by Skye Jordan
Trace was slipping again. His chest ached. His body throbbed. And his eyes kept falling to her mouth the way a drunk’s clung to a bottle of whiskey. Avery promised him the same blissful relief, the same heavenly escape. If he could just figure out a way to indulge and not wake up with a hangover that continued to gnaw away at him until his next sip.
“You’re amazing.” He heard his words, realized he’d spoken the thought, and continued. “After everything you’ve been through, I don’t know how you could see the good in any man, let alone a man like me.”
She shook her head. “You can’t appreciate the good without experiencing the bad. And even though I only have one man for comparison, I spent all my time with very chatty wives of other soldiers. I knew exactly what I was missing in my marriage—emotionally and physically. Which makes me qualified to tell you, Mr. Hutton, that you are way the hell above average, just as you are.”
Trace was speechless. Emotions overpowered logic again, and he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her to him for just a taste of heaven. Her lips were as warm and welcoming as they always were. Her mouth open and hot, her tongue aggressive, begging for him to respond the same way.
And just like a drunk, one taste, and Trace fell headfirst into the bottle. He slanted his mouth over hers and tasted her. Licked her. Sucked her. And when she made that hungry kitten sound at the back of her throat, Trace wobbled on the edge of losing his mind and doing what he’d done their first night—throwing her onto the butcher block and fucking her until they were both a sweaty, juicy mess.
He broke the kiss and pressed his cheek to her forehead. Taking deep drags of air, he fought to clear his mind. The logical side tried its best, but its wheels spun in the mud with the same weak argument it always threw at him.
She’ll eventually hate you for continuing this dead-end fling. She’ll end up feeling used. She is exactly why you stick with casual hookups, because women like Avery don’t belong with men like you. There’s no way this will end well; you are what you are.
“I’m exhausted.” Avery’s words pulled him from the impossible dilemma, and Trace saw them for what they were—his escape hatch.
He leaned away and nodded. “Yeah. Really long day.” He forced his fingers to uncurl from her hair. “You should get some sleep.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She may have agreed, but not only didn’t she release him, she slid her hands under his T-shirt and stroked his belly and chest. “I’m so glad my bed was delivered earlier tonight.”
His gaze refocused on hers. “Bed?”
She nodded, smiling like a little imp. “For the apartment. As soon as those appliances come in—which should be any day now—I’ll be living here. Personally and professionally. And as hard as I work during the day, I decided I deserve a good bed for my nights.” She scraped her fingers through his hair and dragged her lower lip between her teeth. “Come check it out with me. Make sure it’s not too soft, not too hard . . . you know—”
“Just right,” he murmured, already following her as she pulled him toward the stairs by his T-shirt.
She beamed over her shoulder. “Exactly.”
But at the bottom of the steps, that logic caught up with him, and he grabbed the banister, using the physical anchor to stop himself. Her hand slipped from his shirt, and she stopped on the first stair, turning to face him with a curious frown.
“Really, Avery. Don’t you think it’s better to back off now rather than wait until we’re in even deeper and then have to cut it off cold turkey?”
Say yes. Say, “You’re right, Trace. Go home.”
But just the thought of those words coming out of her mouth cut him down the middle. He definitely had a bigger problem on his hands than he’d realized. He was fucking crazy about this woman.
Disappointment clouded her expression, but within seconds that sadness shifted to resignation. Her shoulders dropped. Her head tilted as if considering. “If that’s really the way you feel . . .”
She ascended the stairs backward. Her arms crossed and her fingers grabbed the hem of her tee, then pulled it off over her head, dropping it on the stairs.
Pink lace cupped her breasts, and Trace’s mouth watered as his gaze skimmed all the perfect curves from her shoulders down to her waist.
She backed up another stair and slid her hands down her body in an incredibly intimate way that made him think of touching her, of watching her touch herself. Then her fingers slipped into the waistband of her jeans and popped the button. The zipper’s rasp sounded loud in the dark.
“I’m not going to force you into my bed if you’re ready to move on.” She climbed another two steps. Shimmied her jeans over her hips and pushed them down her thighs.
“Avery . . .” Her name came out half plea, half breath, and it was all he could manage, caught between two impossible choices. He could walk away from the most beautiful, most generous, most amazing woman he’d ever met, one who’d somehow snuck into his heart and filled a space he hadn’t realized was vacant. Or he could stay with her, love her the way he wanted, the way she deserved, and hurt like a mother when it was over.
She toed off her shoes and stepped out of her jeans, leaving them in a puddle on the stairs as she took the last step to the landing in the prettiest matching bra and panties Trace had seen in a long time.
He gripped the banister until his fingers stung, and a low groan ebbed from his throat.
“Have I ever mentioned that I love the way you say my name?” she asked, reaching into her hair and pulling the band holding it up. “Without the e.”
Trace had no idea what she was talking about, because all his blood was feeding the wrong brain. Her hair tumbled down in a ragged mess, and she combed her fingers through it.
“Especially,” she added, reaching between her breasts to grasp the clip on her bra, “during sex when you use that deep, throaty, can’t-get-enough-of-you voice. God, that’s so hot. I’m already wet.”
Snap.
The clip broke open, and Trace’s barriers shattered with it. She let her breasts fall free of the bra and looped the fabric around the banister, leaving her in nothing but sexy, sheer, skimpy panties.
Trace went up in flames.
With her hand on the matching banister at the top of the stairs, her gorgeous body shadowed in the dim light, she said, “Well, then . . . I guess I’ll be rolling around in my brand-new bed with brand-new sheets by myself tonight. Sleep tight, Trace.”
And she turned and disappeared up the second half of the split-level staircase.
TWELVE
Avery stood in the dark of her barely-more-than-a-studio apartment above the café, her thumbnail gripped between her teeth, the other arm crossed tight over her middle, unable to believe she’d just undressed in front of him after he’d rejected her. And in hindsight, what she’d thought would feel playful and look sexy probably looked more like desperation.
She closed her eyes as another surge of embarrassment pumped through her, then lifted her hands to rub her burning cheeks. And as she stared out at the darkness, listening for Trace’s footsteps, she took consolation in the fact that no one knew how mortified she would feel if Trace walked out after that lame attempt at seduction.
He was right about cutting off their involvement now. She knew that. At least logically. Ending their intimate connection now while they could remain friends made a lot of sense. Especially when she knew cold turkey was going to throw her into withdrawal. Yet emotionally and physically, she both wanted and needed him so badly she ached with it. And there was just no reasoning with that kind of desire.
In the back of her mind, she realized her moments with him were dwindling, and she wanted to grab as much of him as she could, while she could.
His boots sounded on the hardwood, and her mind hyperfocused on the present. Within three steps, the thump faded, and she realized he was headed for the door.
Dammit. She squeezed her eyes closed, curled her hand into a fist, and pressed it against her foreh
ead. The knife in her belly twisted, and her stomach burned. The snick of the front door’s dead bolt sliding home was the final blow. A blow that seemed to shift everything inside her.
A few soft thumps sounded near the porch, and Avery turned away from the window. She didn’t want to watch him leave. Logically, she knew this situation wasn’t anything like her marriage, knew he had good reason to leave. But having the man she wanted walk away from her still felt the same—like a knife straight to the heart. It didn’t matter that he’d be back every day for several more days to install the equipment and complete the finish work. She had to accept that her mini-affair with Trace Hutton was over.
She pulled a T-shirt from a pile in the laundry basket she’d brought over earlier and tugged it over her head. As soon as she pushed her arms into the sleeves, she knew it was one Trace had left behind.
“Guess this is as close as I’m gonna get to having him in my bed tonight.”
Or ever again whispered through her head.
Pacing across the room, she rested her back against the wall, wrapped her arms around herself, and stared at her bed with its crisp, new white sheets and white down comforter. The thought of sliding in and sleeping alone . . .
God, sometimes it felt like she’d spent her entire life alone. There might have been short spans of time when she’d felt connected and loved—like she had with David at seventeen, or with Trace when she was in his arms. But she was quickly realizing those short spurts weren’t enough to sustain her soul.
The room’s night chill spread across her skin, and Avery rubbed her arms. Maybe, after Trace was out of sight, she’d go back to Phoebe’s to sleep. Maybe it was too soon to think about living on her own. As much as she’d been looking forward to her own space, her own things, and her privacy, this all just felt too empty. And she’d already spent way too many nights of her life lonely.
The thought of dating other guys fluttered into her mind, and she realized that her desire for no strings would leave her in this position a lot—watching men leave, sleeping alone, living with loneliness.
The sound of soft footsteps on the stairs touched her ears. Her heart jumped and rattled. She turned her head just as he stopped in the open doorway and planted his hand on the frame.
The sight froze the breath in her lungs.
He came back? No one ever came back for her. Not her mother. Not Delaney. Not David.
In the shadows, it was hard to read his expression, but she felt the tension between them like a crackle in the air. He’d taken off his boots and socks and looked ridiculously relaxed and adorable and smokin’ hot in those worn jeans with his tousled hair, scruff, and bare feet.
“Does that offer still stand?” His voice was soft but thick and heavy with desire. “’Cause after that insanely hot display, I can’t make myself leave even though I know I should.”
Her excitement hit a wall, crashed, and burned. He’d come back for exactly what she’d promised him: no-strings sex. And ten minutes ago, that would have been enough. Now . . .
“You’re right about us,” she said quietly, “turning down the heat now will make your leaving more bearable.”
His jaw muscle jumped, but he held her gaze and gave a single, slight nod, not so much agreement as acknowledgment. A sensation of loss clawed at her gut, and she was suddenly overcome with a frantic sort of angst to explain—to him and to herself.
“I may not be cut out for the fling thing after all. I mean, it’s what I wanted when we started. It’s still what I probably need, considering how I feel about marriage and commitment, and you know, relationships in general, but what just happened, that . . . exchange of me wanting you and you walking away . . .”
She shook her head and gave a little shrug. “It was too . . . familiar in a really ugly way. And, somewhere over the last two months, I guess . . . I don’t know.” She blew out a breath, frustrated that she couldn’t spit out her words in any sort of comprehendible way. “I just know I care too much about you to keep sleeping with you under that arrangement.”
He nodded again but still didn’t move, and Avery was trying to think of something else to say, some way of explaining her Jekyll-and-Hyde behavior, sure he had to be regretting getting involved with someone so inexperienced, so . . . naive.
“Me, too.” His words came out rough.
Confused, she shook her head. “You, too, what?”
“I care too much, too. That’s why I didn’t leave.” He dropped his gaze to the floor, flexed and released his fingers from the door frame. “What if we didn’t go cold turkey when the project ends?” He lifted his gaze to hers. “What if we just, you know, let whatever this is run its course? When you decide you want something more, you move on.”
Her heart squeezed, and she huffed a sad laugh. “And what if I decide you’re everything I want? Then where will we be? In even deeper?” She shook her head. “No, I—”
“I can live with that.”
She dropped her arms and narrowed her eyes, frustration rising. “Live with what? What are you talking about?”
He did that silent jaw-jumping, intent-staring thing again.
She lifted her hands, palms up. “Trace—”
“I know I should walk away. I know you deserve better. I just . . . I got to the door, and the thought of going home and fighting through another sleepless night was too much. I’m not ready to let you go. I will if that’s what you want, but . . . if I’m making decisions based on what I want, I definitely want more of you.”
Her lips parted, but her brain and her heart tumbled into free fall. She couldn’t find or form words.
When she didn’t respond, Trace’s expression took on a spark of hope, and he took his damn sweet time sauntering toward her. “And if you want to keep it a secret to minimize the flak you’ll get from your family, that’s fine. It doesn’t need to be public. We can keep it just between you and me.”
He was standing right in front of her now, less than a foot away. And even though he didn’t reach for her, his eyes flashed with affection and vulnerability.
“Just tell me no, and I’ll be gone.” He lifted his hand to her jaw and cradled her face. His gaze searched her eyes, expectant, hopeful. “Say something, Avery.”
She couldn’t. Her throat had swelled tight, and she had to drag in shaky breaths. Avery fisted her hands in the front of his T-shirt and took a step across the distance separating them, pulling him in.
Their mouths met with a force that made Trace sway, but he immediately wrapped Avery in a fierce hold and opened to her demand with a long, low growl, the sound part passion, part relief.
The kiss took on a life of its own, lips sliding, tongues stroking, filling Avery’s chest with pressure. Her mind wiped clear of everything but Trace—the way he held her like he wanted their bodies to fuse, the way they fit, the warmth and strength of him, his taste, his smell.
His shirt was halfway up his chest by the time she realized she was pulling at it. And he broke the kiss for only a second to let the fabric pass over his head. Avery braced herself when he kissed her again, but she still bowed backward over his arm.
She gripped his biceps, slid her hands over his shoulders, wrapped her forearms at his neck. God, she’d never been wanted like this. And now she didn’t know how she’d lived without all this passion in her life for so long.
He broke the kiss, leaned away to grab the hem of her T-shirt, then froze. He was breathing hard, his eyes narrowed. “Is this my shirt?”
Avery stroked her hands over his abdomen and up his chest, then leaned in to press a kiss over his heart. “You left it here, and it now has a very purposeful life as my sleep shirt. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, which means it’s now officially mine.”
His gaze jumped to hers. “I haven’t seen this shirt in over a month.”
She slid her hands around his waist and let them roam over the warm muscles of his back. “What’s your point?”
“You’ve been sleeping in my shirt
for a month?”
Alarm tingled in her gut. Was that bad? Did that signal that she had schoolgirlish romantic fantasies and couldn’t be taken seriously?
Screw it. She was who she was. “Longer. It smells like you.” She pressed another kiss to his chest. “And I have no intension of giving it back, so just write it off now.”
He eased her back by the arms and looked down at her, a faint grin easing the tight line of his mouth. “I have no intension of asking for it back. I love the thought of you sleeping in it.” He gripped the bottom again. “But not tonight.” And he drew it off over her head in one quick pull. “Tonight,” he said, dropping the shirt to the floor and stroking both hands over her shoulders, down her sides, and up her belly to cup her breasts, “you’re sleeping in nothing but skin. You, me, skin, and sheets. All. Night. Long.”
He bent at the knees, wrapped his arms around her waist, then straightened, carrying her with him. Avery laughed and wrapped her legs around his waist. And when he tilted his head toward hers, she wound her arms around his neck, met his kiss, and sank deep.
The moan that rolled through Trace’s chest gave her gooseflesh. Thick and low, like an animal’s warning growl, it vibrated from his body to hers and trembled in her throat. And when he leaned over the bed to lay her down, Avery reached for the waistband of his jeans. But he eased out of reach, kissing a hot trail down her neck, her chest, pausing to tease her nipples into peaks. His fingers dragged at her panties while his mouth traveled over her stomach and finally, finally covered her sex.
The rush of excitement burned straight up her body, and she moaned and arched. Trace dug in, eating at her like he’d been starved for weeks. And, sweet Jesus, Avery didn’t have to know anything about oral sex to know the man used his mouth like a god.
She threaded her fingers through his hair as his tongue did things that brought her to the edge of orgasm in seconds. And when she was about ready to fly, he lifted his head, leaving her throbbing, hot, and a little frantic for release.
