by Violet Blake
My anxiety only grew while I waited for Sawyer. He was probably one of the busiest people I knew, and had been under a lot of stress trying to prove himself worthy—his being only twenty-seven years old probably made him a target for more scrutiny.
A dark gray Range Rover pulled up, and Sawyer emerged. Thick, sooty anger clouded his clear blue eyes, and his meticulous, measured strides reminded me of a panther on the prowl. He was not to be fucked with.
I shrank into the seat a little more, and debated the pros and cons of making a run for it. He had enough to deal with without having to take care of this damsel in distress. But then I realized that Pete would probably tackle me before I reached the corner, so like it or not, Sawyer was stuck with me. Groaning, I lowered my head and resigned myself to a shitty night. It couldn’t get much worse, right?
Pete got out of the car and talked to Sawyer about twenty feet away. Sawyer’s nostrils had smoke and hellfire coming out of them, but he nodded and talked to Pete civilly. They seemed pretty friendly with each other, and, blame it on the list, for a moment I visualized a Pete and Sawyer sandwich.
I must’ve been hit hard.
A few seconds later, everything darkened, and I realized Sawyer was standing there, devastating as hell.
“Hey,” he said, and lowered to a casual crouch in front of me. Although he didn’t seem to want to crush any skulls with his bare hands at the moment, I didn’t doubt it would take much of a push.
I opened my good eye, glad the ice pack hid the other half of my face, and managed a wobbly smile. “Sorry.”
“Stop.” Concern blatant on his striking features, his fingers grazed mine, and he gently pulled away the ice pack. For all the wrath he’d shown a few moments ago, he had changed gears pretty quickly. The muscle under his eye twitched. “Ow. You’re lucky Pete and I didn’t hog-tie you and take you to the ER.”
“Pioneers survived on less than this. I think I’m going to be fine.” I took my ice pack and covered my eye, wishing it protected all of me. “Seriously. Go back to what you were doing. I can walk home.”
“You’re not wearing shoes.”
“Yeah, well, when I was fighting off muggers, somebody stole them. So now I have two people on my shit list.”
He paused, as if replaying my words in his head before responding. “Glad to see you still have some spunk in you. Which, by the way, I don’t know whether to fist bump you or shake you for fighting that woman.”
“There’s enough left in me to take you out, too, Callahan. I might at first glance appear all damsel-in-distress-y, but I’m hopped up on adrenaline.” Total lie. My entire body hurt like a bitch. And adrenaline was all that kept me upright. But if I could fool him into thinking I was all right long enough to get me home, so be it.
“Hm.” His tone and judgy look were enough to tell me he called my bluff. If I didn’t distract him, no doubt he’d throw me over his shoulder and toss me into the back of the ambulance. Or worse, turn around, get into his car, and leave me.
His fingers moved the hair out of my eyes, tucking it behind my ear. He stroked my cheek, the caress sending up all sorts of emotions I didn’t want to deal with. Why was he here? He should be…not here. I glanced away, unable to let him see me weak. Vulnerable. I could deal with a punch in the face better than dealing with all these crappy feelings.
“What do you say we get out of here?” he asked.
The sooner the better. “Okay.”
He stood and held out his hand. I took it, and let him help me out of the car. He and Pete shook hands, and Pete handed me a card. “Don’t forget to cancel your cards, your cell phone, and everything else she took. I’ll be in touch if anything develops, Ms. Bartlett.”
“I will. And thanks.” We both knew there wasn’t much he could do but wish me well. My check, my cash, my phone and purse…they were all but gone unless the shithead decided to return them out of the kindness of her heart. And after my limited interactions with her, I doubted she even had a heart.
He put his hand on my shoulder for a second, but his attention was on Sawyer. “Thank you, Mr. Callahan.”
Sawyer shook his hand. “Thanks for taking good care of my friend. And stop by the brewery some time. I’ll buy you a drink.”
They did that bro shake thing that guys do, and in my haze I couldn’t help but admire the way their hands and forearm muscles rippled.
Bow chika-wow-wow.
Ugh. STOP.
This was exactly why I needed to win this bet, and quick. I had turned into a horny mass of hormones. No man was safe. I had to do this for the greater good. Maybe then I’d trust myself in the vicinity of the likes of Sawyer and his hot cop friend.
Pete gave him a bro nod and went back to his report.
Sawyer’s arm wrapped around my shoulders, and he drew me close. He opened the passenger door for me and helped me in, then we drove off. But after several blocks I realized he wasn’t going back to my house.
“You do remember where I live, right?” I asked.
“I’m going to take you to my place. I have a security system, a dog, and plenty of aspirin.”
“What? You don’t have to—”
“I’m not going to let you spend the night by yourself.”
“I promise I’ll be fine. I have gauze.” I dangled them in front of his face.
He pushed them out of the way. “She has your wallet, your drivers license, everything she needs to get into your place.”
“Oh, thanks. Now I’m totally freaking out.”
“I don’t mean to scare you, but I can’t let anything happen to you.” He combed his hair back with his fingers and put his hands on the steering wheel. His knuckles turned white, and he let out a deep breath. “The police are going to do extra patrols, and I’m going to have your locks changed tomorrow, just in case.”
Overprotective much? I tried to make sense of his odd behavior. People didn’t do that. Maybe in buddy cop movies and romance novels. Definitely not in real life. But I knew that no matter how much sense I made of it, this was a losing battle. “Thanks.”
“How’s that hangover treating you?” He turned to me briefly, humor lightening his mood.
I shrugged. “Aside from being mugged, I can’t complain. How are the single ladies of Fort Collins treating you?”
He chuckled. “I’ve held them off. For now.”
Chapter Four
We drove the rest of the way in silence, and he pulled into the garage under his swanky condo. He opened my door for me and helped me out. We walked to the steps that led to the building, again with his arm slung in the protective-yet-casual way that guys seem to have down. He lived in an older part of town, in a neighborhood full of old Victorians, Craftsmans, and everything in between. In the midst of all that, developers had begun to erect super sweet high-rises for people like Sawyer who wanted to live in luxury without having to take care of a yard. Although we’d run by here, I hadn’t been inside his place yet.
When we got to his door, he removed his arm from me and worked on the lock. “Hang on, okay? Baxter is going to freak.”
Baxter was a furry dog-dinosaur hybrid creature. Sawyer was around six-four and the beast’s head came to his waist. His fur was thick like a wolf’s, and his eye was the color of an amber topaz—he’d lost one as a puppy before Sawyer had rescued him. He was probably a combination of every big breed dog that existed, but his features leaned mostly toward Mastiff.
Scary appearance aside, he spazzed the hell out when Sawyer came in. He made this adorable howling sound, wagging and shaking all over while Sawyer scratched him and said hello. After a minute or two, Baxter calmed down and Sawyer got him to sit.
“Come on in.” He turned to Baxter, whose tail was practically vibrating, and held his finger up. “Stay, Bax.”
Slowly, I walked inside, and shut the door behind me. I wasn’t scared of dogs, but the sheer size of this guy was something to be freaked about. “Um, hey, Baxter.”
Baxter licked h
is chops, then made a high-pitched sound. At least he stayed.
“It must be nice knowing somebody’s that excited to see you,” I said.
“All you have to do is scratch him behind the ears and he’ll be your best friend for life.”
I’d never had a pet growing up. For one, I was in boarding school for the most part, so pets were definitely off-limits. My parents weren’t what you’d call the warm and fuzzy type. Caring for other things that had to be kept alive just wasn’t their schtick. Okay, maybe my dad’s, being a pediatric oncologist and all, but any caring he had to do that didn’t involve a prescription pad just didn’t happen.
I held out my hand for Baxter to sniff, and once I felt like we were cool, I scratched an ear. He groaned and leaned into my hand.
Sawyer patted Baxter’s side. “Are you hungry?”
“Maybe a little.”
“I bet. Come on.” He led me up the steps, and Baxter plodded up behind us. Sawyer’s fingers clasped mine, and I couldn’t help but notice how warm his skin felt. Or the little spark of pleasure that zinged from my hand straight to my belly.
Geez. Next thing I knew I’d be using that card to call Pete. Anything to get my mind off Sawyer.
After a quick mental whack upside the head, I gathered my wits and focused on the architecture. I knew nothing about it, but at least studying bricks and the artwork on Sawyer’s walls would give my mind a much-needed vacation from imagining him naked. I mean, really. What chance did I have with a guy like him, who had everything in his life together? I didn’t even have a drivers license at the moment.
He led me to his kitchen, which overlooked Old Town. Decked out in every modern and drool-worthy appliance known to man, it, too, was encased in brick, stainless steel, and a gorgeous blend of modern and industrial.
“Blair?”
I had stopped walking, and my mouth was hanging open. I shut my mouth and smiled. “Just admiring all the kitchen porn.”
“Kitchen porn?”
“I have a thing for kitchens. And food. What can I say?” Hopefully I wouldn’t say how much I was looking forward to the item on my list that would involve unholy amounts of chocolate and other edible items. Because nothing would make my night better than sticking my foot in my cakehole.
He let go of my hand and walked to the fridge. “I couldn’t cook to save my life. Let’s get you some electrolytes. After a night like this, you’re going to crash hard. Tomorrow will be pretty painful.” He motioned to one of the barstools at the counter that wrapped around the massive island. “Have a seat.”
I sat. Normally, this was where I’d feel awkward and would try to distract myself with my cell phone. Lucky for me, I could make do with a couple of options:
One, conversation. I didn’t trust myself not to say anything that wouldn’t humiliate me, head injury or no. And if this morning at the restaurant was any indication, verbal diarrhea was kind of my MO.
Two, I could pretend to admire the paintings and architecture.
And the third option? Staring at his butt while he rummaged the fridge.
Sold.
He really did have a great one, not to mention a great everything. When he turned back toward me, I snapped to attention, being sure to keep my eyes on more appropriate body parts. So much for keeping it safe.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Do you have tea?”
“I’m not much of a tea person, but I have…” He disappeared into the fridge again and scanned the shelves. “Beer, cranberry juice, a half-bottle of cabernet, and Gatorade.”
“Gatorade it is,” I said.
Baxter laid on the kitchen floor next to Sawyer, who poured a dark beer for himself, and slid a bottle of red Gatorade across the counter for me. “Drink up.”
I unscrewed the lid and enjoyed the show. He unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows, revealing a tanned, muscular set of arms.
Down, girl.
I mentally rolled my eyes and took a drink.
Once he’d finished the plate, he and I sat on the couch and shared the snacks he’d fixed of various cheeses, crackers, meat, and…
“Skittles?” I asked, holding up a lime green one.
His shoulder rose in a half-shrug. “I like Skittles.”
I watched him toss one into the air and catch it in his mouth. “I’d give it an eight.”
“Eight? That’s it? Did you see the air on that? And I actually caught it, which deserves a nine at the last.”
“Yeah, but it’s yellow, so it’s easy to see in a dark room. If you catch a purple one I’ll really be impressed.”
He shook his head and practiced his technique while I munched on the food he’d made. He went through each color, progressing from lightest to darkest, catching fewer than half. When he’d reached the purples, he handed them to me. “Three chances.”
“You’d better use them wisely,” I said.
He opened his mouth, and I aimed for his tongue. The first attempt hit him in the forehead. He picked it up off the cushion and ate it.
“Nice try,” I said.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Don’t give me that much credit. I hold the world record for least baskets made in office trashketball.”
“We’ll have to work on your aim.”
“You first. Okay, both hands behind your back this time.”
He put his hands behind his back.
Taking a few practice aims, I focused on his lips. Which led to all sorts of thoughts, which killed my concentration, which led to me taking a short shot. Sawyer dove for it, falling forward.
Right on to me.
Take that, chaste thoughts.
He didn’t move. Both of us stared at each other, seemingly frozen. His heavy, hot body covered mine, and I inhaled the scent of grape Skittles.
“Caught it,” he said, his voice lower and huskier than ten seconds ago. He stuck out his tongue to show me the Skittle.
Sweet lovin’. I wanted that tongue all over me. I’d even hot glue gun Skittles on every square inch of my skin if that’s what I had to do.
Our eyes had locked and his pupils expanded, pretty much squeezing out the color of his irises. His skin reddened, and his lips parted. Hot puffs of his breath teased my collarbone, which only made me want more.
If I’d thought my body was hot before, this was downright nuclear. The way he was watching me, I knew for a moment he’d forgotten I was in the forbidden friend zone.
He inched closer. “Blair?” he whispered, his voice clearly asking for permission. For what? Who fucking cared? He had carte blanche.
But at the same time I nodded my consent something snapped in my neck, sending a hot, electric pain through the nerve. I winced.
He moved quickly, and concern darkened his features. “You okay?”
I shook my head and massaged the lump in my neck. “I…my stress sits right here, and sometimes when I move just right it cramps.”
His brows lowered even more. “Turn around. I’ll give you a massage.”
As if he’d suddenly become a hypnotist, I did exactly what he said, and laid on my stomach across the couch. After the night I had, I figured the karma police were giving me some sort of restitution.
He rubbed his hands together and blew into them, and when he touched me, the effect was like hot stones. Okay, not that hot. But close enough.
He started with my neck and rubbed small, deep circles with the pads of his thumbs, then moved outward, to my shoulders. Every stroke made me melt deeper, until I was somewhere between reality and a dreamlike state. When he reached my bra, he slipped underneath the strap. Definitely outside the Friend Zone.
Holy shit, hands that could do things like…like…this, to a spine for god’s sake, should not be relegated to menial desk work. Hands like this? They should be all over my body, all of the time. His thumbs kneaded the skin on either side of my spine, inching under the back strap.
My eyes crossed and I let out
a downright unladylike sigh. “Oh, my god, you have magic hands.”
He chuckled, but it wasn’t full of mirth like before. Now it was the ultimate embodiment of seduction, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I’d do anything and everything that voice commanded. His fingertips curled around my bra, and a few seconds later I felt it release.
“Relax,” he whispered, lulling me deeper into his allure. “It’s just a massage.”
Shaking my head, I laughed against the cushion. “I’m pretty sure it’s not.”
His motions became lighter, more like caresses than a massage, traveling down the length of my spine. “Fair enough. How do you like it, Blair? Hard or soft?”
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice coming out like a moan. Were we still talking about massages?
He brushed my hair aside and over one shoulder. Hot breath caressed my neck—he couldn’t have been more than a few inches from my skin, and I so desperately wanted him to put his mouth on me. Everywhere.
“I want to make sure I’m doing it right.” This time his lips did touch my neck.
What rabbit hole had I fallen down? Because I’m pretty sure I’d gone from the friend-zone to friends-with-benefits-zone in the span of about sixty seconds.
I leaned into him and let my head fall to the side, giving him better access. “I might need a few examples before I decide.”
Could my come-ons be any cheesier? I had to stop watching porn for inspiration. Don’t judge.
“All right, then. Soft.” He placed feather-light kisses and nips along my neck. His fingertips skittered over my skin to my waist, gliding back up along my sides. He barely grazed the sides of my breasts, making my nipples squeeze almost to the point of pain, they wanted his attention so much.
“Not bad,” I said, panting. “What else have you got?”
His hands took my waist and he pulled me to him until my entire backside was covered by him. His erection butted my rear end. I gasped. Teeth scraped down my neck. One arm wrapped around my waist and hauled me up and against him. The other bound my hair around his fist and smoothly tugged my head back.
