he took her hand and led her to the edge of the pool. Then, without another word turned and plunged in the deep end, rising to the surface to break through for breath, trying like hell to bury the lust and the “something else” burning a hole in his gut.
Sure he could be friends, fuck buddies, whatever. But he knew he would want more–a lot more. He didn’t know if going down this particular road would be good for him in the long run. Tonight, he had no intention of holding back.
She watched, mesmerized by his lithe body as it cut through the water. When he resurfaced having completed a back and forth lap in no time, he grabbed her feet and forced her to the edge.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s see how in shape you really are!”
She squealed, embarrassed. Swimming had never been one of her favorite forms of exercise. Something in her wouldn’t relax enough to feel comfortable with the water up her nose, pulling at her limbs, forcing her down while she struggled to remain afloat.
She jumped in and hung on to the side.
“You go ahead,” she told him motioning for him to swim away. “I like watching you,” she laughed. “I’m a terrible swimmer.”
“I’ll teach you,” he said, running a hand through his hair.
She tensed up, almost told him this wasn’t exactly the sort of “exercise” she had mind, but decided to humor him. He pried her fingers off the edge. “C’mon, I won’t let you drown, jeez.” When they got to a shallower spot, he took her wrists, formed her hands into cups. “Like this, push the water away from you with your hands.” She shuddered when he pressed a kiss into each of her palms.
“Kicking keeps you buoyant, your hands and arms move you forward. Now show me.” He pulled himself up with those amazing arms and sat on the side of the pool.
“Okay fine.” She pushed off from the side, concentrating on propelling herself forward with her lower body, forcing her arms to move independently and to turn her head to the side at every other stroke to catch oxygen just as he’d taught her. Her brain went immediately into what she recognized as her zone, that place she retreated to after five miles of running or the first hour of hot yoga. She continued to stroke, kicking, breathing comfortably and not panicking as she had when she tried to swim laps before. She reached the side at Craig’s feet and stopped.
“How’s that coach?” she asked, smiling and batting her eyelashes.
Without a word, he walked around to the deep end again, motioning for her to follow him. She climbed out, feeling strong, relaxed, and happy.
He showed her
how to dive in, bending down deeply first, and then holding her hips up, in preparation for the exertion.
“Okay, but I know you’re using this as an excuse to touch my ass.” She smiled then gasped as he yanked her back up and slanted lips over hers. He broke the kiss, keeping his arms around her waist. Her head buzzed and her core resumed its slow meltdown.
“Maybe, but it sounds like I don’t need an excuse.” He released her, smacked her ass so hard she yelped as he dove in. Her inner competitor reared up, and she followed him, hands and head first. She caught up with him, then turned around and swam back. She kept up for nearly six laps, then slowed, her heart pounding and her breath coming in gasps. Finally she stopped, clinging onto the side, watching as he slid back up to her. He smiled, placed his hands on either side of her arms, staying afloat by kicking his feet.
His face was near, his lips hovered over hers, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged. She sighed as he pressed her against the edge, the hard, lean planes of his bare body sliding against hers.
“Look up Sara,” he whispered, sending shivers through her whole body.
Craig couldn’t remember a time when he felt so alive. The steam from the pool, the familiar chlorine smells enveloped him as he moved closer to her. His pulse raced but he kept his movements slow, relaxed, determined, and ready to fulfill whatever she needed from him. He was winning this one, he knew. Jack Gordon would be a distant memory once he was through with her, maybe not tonight, but very soon.
No, she said it herself. Friends. With lovely benefits. He grinned, and yanked a mental pillow over the voice reminding him he was likely already halfway in love with the woman.
She tilted her head back then gasped as he put his lips on her collarbones, moved up her neck, and took her earlobe between his teeth. Her body arched into his.
