Harlequin Superromance May 2016 Box Set

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “What do you think you’re going to do if someone shows up with less-than-honorable intentions? You’d be a sitting duck. No,” he repeated, this time cutting her off before she could protest. His hands tightened around her waist. “I’m sitting with you and that’s final.”

  He saw her swallow, and then she tucked her lower lip under her teeth. He could feel her body heat through the thin fabric of her shirt, but he wasn’t going to drop his eyes and look. He might not know exactly what kind of man she thought he was, but he was in no hurry to prove that he was that kind of man.

  “I’m going to feel your ribs now,” he said, his voice serious. “And you’re going to tell me if it hurts. Got it?”

  She nodded.

  He skimmed his hands up over her waist as he stepped into her. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but her eyes grew even wider as his hands slid around the back of her ribs.

  Carefully, he pressed along the lines of her bones. Bones were easier to think about.

  His hands moved around to the front, right under her breasts. He could feel the warm weight of her flesh against the back of his hand—so warm it almost burned. And he had to look because he wanted to make sure he wasn’t pushing too hard where he knew she already had one fractured rib.

  Her nipples were hard. Sweet merciful heavens above, the pointed tips were poking through the white fabric of her tank top and all he wanted to do was lean his head down and fill his mouth with her sweetness.

  He didn’t. He was possibly going to die of blue balls, but he didn’t. “How does this feel?” he asked as his hand rested over her busted rib.

  “Good.” The way she said it sent what little blood he’d managed to keep in his head right down to his dick.

  Because that wasn’t the “good” of someone getting a medical exam. That was the “good” of someone who wanted to be touched.

  He could not keep staring at her nipples, rock hard and mere inches from his fingertips. The more he looked, the more he wondered how she’d react if he brushed his thumb over that tip. Would she moan? Shiver at his touch? Beg him for more?

  Stop it, he ordered himself as he dragged his gaze up.

  But looking her in the eyes wasn’t exactly the smartest thing he’d ever done, either. She’d tilted her head back so it leaned against the door frame, exposing the long length of her neck. Her lips were parted and a soft blush played lightly over her freckled cheeks.

  She looked like a woman who wanted to be kissed.

  He moved his hands, dropping the one on her right side back down to her waist and nestling the other between her breasts.

  No, not between her breasts. On her sternum. That was the only thing he was feeling here. How her sternum moved when she breathed. Her breasts—full and ripe with nipples that practically begged to be touched—had nothing to do with this.

  “How about this?”

  This time, she moved. She rested her right arm on top of his left, her left on his right shoulder. “Real good,” she whispered.

  “No pain?”

  She shook her head. Her eyes never left his.

  “Lacy...” He let his hand slip down until it was back on the other side of her waist. He dug his fingertips into her flesh, just enough that she’d feel it. “My offer still stands.”

  She blinked. He wasn’t sure she was breathing. Hell, he wasn’t sure he was breathing, because if she said yes...

  “Your offer?” She said it as if she didn’t know what he was talking about. But as she said it, her back arched ever so slightly, pushing her breasts closer to his chest.

  His lips quirked. “If you want a little distraction, I can give you that.” He could give her a hell of a lot more than that. But he didn’t want to spook her. “You’ve had a rough day.”

  “And you can make it better?” She all but purred it.

  “I can’t fix the rib, babe. I wish I could. But I can put a smile back on your face.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “How do you know I’m not about to kick you in the crotch?”

  Somehow, that reaction was perfect. Prickly, but with some playfulness to it. “Because I know you.”

  A strange look of confusion washed over her face. “Do you?” She sounded serious about the question.

  “I know you well enough to know your body language. I’ve seen how you react to Slim and Jerome.” He pulled her closer to him, his hands flat along her back. “This isn’t the same.”

  “You sound awful confident.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  Grinning, he leaned back against his side of the door frame, which put his head almost at the same height as hers. Then he spread his legs on either side of hers. She hadn’t dropped her arms away from his. “I’ll take my chances.”

  Then he waited. This was her move. It had to be.

  “What if...” she started, and then hesitated. Ian waited. “What if I say no? To your offer.”

  He took a deep breath. A long time ago, he might have pouted and pleaded. But he wasn’t that kid anymore. Who knew that manning up would hurt so damn much?

  “Then we’ll still be friends. I’ll still help you with your bulls—help you’re going to need now that you’re busted up. No arguments, either, since I’m technically the one who busted you up.”

  She considered this for a moment and he thought she would argue. But then she said, “And...what if I say yes?” She stepped into the space between his legs. The spark of heat between them threatened to roar into a full-fledged blaze. “Then what will we be?”

  His heart pounded harder. Other things got harder, too. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in closer so he could touch his forehead to hers. “Then we’ll be friends with benefits. I’m still helping you out. But.”

  Her eyes widened again. “But?”

  “But I’d peel you out of those jeans and carry you to that bed and I swear to everything that’s holy, Lacy, I would make you forget about the rest of the world for a great long while.”

  She was panting now, short gasps of air. “You would?”

  “I would.” If he were a gentleman, he’d stop. He’d shut his damn mouth and let her imagination do the rest.

  He wasn’t a gentleman.

  “I would start with kissing you, then I’d move down until I got to your fabulous breasts.” He let his hands drift up from her waist, barely skimming over her ribs until he got to the fabulous breasts in question.

  He desperately wanted to cup them in his hands, to let their full weight settle against him. But he didn’t. He kept his touch light as he let his fingers drift over the undersides of each breast, but not touching her nipples. Not yet—even if it killed him. “I would take my time with these, tweaking and sucking until you were begging for me to let you come.”

  She gasped in shock or need, he didn’t know which. Her pupils had dilated completely now. And he wasn’t done. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be done with her.

  “Then I’d kiss you lower and lower until I could taste your sweetness. I’d go down on you so hard—sucking and licking and biting your hot little clit, touching and rubbing and stroking you until you came for me.” He let his hands fall away from her breasts and slide down her hips. Then, using just his index fingers, he traced small circles on her hips. “I’d slip one finger inside of you, testing to see how wet I made you. I’d focus on getting to know you, what made you shiver, what made you scream. You’d tell me what you liked, how hard you wanted it—how hard you wanted me. Then I’d see how far I could push you to the edge of coming before I let you fall over. It would be slow and hot and the best kind of torture, Lacy. And when I was done with you, you wouldn’t be able to think of a damned thing except when I was going to touch you again.”

  “Oh,” she whispered. Her whole body shook in his arms. He alternated the pressure
of his hands on her hips, which caused her to sway as she responded to his touch.

  As carefully as he could, he slid his hands down to her bottom and pushed her closer. He let his lips drift from her forehead, down the side of her face to her cheeks. She smelled like clean soap.

  “Then I’d lift you on top of me and watch you ride as I thrust up into you and sucked your breasts and made you come again and again. Seeing your pleasure, feeling your hot, wet body tight around mine—” Hell, just thinking about it was going to pull his trigger. “I wouldn’t let go until you were done, I promise you. But I wouldn’t be able to help myself. Not when it comes to you.”

  She made a high noise in the back of her throat and it about broke him. She was so close—he was so close—he could make her come by driving his knee between her thighs and rubbing her through her jeans. And all she’d have to do would be to touch him, maybe take him in her mouth—he’d lose it in seconds.

  That was a problem. It wouldn’t be long and slow and the best kind of torture—it’d be quick and dirty and over too fast.

  And that’s not what he’d promised her, dammit. So he didn’t. Every cell in his body was screaming for her and he ignored them all. He’d made his bet. Now he had to wait to see what play she’d make.

  “It would just be you and me, Lacy. You can trust me with whatever you want, because I will always take care of you. Your secrets are safe with me.”

  He held himself against her, his lips touching her earlobe. But he didn’t kiss her.

  They stood there like that for he didn’t know how long, locked together in an embrace that was both intimate and not. He could feel her regaining control of her body. First the shivering stopped, then her breathing slowed. Finally, she said, “Friends with benefits?” She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “No strings?”

  The disappointment in her voice felt like a slow punch to the gut. He pulled his hands off her ass and wrapped them back around her waist, careful not to squash her ribs. “No strings. It’s all I can offer. When we’re at the same rodeo, I’d spend every single second of my day thinking about what I was going to do to you the moment I could get you anywhere private.”

  He sighed, trying desperately to think of all the very real reasons that was as far as it could go. “But I can’t commit to anything else and neither can you.” He lifted his head and tilted hers so he could look her in the eye. “You’ve got a lot to deal with right now, and I’ve got things I’ve got to do, too.”

  He could tell that wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear, but at least she didn’t look as if he’d rejected her. “And if I say yes—even if it’s casual—would you be casual with anyone else?”

  “No.” He tucked her against his chest. “I don’t do this a lot. You may not believe this, but it’s been almost eight months since my last time. I’m averaging just one or two times a year.”

  That got her attention. “Really? I’d have thought you’d be picking up chicks every weekend or something. I mean, look at you.”

  He grinned at her when she said chicks. “Don’t get me wrong. When I was young and stupid—well, I was young and stupid.”

  The words I have a son danced right up to the tip of his tongue. He was asking her to trust him with not just her health or her safety, but with her body and maybe a little bit of her heart—the least he could do was trust her with his deepest secret.

  And he wanted to tell her. He wanted to show someone the pictures Eliot’s parents sent every six months with a brief letter detailing Eliot’s development and say, “That’s my kid,” instead of saving the photos and emails in a special file that was password protected so no one would accidentally find out about the boy.

  I have a son. His name is Eliot. I didn’t fight for him.

  But the words died. As much as he wanted to tell her about Eliot, he couldn’t. He couldn’t bear to watch that blend of innocence and lust in her eyes die when she knew the truth about him.

  He’d tell her soon, he promised himself. So instead of admitting that he’d signed his paternal rights away, he said, “But I’m older now and hopefully a hell of a lot smarter.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-six.” He got the distinct feeling she was stalling on making a decision. He also got the distinct feeling this hotel didn’t have enough cold water to knock down the erection he was working on if she said no.

  Friends, friends, friends.

  The corners of her mouth curved up in a blink-and-you-miss-it smile. Then she was serious again. “Are you going to kiss me?”

  Was that an invitation? Hell. She was going to kill him, slow and sweet. What a way to go. “No. Not until you tell me to.”

  And he thought for a second that was that. She wasn’t interested in friends with benefits, even if those benefits were exclusive.

  Then she lifted her hand and touched his face. Ian’s eyes drifted shut. Her touch was something a hell of a lot closer to yes than no. He leaned into her and whispered, “Are you going to kiss me?”

  Her thumb stroked over his cheek, scrubbing over the light layer of stubble. He held himself as still as he could because if he moved, he’d be kissing her and carrying her to the bed and going down on her until she screamed his name.

  “Not...right now,” she said in a voice so soft he wasn’t sure she’d spoken.

  “Maybe later?” That was his pride talking. Well, that and his dick.

  “Maybe,” she agreed. Then she surged up and pressed her lips against his cheek.

  If he were really an honorable guy, he’d accept her peace offering—because that’s what it was—and they’d go on with their lives. Pizza was waiting for them, as was Jack at the arena.

  But he didn’t let her go. He held her against him as tightly as he dared. There was no way she could miss his erection. There was no way he missed her hardened nipples pressing against his chest.

  “You know where to find me,” he growled in her ear. She gasped, but she didn’t pull away. “When you make up your mind, you let me know.”

  She squirmed against him—not twisting out of his arms, not pushing him away. Instead her hips shifted back and forth, driving her body against his dick. “Lacy,” he growled again, this time in warning. Because if she didn’t stop that right now—

  “We should—we should go.” When she leaned back, he let her put some space between their bodies. “Is that okay?”

  His dick all but wailed in protest. He brushed a wave of hair back from her face. It was dry now and soft as silk. “Yeah. Give me a minute.” It’d be at least that long before he could walk again. But he could get things under control. Just as long as she didn’t ask him to hook her bra for her.

  Of course, if she didn’t, then that would mean she’d be braless as she sat next to him in the truck all night long.

  Yup. He was doomed.

  But what a way to go.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “THERE YOU ALL ARE,” Jack said when Lacy and Ian drove up. He stood up from the folding camp chair he’d been sitting in and gave her a look that felt way too long.

  Lacy’s face burned painfully hot. Hell, everything burned hot. The places where Ian had touched her felt as if they were blistering.

  “I, um—Thanks?” Could Jack tell she didn’t have on a bra? Or that Ian had nearly made her climax by whispering a few words in her ear?

  She tried to hold the pizza boxes in front of her breasts but nearly dropped them. Which of course only made Jack look at her harder.

  “We brought dinner,” Ian said, holding up the six-pack of beer and the six-pack of Sprite. Lacy felt a hundred times better when Jack turned his attention to Ian. He broke off a beer and tossed it to Jack. “We had to stop at a Walgreens to get supplies. Got you a supreme, extra pepperoni.”

  “I do love extra pep
peroni,” Jack said, giving Lacy a saucy wink. He sat back down in his chair, popped his beer and asked, “How you feeling?”

  “Um, better.”

  “Have a seat,” Ian said, motioning to the other camp chair. “And give me the pizza.”

  “I don’t want to take your seat,” she started to say, but Ian cut her off with a look that was an end to any argument. Her blood began to pound in her ears again, and all she could hear over the rushing noise was the memory of Ian whispering, “Your secrets are safe with me.”

  How could she not think about the way he’d promised to rub her clit when she sat and her jeans chafed against that very spot?

  It had been the most erotic moment of her life.

  She had never, in her life, been this sexually frustrated.

  Or this embarrassed.

  She tried to focus on what Ian and Jack were talking about, since it sounded as if it was about her animals. Jack was saying something about a conversation he’d had with Mort, and Lacy was pretty sure Ian was asking important questions—questions she should be asking, like what the security around the arena was going to be and whether anyone else had seen anything.

  All she could focus on was not squirming in Ian’s chair as he leaned against the pen, eating pizza and occasionally giving her a look that made her hold her breath.

  “Lacy?”

  “Huh?” She looked at Jack, who was standing. He also seemed to be waiting for a reply. “I’m sorry—what?”

  Jack looked worried, but over his shoulder, Ian shot her a knowing grin, as if he could imagine exactly what had her lost in thought.

  Thank God it was getting darker by the moment. Maybe they wouldn’t see her blush.

  “I said,” he repeated, slightly slower, “that I’d be back here around ten tomorrow. I’ve got a few things to do in the morning.”

  “Oh, okay, sure.” She wasn’t sure why he was telling her that. Then her manners caught up with her. “Thanks for keeping an eye on the bulls. I appreciate it.”

  He gave her another one of those slightly worried looks. “You listen to Ian now—if he says you need to go to the doctor, you need to go, you hear? He knows his stuff. Don’t try to tough this out.”