by Inez Kelley
“Just strawberry. And I didn’t finish it.”
“Good, he was an asshole.” Honey-blond hair fell over his eyes and he pushed it back before returning his hand to her head. “Still, four months, right? You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, which means he’s probably right.” At Bastian’s quizzical frown, she shrugged. “He called me a coldhearted bitch.”
Hard, firm fingers turned her chin to his face. “You are not coldhearted. A bitch, yes, you can be, but you take pride in that. There’s nothing cold about you. You’re the hottest, most vibrant woman I know.”
Her fingers curled around his, tugging them from her face. “Adam’s right. I didn’t care the way I should have. He was just something to fill time. I couldn’t be myself with him, you know? With anyone really, except you. They either want the Honeypot twenty-four/seven or get embarrassed by who I am. I can’t just be me. I have to be ‘on.’”
A small scar ran down one side of his knee, tiny dots alongside it. Stitches, she guessed, a long time ago. She’d have to ask him about it.
“Men just want to screw me and women avoid me, unless they want me too. No one wants to really know plain old Charlie. It takes too much time to trust them and when I think I can, everything’s gone stale. That’s why I asked about you and Lisa. I just don’t think I’m cut out for long-term monogamy. Sex I can do, that love stuff…nah, not good at that.”
“Stop pretending you’re a slut. You use more discrimination than some men I know when taking a lover.”
“But I never keep them for long, do I?”
Bastian was quiet for a long time. Finally he leaned down and tapped her foot with one long finger. “How long have you had these ugly things?”
“My camping sneakers? I don’t know. Why?”
“You’ve worn them every single time we’ve come up here. You even wore them in the lake last summer. They have holes in them and they’re frayed and stained. Why don’t you just throw them away and get a new pair?”
She tucked her feet deeper under the sweatshirt hem as if he might snatch them off her feet. “I love these shoes! They’re broken in and fit my feet perfectly, even my crooked little toe. They’re comfortable.”
“What about your Firebird? The thing is barely legal and borderline safe. Your insurance is through the roof and you can’t even afford to have it painted yet. Why don’t you just sell it?”
She smacked his arm. “No way! I damn near hocked my soul to buy that car. And I’m enjoying restoring it. Finding each piece is like…damn, it’s better than sex at times. I love that car.”
“Exactly.” He smiled. “When you fall in love with something, you don’t want to let it go. Even if it isn’t perfect, it’s yours. You just haven’t met the right guy yet. Give it time.”
She rose up on her knees and glared at him. “You really need to get laid if you’re comparing sex to old shoes and cars.”
Those great strong arms she loved wrapped around her shoulders, squeezing tight. His chest rumbled with his soft laughter and she laid her head on it, delighting in the vibrations. He smelled of wood smoke and fresh air and she fought the urge to rub her nose into his shirt.
Against her ear, his low words echoed. “You honestly faked every orgasm?”
“Yep. Every single one.”
“He must’ve been an idiot. How could he not have known?”
“Oh please, every man thinks they know when a woman’s faking. If a woman has any acting ability, men have no clue.”
His chest stilled. “I’d like to think I know.”
“You keep telling yourself that.” She patted his stomach with a broad smile.
“Isn’t faking it a lie?”
Charlie shrugged. “I guess you could look at it like that. But who’s really getting hurt? Not the guy. If anything, he’s getting protected from either insult or damage to his fragile male ego.”
The corners of his mouth curved down. “The male ego would be a lot stronger if women would be honest and tell us what they want rather than lying back and pretending.”
“Good theory but in practice, it bites. Men and directions are like milk and pickles. They don’t mix. Hey, let’s add that to the show lineup.”
He scowled but nodded. “Fine. I think you’ll find out most men would rather be told or shown what to do rather than be lied to.”
“Touch a nerve?”
“Not like you think. I just don’t like being lied to in any way.”
“Hey.” She ran one hand down the side of his face, the smooth cheek bringing a smile to her lips. He hated his beard and shaved even while camping. “Granted we’re not talking faked orgasms here, but I’ve never lied to you. You do know that, right?”
“Good. And I haven’t lied to you, not once.”
“Then we’re good. No lies, no hidden agendas and no secrets.”
Something flickered in his gaze before his eyes shifted away. Although he brought them right back to her face, she’d seen the secret cross his mind and it chilled her. Secrets led to lies and lies to pain.
Forced past a hollow ache, her words were soft. “Or maybe there is a secret?”
His mouth opened to protest but she refused to drop her knowing look. Slowly, he lowered his lids and sighed. His Adam’s apple jumped with his swallow but he didn’t turn away. When he opened his eyes, they burned her with their intensity.
“I need to keep this secret, okay? I’ll tell you one day, but not now.”
“Why?”
“It’s just…look, know how I didn’t tell Lisa about that Christmas kiss? It’s like that. It would serve no purpose.”
He hadn’t told Lisa about a drunken pass because he was protecting his wife from hurt. That was Bastian—protective, possessive and so stuck in the 1950s he occasionally forgot a woman could handle ugly truths. What was he trying to protect her from?
“What? You have another best friend hidden somewhere beneath the mistletoe?” She tried to tease but it stuck in her throat. Bastian had never kept anything from her before.
“Of course not. I just want to think some things through for a while, that’s all. Trust me?”
“I do trust you. I’m just sorry you feel like you can’t trust me.”
Injury flashed on his face, his jaw going slack and lines appearing between his brows. “Damn it, I do trust you, more than anyone. I just can’t…Let me work through this.”
The twinge of disappointment in her chest drew her lips down. After all the embarrassing and personal things they’d shared, this secret must be important.
Apparently she wasn’t important enough to share this secret with, however. He was shutting her out for the first time. He’d told her of his infertility, his anger at his brother’s drug addiction, his doubts about his own ability as a doctor. She’d lived every minute of his divorce with him, holding him as his tears fell. He’d even had her do some of his banking when he was too busy, so she knew all his passwords. She even knew that he had a covert fascination with Chinese mythology.
This secret hurt.
A small brick was laid, the foundation to wall off her heart against the one man she never thought she’d need protection from. Easing from his touch, she nodded. “Sure. Whatever you need to do. I understand.”
His warm hands ran down her arms. “No, you don’t. You’re pulling back, I can feel it.”
“You do what you have to. And I’ll do what I have to.”
“Don’t push me away. Please.”
Words wouldn’t come so she just looked at him. Tawny gold brows dipped in concern. His exasperated exhale was loud and forceful though his curse was soft. “Goddamn it, Charlie.”
He kissed her.
His lips captured hers, sliding across them before his tongue slipped past her surprised gasp. Time skidded to a halt. This kiss was far more than it had been years ago under the mistletoe. There was no hesitancy, no barriers, no rush. Just his mouth on hers, tempting her to join him. The forbidden intimacy surg
ed through her veins. It blanked her mind as she allowed her tongue to stroke back, giving even as he took. Her hands found his chest of their own volition. One caress and his kiss deepened. Marshmallow, peanut butter and the unfamiliar taste of Bastian, everything blended together into a high-octane cocktail of sensuality. It melted her bones and dissolved her mind.
His hand slid to her hair, pulling her closer. A moan buried in her throat threatened to sound. He felt so good, so right…and so wrong. Something inside her stood up and screamed in a high-pitched wail. It pierced her brain like a railroad spike, jabbing with cold, prickly pain.
This was wrong.
This was Bastian.
She was kissing her best friend like a lover.
Yanking away, she sat back on her heels. Both their breaths rang out, emotion and passion speeding air and blood through them. Unbridled yearning creased his face. Pupils wide, the brown of his eyes was a mere suggestion as he challenged her to see his honesty.
“There, Charlie, that’s my secret.”
Her tongue touched her lip, tasting him as her mind spun in kaleidoscope swirls. Bastian had just kissed her. Not the light goodbye and hello kisses of before, but a flat-out fiery French kiss from the east side of heaven. Her trembling fingers pressed against her mouth, holding the last trace of him.
“I-I’ve always known you were attracted to me.”
His brows arched. “Attracted? Is that all that kiss showed you?”
“Look, maybe the sex talk tonight got a little—”
“Don’t belittle this. What I feel for you is real. I’ve been feeling it for over a year, maybe longer.”
Fear forced tears into her eyes and burned her throat. Things were changing this very second. “Don’t.”
“It’s too late. You wanted to know, so know everything. I’m more than attracted to you. I love you. I love you not only as a friend, as my best friend, the best damn friend I’ve ever had, but as a woman. I want you in my life, in my bed and in my heart. Friendship isn’t enough anymore. I want more.”
Hot tears blinded her. She shoved away from him, thrusting off his hands as he reached for her. A sob replaced the moan in her chest.
“You just ruined everything.”
Chapter Two
“Wait! Where are you going?”
Bastian’s shout followed her as she fled the campfire. Damp air chilled her legs. Grasses snipped at her ankles with jagged pokes, and she delved deeper into the campground.
Escape.
How could he? How could he shred everything they were? She’d just told him how special he was to her, him and his friendship. How she was free to be herself with him, no pretenses needed. Now it was gone. Because he wanted her. Sex changed everything. No one knew it better than she did.
A hidden tree root halted her flight and she stumbled to a crouch next to the stump. A harsh sob tore from her. Using the sleeves of his shirt, she wiped her wet face. She’d lost her best friend, the other half of herself, and pain gnawed at her bones. He was gone. The person she turned to when life sucked. The person she sought out when she wanted to laugh. The person she was most safe around. The person she loved.
The man back beside the fire was just like the rest of his gender. He wanted her. Not for her, but for what she could bring him. Pleasure.
He said he loved her but he just meant he lusted for her. That was what it always meant. She’d heard those words many times. They never meant anything but “come to bed.” Bastian was supposed to be different, always had been. Everything sacred now felt like a lie. The one lone brick became a fortress around her fragile heart.
Adam’s betrayal had glanced off her but Bastian’s destroyed her.
Shaky limbs stilled as resolve flooded her. Their bond was broken, forever lost to one glorious illicit kiss. He wanted more. More meant sex. Fine. If he valued their connection so little he was willing to throw it away for a quick fuck, she’d give him exactly what he wanted.
Then she would walk away. But she’d be damned if she was going without tasting every bit of what she’d denied herself all these years.
Charlie drew a deep breath, let her heart whisper goodbye, and fixed her face into a bitch-blank slate. He didn’t deserve to know how badly she hurt. Pain was solitary, never shared with anyone but her best friend. He wasn’t that. Not anymore. He’d be nothing more than a one-night stand. Later she would weep for the crushing loss. Alone.
The trek back to the tent was as short as her escape and just as determined. Bastian sat on the ground, lower back against the log, head bowed into one hand. Without stopping her stride, Charlie ripped his sweatshirt over her head, taking her knit top with it. Both dropped into the dirt. There was barely time to register the surprise on his face before she straddled his lap and claimed his mouth.
Hands diving into his hair, she thrust her tongue between his lips. For one moment, he didn’t move. She circled her hips, pressing into his zipper, and slid her scantily clad breasts across his chest.
Respond, damn it.
He took his first sip of her angry passion. Victory heated her blood. Men were so predictable. She tangled one hand in his hair and slid the other down his nape and across his back. When he answered her motions with a low moan, his hands curling around her waist and hips arching to her, she whispered into his kiss.
“You want me, Bastian? Then take me.”
He crushed her to him, his mouth devouring hers. Electric shocks lasered up her spine. At least it would be good. The realization was of little comfort. His hands tugged her harder to his growing erection, and she added a wiggle to her circles. Rage flashed. He hadn’t been lying. He wanted her badly. He’d only get her body.
The soft snap of her bra unhooking under strong male fingers was covered by his staggered breath as his lips found a pulse point below her jaw. He forged a line down her throat, his tongue lapping at her skin. She tossed her bra away seconds before his hands cupped her breasts. Her traitorous skin tingled at his touch.
Hidden memories poured over her. How many times had she fantasized about this? Her imagination had been insipid. Her nipples hardened in his palms as the mounds swelled for him, longing for his mouth. His kiss sank lower to the valley above her heart. Using her knees, she arched to him, pressing closer to his mouth before rocking on his strained zipper.
The sweet sound of her name was whispered in a voice darker than chocolate, and she fought the livid burn of tears. At least it was her and not some nameless body he thought of. She’d hear him scream her name before the night was through. But no way in hell would she say his. For spite, she might scream “Adam.” That should fuck with Bastian’s head and drive a painful spike into that precious male ego.
Charlie hid a sniffle in the brush of cotton as she ripped the T-shirt over his head and caught his mouth again. She was going to give him a ride he’d never forget, one that would leave him lusting for more and fantasizing about this night for years. Years he’d spend without her. Now hard as stone, his cock prodded against her center. Each nip down his throat was just sharp enough to inflame but not to mark. She tasted his collarbone with a broad sweep of her tongue and eased her hips down his legs.
Buried in her hair, his hands shook with lust, but she didn’t slow her downward trek. The thinnest sprinkling of burnished gold peppered the center of his heaving chest before tapering to his navel. Her mouth followed that path, each inch feeling the swirl of her tongue. Taut stomach muscles quivered as she drew near the button of his shorts. Her hands skimmed up his thighs under the hem. Her nails lightly scored his inner thighs before rising to rasp over khaki. She traced the shape of his erection, smoothing her fingertips around hardened contours that leaped at her touch. Her teeth scraped his flesh above the metal button.
Her back hit the ground, erasing all thought as Bastian’s mouth took hers. Between her widespread knees, his legs balanced as he ground against her. Missionary, of course, his favorite, with him in control…or so he thinks. She linked her ankles
behind his ass, her hips rising to meet his. He was beyond hard. He was throbbing. It wouldn’t take long. He was too close. She raked her nails down his bare back. His awed hiss spiked her fury and she bowed into him, her tongue diving into his mouth.
Jerking her hand from his back, Charlie thrust it between their bodies. His shorts button snapped and the metal zipper zinged. Solid, hard flesh filled her palm and he froze, his agonized sigh of delight hot against her lips. His head fell back when her grip tightened. She curled her fingers around his shaft, and her lips twisted with battled tears. She swallowed her grief. The hollow below his Adam’s apple called her mouth and she licked out, gliding across his skin.
So easy, it was so easy. The death of something priceless should be harder to achieve.
Charlie was killing him. Bastian fought for control as her fingers curved around his cock and stroked long, maddening strokes. Every inch of his skin burned with desire. She was sweeter than the marshmallows, richer than the chocolate, more intoxicating than the beer. His fantasies had never been this enticing, this compelling. Too many months of wanting had built up until her touch scorched him.
He had to be dreaming.
This couldn’t really be happening.
It was going to happen too soon if she didn’t stop.
The Herculean effort to peel her hands from his pants and her lips from his neck forced his eyes open. Her frantic mouth on his shuttered them again. He needed to taste her. Sliding down her body, he took a pebbled crest in his mouth. Her spine curved. Slender fingers shot through his hair, holding him closer as he circled the tight nipple with his tongue.
More, he wanted more. He pulled one hand above her head, rounding her breast firmer into his mouth. His nails scraped the dirt as he gripped her hand.
Dirt.
They were in the dirt.
He was taking Charlie in the dirt.
No.
The roar of frustration that formed as he yanked his lips from her breast died when he saw her eyes. The unshed tears shattered him. Charlie was furious…and wounded. Shame cooled him like a waterfall, cracking his voice.
