Still Not Into You: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  Maybe not alone in the room, not like sharing a room with Monika or a barracks with other soldiers, but it’s always been just me in my bed.

  I don’t do attachments. I don’t let my friends with benefits stay the night; they might get ideas, and I don’t want any false hopes that I may actually want a relationship.

  So it’s more than a little jarring for me to wake up this morning with the bizarre knowledge that not only did I sleep through the night, but I slept with Gabe’s arms wrapped around me, surrounding me in this heat that seems to melt away everything wrong with the world.

  I slept with Gabe, gorgeous, heart-strong, sweet and determined Gabe, and we didn't even do it.

  God.

  I have got to get my head on straight with this guy. I don't even know what's happening anymore.

  But right now, I’ve got to figure out who the hell is practically pounding down my door.

  At first, I thought it was just a strange dream bleeding over into wakefulness. Then it comes again, a persistent, measured thud-thud-thud.

  Gabe’s not moving. The warm, slow breaths against the back of my neck tell me he’s sound asleep, not even disturbed by the knocking.

  Some guard dog.

  I almost hate how fond the thought is.

  He barely shifts as I wiggle out from under the heavy weight of his massive arm, slide out of the bed, and snag a pair of jeans before heading to the door. I glance at the kitchen, wondering if I should grab a knife, but then think better of it.

  A weapon wouldn't solve my intruder problem. A peek through the peephole shows Monika.

  Holy shit.

  Not now, sis. Not now.

  Last night comes slamming down on me, that feeling of safety and security vanishing to leave the despair that hits when I realize I’d possibly wasted months chasing Harmon, when Joannie could be anywhere by now. She could even be out of the country, disappearing under my nose while I chased my tail in all the wrong directions. A horrifying number of children vanish all the time in international trafficking rings.

  I’m just as useless as I was the day she was taken.

  And I don’t know how to face Monika after that.

  But I also can’t scare the crap out my sister by not answering. Not when Gabe's vehicle and mine are in the driveway. She’ll come up with the worst case scenario, and she’s been through enough.

  So, after rubbing the sleep from my eyes and brushing my hair back, I straighten the shirt I slept in and then yank the door open.

  Monika immediately flies at me, hitting me so hard she nearly knocks me over.

  “Skylar.” Her voice is thick and choked, and she hugs me tight, clutching me to her for dear life. “Oh my God, oh my God...”

  Panic. I wrap my arms around her. “Monika? What’s wrong? What happened? What's –”

  “You didn’t hear?” She pulls back, staring at me in disbelief – and then I realize she’s smiling. Her eyes are wet, but she’s smiling the first real smile I’ve seen in months, lighting up her pretty face. “Harmon. He’s in jail. They finally found a reason to bag him. He didn’t have Joannie, not with him, but he’s off the streets. The detectives are pushing him hard for anything they can find. They got him, sis.”

  I don’t understand why she’s so happy, when we’re still no closer to finding Joannie.

  But then I remember: the way she used to walk with her shoulders bowed.

  The bruises in the shapes of handprints on her arms.

  The way she’d flinch at the slightest sound. It took me far too long to realize Harmon was abusing her, and to do everything I could to get her the hell away from him.

  To get my fearless, bright, beautiful sister back. But as long as he was on the street, she was always looking over her shoulder, always wondering when and how he'd find new ways to hurt her.

  If he’s behind bars, he can never touch her again.

  It eases something inside me, to know that at least some good came out of this. I did that. I put the man who hurt my sister in jail.

  Me, and Gabe.

  Gabe...

  My stomach twists up all funny at the thought of Goliath, especially considering that lion of a man is still sprawled in my bed and if my sister knew, she’d get all the wrong ideas.

  I jerk my mind off him and back to her, offering a sheepish smile. “Yeah, um...I knew. Sorry. I’m kind of the one who helped put him there.”

  Monika’s eyes widen. “You what?” Her hands fly to her mouth, and she lets out an almost girlish laugh. “No way. What? Dish. What did you do? You have to tell. Actually, hold on. Get cleaned up first. You can tell both me and Grandma over brunch.”

  I can’t help wincing. I need to tell Gabe I’m going, but if Monika hears voices, she’s definitely going to figure out something’s up.

  Too bad I freeze just a little too long. And I must have the most guilty expression on my face, because she tilts her head, frowning at me.

  “Sky? What’s wrong? Grandma’s waiting in the car...she’s gonna run the battery down with the AC if we don’t go.”

  “Uh, yeah. See, the thing is, I just need a little longer to –”

  “Sky?” Gabe says loudly at my back, around a world-chomping yawn. “You want me to put on coffee?”

  Ah, fuck.

  I cringe, glancing over my shoulder.

  Gabe comes strolling out of my bedroom like he belongs here, all sleep-rumpled and lazy, fingers combing through his short, dark shock of hair. Even worse, he’s not wearing a shirt when I know damn well he had one on when I left him.

  I'm not sure what's worse: having my lips or my eyes completely paralyzed, stuck on his massive body that shouldn't be here. One glimpse, and I'm lost.

  He’d put Adonis to shame, make Hercules feel weak, every inch of him perfectly crafted and moving like powerful, hard-honed machinery under tanned skin, muscles slinking together in tightly controlled harmony until it’s a thing of beauty just to watch him move, so utterly unaware of his own feral sensuality. He's inked to the heavens, a criss-crossed canvas of dark tattoos and jagged edges and names with meaning and thorns and flames.

  God.

  Then that beast-man pauses, taking in me and Monika, smiling drowsily like he didn’t just make my life a million times harder.

  “Mornin’, Miss Monika,” he rumbles.

  “Morning, Mister Gabe,” she throws back with a bit of a wicked slant, and I jerk my gaze back to her, my face going hot up to my ears. She just smirks at me. “Well, well, that explains everything. Navy friend, huh?”

  Oh, hell. This isn't happening. No, no, no, no, no.

  “It doesn’t explain anything!” I sputter. “We’re not...we're just...I don’t –”

  “You’re not and you don’t...what?” my sister says, a knowing, amused glint in her eye. “Well, Sky, if you’re not and you don’t and you're just, then I guess you won’t mind bringing Gabe along for brunch, right? I’d hate to be rude and leave your friend out.”

  “I hate you,” I hiss.

  “Oh, no, you do-o-on't,” she sing-songs, then wiggles her fingers at me. “Go. Shoo. Make yourselves presentable.”

  I can’t even hide my disgust as I slam the door in her face.

  Then I turn, glowering at Gabe, who just blinks at me with sleepy pleasantry before offering a boyish smile.

  “Sorry,” he says, in the adorable way that says he isn’t freaking sorry at all. “Hey, I’m not trying to make things harder, okay? I don’t have to come. I’ll wait here.”

  “You can’t,” I bite off. “If you don’t come, it’ll be even weirder and they’ll just make all these assumptions and think we’re hiding something when there’s nothing to hide.”

  He shrugs affably. “If that’s what you want, Sunbeam.”

  “It’s not what I want,” I growl, stalking back toward my bedroom before he can see the obvious lie written on my face.

  That maybe, just maybe, I might actually want him there.

  “I’m grabbing
the shower first,” I throw back.

  “Leave me some hot water,” he calls after me.

  “Put a shirt on then,” I retort.

  He laughs. “Won’t make much sense when I’m about to shower after you, will it? Unless you want to shower together?”

  I flip him off over my shoulder, then slam the door so hard I hear it echo off the roof.

  What the hell have I gotten myself into with this man?

  * * *

  Hell.

  Hell must be what I’ve gotten myself into.

  That’s what it feels like, at least, as I sit next to Grandma Eva and my sis while their magpie chatter flies over my head like a barrage. Gabe sits on my other side, his big shoulder pressing against me while he shovels more syrup-covered waffles into his mouth than should be humanly possible, but I guess a man that big needs a lot of fuel to keep him running.

  Still, he shouldn’t look like he’s enjoying himself so much, when all I want to do is get this insanity over and done.

  I can’t help it. I still feel like I’m back to square zero, come full circle with no progress at all, while Monika’s out of her funk and both she and Grandma are happier than I’ve seen them in months.

  They’re excited. Scared. Wired on too much coffee. Full of hope.

  It’s the hope that gets me. The hope makes me feel like an impostor, sitting here and keeping my secrets and not telling them the horrible truth.

  Harmon probably didn’t take Joannie, and him being in jail doesn’t mean we’ll ever be able to find her.

  I don’t know what to do. What to think. What to feel. What to believe. But I can’t bring myself to kill that smile on Monika’s face. If the moment comes where she realizes we’ve hit a wall again and things are even more hopeless...she’ll sink into a funk so deep not even Jim Appleroth’s smiles – or his baking – can bring her out of it.

  Better to just hold my tongue, poke at my waffles morosely, and try to make myself eat.

  Better to pretend that maybe, just maybe, everything is fine.

  But I pause when Gabe elbows me under the table, a light companionable nudge. He catches my eye sidelong, his own gleaming with warmth and amusement.

  And I try not to think about why too hard when I slip my hand into his under the table, lacing our fingers together.

  I really don’t know what I’m doing. This isn’t right.

  We’re not together. We’re not even friends.

  One kiss, one night in his arms, it shouldn't mean anything.

  Oh, but it does.

  It means too much.

  He’s the huge, homey kind of comfort I need right now. Maybe since he’s the only one who knows the truth. Or maybe it's because he's the only man on Earth big and strong enough to make me feel sane and protected.

  I forget him, though, when there’s a sudden hoarse wracking sob at my side.

  I’d lost track of the conversation's thread while I was thinking how hot and rough and steady Gabe’s hand is. Monika’s crying, all of a sudden, and I let go of his hand with panic shooting through me, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her into me.

  “Monika?! Sis, what’s wrong? What is it?”

  But Monika only shakes her head, burying her face against my shoulder. It’s Grandma Eva who answers, clucking her tongue with a gentle smile.

  “It’s stress, dearie,” she says. “Plain and simple. It’s catharsis and relief. Let her cry it out.”

  Grandma always knows best. I let her cry, rubbing her back, wondering how the hell I’m going to break my sister all over again if I ever feed her the truth.

  Meanwhile, Gabe watches, that warm reassurance smoldering behind hazel eyes.

  I remind myself no. No, that’s not going to happen. I'm not going to let my sister down a second time.

  We’re going to find Joannie, and then I won’t have to hurt Monika again. I’ll get to see her smile.

  I will.

  It’s a while before we’re ready to leave, almost time for the lunch crowd to start trickling in. I handle the tab, and it’s hugs all around – Monika even hugs Gabe – before we split, Grandma and Monika taking their car while I climb into Gabe’s truck.

  I feel strange. Not myself. The hurt barely even hits me this time when, as he’s pulling out of the parking lot, Gabe asks a pointed question.

  “What do we do now, darlin'?”

  I lift my head from leaning against the window, looking at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean Joannie. If Harmon’s really innocent, where do we go next? What’s our next step?” He glances at me sidelong, something heated in his gaze. “And how long we gonna pretend this is still strictly business?”

  That last question catches me so off-guard all I can do is blink at him dumbly. “What?”

  His lips curl with that touch of arrogance that he shows so rarely it’s almost maddeningly sexy when he does. “You heard me. We’ve been dancing around each other for over a week, acting like we don’t see each other. But I know damn well I see you, and I’m pretty sure you see me too, darlin’.”

  I can’t help a faint smile. “Pretty sure you lost the right to call me ‘darling’ when I pinned you to the sand.”

  He grins. “Pretty sure I earned it back when I flipped you over and pinned you underneath me.”

  Pinned you underneath me.

  This hot feeling goes through me, this chaotic need, remembering that.

  Gabe on top of me, powerful thighs caging me, cock grinding against me, and that thick bulk weighing me down. I felt so small and trapped and caged and deliciously helpless.

  I hadn’t wanted to admit it at the time, but if he’d been anything other than the gentleman he is, if he’d taken a risk, touched me, found me wet and gasping and hot for him...

  Holy hell. I think I’d have let him take me right then and there.

  I’d let him take me now, when I’m so desperate to feel anything besides pain, loss, hopelessness. When just the idea is already making me slick and tight inside, a needy pulse beginning low between my thighs.

  I need a distraction from disappointment and frustration.

  Gabe would make a wonderful distraction, wouldn't he?

  The man looks like he could make me ache from the inside out and leave me so sore I couldn't feel anything but him. That kind of deep, slow, all-consuming fuck that takes over your whole body until the pleasure hurts so good you’re screaming.

  I watch him through my lashes, biting at my lower lip.

  This is wrong. So wrong.

  So wrong it's right in this twisted, manic way I just want to stop fighting, and embrace.

  That's why I slip my hand over to rest on his thigh, feeling the sudden tightness of huge tensing muscle under my palm.

  “Just take me home,” I whisper.

  A full-body shudder goes through him. His body glows so hot, nearly burning me through the denim of his jeans, and there’s a subtle jolt as the Dodge picks up speed.

  It’s racing down the highway a minute later, racing to the speed of my pulse, and I shiver as the tension in the air turns electric. It's so on.

  It’s silent, so silent in the truck, the inevitable coming closer every sweet second, but there’s something screaming in between us anyway. Growing louder and louder until I can feel it all over my body, a harsh tingle of anticipation and impatience, hunger and desire.

  We barely make it to the drive of my place before we’re out of the truck. I catch his hand and race toward the house, pulling him up the steps and inside. He stumbles after me, toppling forward.

  “Whoa, darlin’–”

  I don’t let him finish.

  I turn, push him against the door hard enough to slam it closed, and kiss him.

  There's fire in my mouth. I can't tell where mine ends or his begins.

  I don’t want him to talk. There are no words. Not for this.

  I don’t want words to make this more than it has to be. I just want the feeling of his mouth
crushing against mine, the heat of his hands as he takes hold of me with those long, strong fingers, raking down my back, stopping only to dig hard into my ass and pull me against him.

  It’s the most delicious feeling, this wild urgent thing that lifts me up into the hard pressure of his cock already straining toward me. Almost like it’s as much of an animal as we are, desperate to be free.

  Gabe steals my breath, devouring my mouth with this intensity that leaves me hurting so good. The luscious feeling of my mouth swelling and bruising, my lips tasting metallic as my tongue slides over them to meet his.

  We twine. We tangle. We collide.

  We fight with licks and bites and deep hungry strokes, warring for dominance every step of the way.

  He's too big not to win out, and I think I just want it too damn bad.

  There’s no slow foreplay, barely any teasing or testing.

  My nails are in the back of his neck and his hand winds up under my shirt. Then come the rough, callused fingertips circling my nipple through my bra, teasing these wonderful shocks, making me clench up inside as every brush and pinch and careful, teasing twist leaves me wetter and wetter.

  My pussy aches like nothing I've ever felt. It hurts every second he's not inside me, every instant I'm not riding him like my life depends on it.

  Sure, I still feel wrong inside because I'm craving the pulse of his cock inside me, filling me, slamming the bad thoughts from my mind.

  It doesn't stop this. It can't.

  I just grind myself against him as if that could ease the emptiness, or bring back my senses, when all it really does is make me need it more.

  “Gabe,” I whimper his name, biting down viciously on his lower lip.

  He snarls, all heavy, hot breath – and suddenly the world goes spinning as he whirls me around and slams me against the door. Hard enough to rattle its frame, the wood biting against my shoulders.

  The breath knocks out of me, and never comes back when his mouth is on mine again and our clothes are coming off like we’ve been run through a shredder.

  I’m naked.

  He’s naked.

  And yes, hell yes, he’s glorious.

  All hard tone and tattoos and tanned skin and the faint feel of scars under my fingers as they slide over his shoulders, subtle lines of ink making a medieval masterpiece out of his skin.