by Lynda Aicher
His grunt could’ve been protest or agreement. He made it out of the chair with relative grace but didn’t release his hold. He drew her into the circle of his arms and slowly lowered his head, the predatory intent vibrating out to shimmer over her skin in that tingling awareness she’d only felt with him. He stopped millimeters from her lips, his eyes too close for her to focus on. “I’ve missed this.”
His whispered words filtered into her brain as his mouth closed over hers. It washed aside her lingering reserve in a gentle slide of trust. The soft touch of his lips matched the slow glide of his palm up her arm to her neck.
“You are so beautiful.” The words were spoken against her lips and reinforced with more light brushes until her head spun.
She snaked her arms around him and reared up to deepen his kiss, her body pressed to his hard length. His tongue explored her mouth with persistent swipes that she met. It was all so good and she was so ready for more.
But was he?
She eased back, taking a deep breath as she lowered her heels to the floor. “We’d better stop before you can’t pee.”
He muffled a laugh against her hair. “Mood killer.” But he stepped away and moved down the hall, slow but limp-free. She licked her lips to catch any lingering hint of his spicy flavor and watched until he disappeared from sight.
He was healing fine. Incredibly well in truth. That still didn’t mean he was ready for her to jump him or climb him, like she’d been ready to do just moments ago.
She blew out a breath, ratcheted back her libido, grabbed their bags off the floor and took them down to his bedroom. At least the ranch floor plan made it easier for him to get around. She doubted that’d been on his mind when he’d bought the place though.
She’d been blessed to never suffer an injury as severe as his. Knees, hips, ankles, shoulders—every joint was vulnerable to injury. One wrong twist, move or hit was all it took to end someone’s dreams. It was part of the game, a risk every player accepted and prayed never happened.
At least she’d known when her dream was ending. The clear expiration date on her playing eligibility might’ve been a curse, but it had never blindsided her. She’d had the ability to plan and prepare for something else. Did Dylan have a backup plan?
He was coming out of the master bath when she entered his bedroom. He moved to the bed and lowered himself down, only a minor grimace crossing his face.
“Sure you don’t want something for the pain?” She set the bags down and stood in front of him.
“No,” he insisted. “I took some after PT. I’m just tired.”
“All right. What do you want for dinner?”
His chuckle was dry. “You know what I really want?” She shook her head. “Pizza! Damn. It sounds like heaven.”
“Pizza it is then.” He’d earned it. They’d been eating healthy since he’d gotten home, a habit they shared.
He yanked his phone out of the pocket on his hoodie and clicked over the screen. He looked up, dimple showing. “Toppings?”
She could really get used to that smile. It wrapped around her like a hug every time she saw it. Or in this instance, drew her in with a desire to kiss that little divot then move on to… Dang.
“Oooh.” She dragged out the sound as she sat beside him on the bed. “The infamous topping debate. I’ve heard this can make or break a relationship.”
“Nah.” He froze, eyes narrowing. “Unless you like onions. Or black olives. Or—”
“Stop.” She gave him a shove, laughing. “Get whatever you want. I’ll pick off what I can’t have.”
“Can’t have?”
She shrugged his concern off. “It’s nothing. My stomach doesn’t agree with a lot of foods. No biggie.”
He frowned and lowered his phone to his lap. “How come I don’t know that?”
She shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
His shoulders snapped back. “What else don’t I know about you?”
She chuckled. “A lot, I’m sure.”
His frown morphed into a devious grin that sent warning notes humming over her nape. She knew that look too. “That sounds like a challenge to me.”
“What? How?”
He scratched his jaw in mock consideration. “I’ll bet you by the end of the night you’ll know more about me than I do about you.”
She thought on that, unraveled it and shook her head. “That makes no sense.”
“Then it should be easy for you to win.”
“But there’s no way to quantify the bet.” She dug into the debate now. “Who determines who knows more? And all I have to do is not tell you things, and then I win.”
His smile was triumphant. “Which is why I’m betting on you knowing more about me.”
“Wait.” She chuckled at the pure silliness of the conversation. “So for me to win, you have to know more about me?”
“Right! That gets rid of the withholding loophole.”
His excitement was infectious. It never failed to draw her in and the competitive side of her couldn’t resist the challenge. “So what are we betting?”
“Sexual favors, of course.”
His expression was completely serious. “Of course,” she agreed around her sarcastic chuckle. “What else would we bet?” And here she’d been trying to be good when he was plotting ways to be bad.
“So it’s a deal?” His hand was already extended, waiting for her to take it. “Winner gets to pick the favor.”
“What about your hip?” She raised a brow, ignoring his hand. “Are you up for anything?” Somehow she kept her face straight, despite the awful pun.
He barked out a laugh. “Nice one.” He tipped his head and closed in to nuzzle her ear. His hot breaths and wet nips had desire firing down her neck to reheat the hunger she’d just managed to control. “But trust me, I’m definitely up for it.”
“God.” She shoved him away, laughing. It was too tempting to jump him and forget all about dinner. “That was worse.”
“So we have a bet then?”
He was way too eager, yet she found herself shaking his hand anyway. He had to have a loophole hidden somewhere, even if she couldn’t figure it out right then. “Now order the pizza. I’m starving.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her, and she flipped him off. His mouth dropped open, a hand covering his heart. “Well, shock my southern gentleman’s heart,” he said, full drawl in place. “I think Aunt Bea just rolled over in her grave.”
The laughter left her chest in a rush. She frowned. “Who’s Aunt Bea?”
His hand fell to his lap, shoulder sagging with his exhalation. “The woman who was more of a mother to me than my own ever was.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and winked. “And I jumped ahead with that bit of information.” She remained silent, refusing to let him joke it away. Finally he scooted back, adjusting pillows until he could lean against the headboard. “She died of cancer six years ago.”
Did the knocks ever stop with him? Her heart filled with sympathy for all he’d lost so young. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, laying a hand on his calf. “That must’ve been hard.”
“It was.”
His bald admission spoke of how much it’d hurt. “Order the pizza then tell me about it.” She motioned to his phone still clutched in his hand, and he stared at it before grunting.
“Pepperoni and mushrooms work for you?”
“Yup. And get some cheese bread if they have it.” If they were indulging, they might as well go all out.
She left him to order and went to the kitchen to grab some drinks. A quick check of her phone showed no new messages or emails for her. Meg and Lacy had been right. She’d gotten so good at running away that she’d left everyone behind when there’d been no reason for it.
And that could change. She sent out a quick text to the two of them to see if they were free tomorrow for coffee or studying or something. Dylan would be at the rink most of the day anyway, like he’d been for the last we
ek.
She debated a second then sent another text to Coach Ford. Maybe there was a chance he’d let her help out with the team again. Her resentment hadn’t festered when she’d been there last time. Maybe she was finally getting that ugly beast under control. It hadn’t flared up at all in the weeks she’d been living with Dylan.
She turned on the outside lights for the delivery guy and switched the TV off on her way through the great room. Eating pizza in bed with Dylan and playing a game of twenty questions sounded like both the scariest and most enjoyable night she could dream up.
Opening herself up to him meant he had that much more to keep when she left. But then, she’d have that much more of him as well. It was a risky move in a game she’d never played before.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Purple.”
“Forest green.”
“Chocolate.”
“Steak.”
“Winter.”
“Fall.”
Samantha paused, brows furrowed. She licked a drop of pizza sauce off her finger, and Dylan tracked the entire innocent action, blood rushing to his groin in a reminder of what they were playing for. “Reading.”
That one stumped him for a second then he got it. “Television.”
She wrinkled her nose at his answer. How else was he supposed to watch all the games? “Strawberries.” The triumphant note in her voice had him preparing for the next onslaught.
“Raspberries.”
“Cauliflower.”
He debated that one. Was it a favorite or hated? Cooked or raw? “Corn.” Cooked favorite for him.
“Milk.”
“Water.”
“What?” she scoffed. “That’s not a drink.”
“So you’re telling me water can’t be my favorite thing to drink?” He inched down on the pillows until he was lying on his good side, head supported on his hand. His hip was starting to throb but he was enjoying himself too much to worry about it.
“No. It’s just lame.”
“That’s me,” he agreed. “Lame.” He patted his hip, and she rolled her eyes at his bad joke.
“Are you done?” She motioned at the pizza boxes spread out between them, and he nodded. She swooped them up then headed for the door. “It’s your turn when I get back.”
They’d been doing the one-word favorites listing through most of their dinner. He now knew more trivial stuff about her than he probably did about anyone. She liked cats, biking, beer, peppermint and showers among other things. Cold over heat—blasphemous—and Finland—go figure. She was definitely a northern girl.
His yawn hit big and fast and he let it stretch. His therapist hadn’t gone easy today and it was catching up to him. He wasn’t closing his eyes though. There was still so much to learn about Samantha.
Their weeks of living together had proven what he’d already suspected. They simply meshed. Similar habits and preference helped, but it was more than that. He liked her in his space when he was used to being alone.
The overhead light flicked off and darkness cloaked him before the bedside light clicked on. He looked over his shoulder and watched as Samantha tugged her sweatshirt off, a white T-shirt clinging to her curves.
“You should get ready for bed before you fall asleep.” She grabbed a shirt out of her bag and vanished into the bathroom. He didn’t have to stretch his imagination very far to picture her stripping off her clothes, her breasts swaying before she hid them behind the oversized shirt she slept in.
He sat up with only a small wince and pulled his hoodie off. The cool air was refreshing on his heated skin. After weeks of sleeping next to Samantha, he was beyond ready to lose himself in her. Having her so close every night, her breath heating his chest when she rested her head there or waking to a view of the rounded swell of her bottom when she slept on her stomach had moved past comforting to something close to torture. A sweet torture, but…
Getting clearance from Doc to have sex today had been a heavenly sign he wasn’t going to miss by falling asleep. He could’ve just told her that, but then he wouldn’t know all those new facts about her.
“Your turn,” she said, breezing out of the bathroom in a maroon T-shirt three times too big for her. The low plunge of the V-neck that teased at the rounded curves of her breasts had been drawing his eyes since the first night. The firm cut of her legs showed in a long display beneath the short hem to tempt him further.
The brief stall of her gaze when it drifted over his chest sent a rush of blood to his awakening dick. He cleared his throat and swung his legs over the side of the bed. There was little chance of hiding his semi behind the loose fit of his track pants. He smiled at that. Let her look.
He took his time in the bathroom and debated shaving. Would it be too obvious? Yeah. Definitely. Not that it mattered. His erection tenting the front of his pants had been screamingly obvious as he’d crossed the room.
He flicked off the light and swung the door open. All the work he’d done to calm his desire was lost when he caught sight of Samantha in his bed. Her blond hair streamed across the pillow like a shot of sunlight against a cloud-filled sky. White sheets had been easy. Now he pictured her creamy skin on a bed of black silk. Or a deep blue that would match her eyes.
He swallowed his groan and made his way back to the bed without embarrassing himself. He’d left his sweats in the laundry and his dick was fortunately behaving behind his boxer briefs. They had a game to finish.
She was curled on her side, watching him as he slipped under the covers. He rolled to face her, found her hand and laced their fingers together. A natural move that was now an instinctual reaction when he was close to her. It never failed to send a comforting wave of warmth through him. A reminder that someone wanted to be there for him, be with him.
The soft glow of the light lent a gentle cast to her makeup-free features. She was allergic to a lot of it so opted to not bother. That was something he’d just learned and in his opinion, she didn’t need it.
“Are you going to tell me about your aunt Bea now?”
Her question, though spoken softly, took him by surprise. He’d intentionally let the topic go after he’d accidently brought it up. But there was only honest curiosity in her eyes, and he was the one who’d pushed this path of learning more about each other.
But where did he start? His muscles contracted across his chest, but he forced a breath in then released it and his reservations with it.
“My dad was thrown from his horse when I was six,” he started without preamble. It wasn’t a story he told often, so it was easiest to just lay it out there. “He broke his neck in the fall.” The faded memory of his mother bursting into the barn, tears streaming down her face, found its way to the front of his mind. The air caught in his lungs as the remembered fear and confusion filled him. “He lived for a few days on a ventilator,” he forced himself to say. “But my granddad finally convinced my mother to turn it off once the doctors confirmed he was brain-dead.”
The machines, the smell, the constant in and out of people from the room. They’d all forgotten about Dylan crouched in the corner. A little boy praying for his dad to wake up, only to learn prayers weren’t always answered.
He sucked in a breath. “That was a long time ago.” And it still hurt. Or maybe it was the changes that had happened after his dad’s death that were the real source of the pain.
Sam ran her thumb over his, gentle swipes that grounded him. “Do you remember him?”
“Some. More from pictures than actual memories.” Time had faded the little he’d captured. “That’s his picture on my dresser.”
She shifted to glance where he pointed. Her eyes went wide. “I thought that was you.”
“Yeah.” That was the problem. The brown cowboy hat his dad wore was a lot like Dylan’s, which added to the likeness. “Every time I go home, I’m told how much I look like him.” And it was always followed by a shadow of loss and sadness from the speaker.
“Was it you
r parents’ ranch?”
“No.” He grunted at the thought of his mom managing a ranch on her own. Not now at least. “It’s been in my mother’s family for generations. ‘We settled this damn land, son.’ That’s what my granddad tells me. We had a house on the land when my dad was alive, but my granddad moved us into the main house after he died, and she spiraled into depression.”
“That must’ve been hard on you,” she said softly. “Losing your dad and then in many ways your mom right after that.”
The emotion rushed up to choke him in a dash of ignored hurt and her intuitive understanding of what he’d left unsaid. He cleared his throat and willed the burning to recede from his eyes. His love for her grew even more as she leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. Gentle and soothing.
She lay back, clasping his hand tight. “Is that why she didn’t move to Dallas with you?”
The unease that usually settled into his stomach when he thought about his past was absent with her. She wasn’t going to judge him. “She belongs on the ranch. She manages the breeding programs when she’s sober enough.”
“So Aunt Bea stepped up to help?”
Dylan chuckled at that. “More like charged in and took over.” Bless her ten-foot backbone packed into a body half that size. “Wiry and feisty as hell, she stomped in the house a year later, pointed at my granddad and told him she’d handle it. The next day my stuff was packed into her old Caddy and the ranch was miles behind us.”
“Wow.” Her brows shot up. “That must’ve been shocking.”
“Just a bit.” He rolled to his back to stare at the ceiling. “I was such a dick to her at first.” He rubbed a hand over his face and sent a silent apology to the woman who’d loved him anyway. “I’d grown to hate everything about the ranch, but being yanked away from the only home I knew was both a relief and terrifying.” The guilt had ate at him for being so relieved to get the hell away from the pain that’d ridden his mom and granddad. And he’d acted out at the person trying to save him from it.
“But she didn’t let you get away with anything, did she?” There was a smile in Sam’s voice. One that eased a soft laugh from him.
