Flynn looked unhappy even lampooning for the camera like she’d asked. She’d hoped asking him to be silly with her for a second would improve his mood, but cheering him up had been an uphill climb ever since.
“Hi,” she answered, and began to pace the room.
“I’m coming over. Pack what you need for the weekend. I’m going to have a chat with your landlord, but in the meantime, you’re staying with me.”
“Uh...” What? “No, that’s okay. I just need a quick shower.”
“Sabrina, I’m already pissed this has been going on so long and you haven’t told me.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.” Plus, she didn’t know how to behave after he’d kissed her and then acted like he hadn’t for the last week.
“See you in a few minutes.” He disconnected and she quirked her mouth indecisively before turning for her dresser and pulling open the top drawer.
“No big deal,” she reassured herself as she riffled through her undergarments, but when her fingertips encountered clingy satin and soft lace thongs, she bit down on her bottom lip. A surge of warmth slid through her like honey as a mashup of love scenes from the novels she’d read this week flickered in the forefront of her mind like a dirty movie. One that starred Flynn. She held up the silky red underwear.
Definitely this was a bad idea.
She dug deeper in the drawer and pulled out her sensible cotton bikini briefs. They came in a package of four: two navy blue, one red and one white. There. Harmless. She threw them on the bed and then bypassed the sexy bra, choosing the nude one instead. It was designed to be worn under T-shirts and not reveal her nipples, and if that wasn’t the perfect choice for a platonic night or two spent at Flynn’s she didn’t know what was.
From there she chucked a few pairs of jeans, a dress and T-shirts as well as a nice blouse onto the bed. Shoes were last. Since she was wearing her trusty Converses, a pair of flats would do nicely with the dress or jeans. Plus, she wasn’t going to be at Flynn’s for long. A night or two, tops. She was sure her landlord would have the plumbing issue fixed soon, she thought with a spear of doubt.
She could admit that it wasn’t the worst idea for her and Flynn to be around each other in person. They could tackle the issue of The Kiss head-on. It was totally possible he’d been caught up in the spirit of Valentine’s Day at the Market. Maybe she had, as well. Maybe they’d both been swamped by a rogue wave of pheromones from the other happy couples walking the pier that day. That could’ve been what made him—
“Kiss me until I couldn’t remember my own name.” She shook her head and sighed. She sounded like one of Mrs. Abernathy’s romance novels.
A sharp rap at her front door startled her and she let out a pathetic yelp.
Shaking off her tender nerves, she drew a breath before facing Flynn for the first time since last Monday. He stood in her doorway, sexy as hell, and her gaze took it upon itself to hungrily rove over his jeans and sweater.
He looked like the same old Flynn, but different.
Because you know what he tastes like.
His blue eyes flashed with either an answering awareness or leftover angst about her plumbing situation. She couldn’t tell which. She noticed he took a brief inventory of her jeans and long-sleeved shirt before ending at her sock-covered feet. From there he snapped his gaze to the bed covered in her clothes.
“I didn’t know what to pack...” She didn’t bother finishing that sentence, gesturing for him to come in while she dug a suitcase from the back of her closet. She started piling clothes into it while Flynn wandered around her studio, taking in the blank canvases on the floor.
“Not inspired?” His deep voice tickled down her spine like it had over the phone. Flynn had a deep baritone that was gruff and gentle at the same time.
Just like his mouth.
She was inspired all right, but not to paint.
“This is a bad idea,” she blurted out, halfway into her packing. “You don’t want me living with you even on the temporary. I’m messy and chatty and wake up in the middle of the night to eat ice cream.”
“I have ice cream. I also have just shy of five thousand square feet going to waste. And plenty of clean water.”
“But—”
“I didn’t ask. Pack.” He surveyed her art supplies. “You can bring this stuff, too. I think the easel will fit in the backseat.”
“Don’t be silly! It’s only for a few days.”
“Sab, you live in a building that was erected sometime around the fall of Rome. The plumbing issue could be bigger and deeper than you think.”
The words erected and bigger and deeper paraded through her head like characters in a pornographic movie. He didn’t mean any of them the way she was envisioning them, but she still had trouble meeting his stern gaze.
“Pack extra clothes in case. If you need more, you can pick them up later.”
“Moving me in wasn’t what you had in mind when you took a hiatus, I bet.” She shoved more clothes into the suitcase.
“I didn’t have a hiatus in mind. You’re the one who made me do it.” He bent and lifted the canvases.
“I haven’t been able to paint, so don’t bother with those.”
“I haven’t been able to relax, and watching you paint is relaxing. Will you at least try for the sake of my sanity?” His mouth quirked and again she had the irrational notion that she’d like to kiss that quirk right off his face.
“I’ll try,” she said, simultaneously talking about painting and not attacking him like a feral female predator.
“I’ll run these to the car. Oh, and Sab?”
“Yes?”
“Remember those cookies you used to make? The ones with the M&M’s?”
“Yes...”
“If you have the stuff to make those, bring it.”
She smiled, remembering making him M&M cookies years ago. He’d devour at least a half a dozen the moment they came out of the oven. “I have the stuff.”
“Good.” With a final nod and not another word, he made the first trip down to his car with the canvases.
Sabrina resumed her packing, reminding herself that being tempted by Flynn and giving in to temptation didn’t have to coincide.
“You’ve got this,” she said aloud, but she wasn’t sure she believed it.
Ten
Flynn set Sabrina up in a spare bedroom, one furnished with a dresser, night tables and a bedside lamp. The bed in there was new, like every bed in the penthouse. He’d be damned if he would sleep one more night in a bed he used to share with his cheating ex-wife.
After Veronica had confessed she’d been “seeing” Julian, which was a nice way to say “screwing” him, she’d stayed in the three-story behemoth that she and Flynn had bought together. Fine by him, since he’d never wanted to live there in the first place. At the time, he’d rented a small apartment downtown.
He felt as if he didn’t belong anywhere. Not in his marital house overlooking a pond, not in this glass-and-steel shrine that reminded him of his father’s cold presence, and though he’d loved his mother and the estate reminded him of her, he didn’t feel as if he belonged there either. Just as well since the rose gardens had fallen to ruin when she died. How fitting that the place had been left to Julian.
It didn’t surprise Flynn that Veronica had moved in immediately. She’d always crowed about how she wanted more space inside and out, and the estate, with its orchards and acreage and maid’s quarters, would definitely tick both boxes.
And now he was moving Sabrina into his place without thinking about it for longer than thirty seconds.
Reason being he shouldn’t have to think about it for longer than thirty seconds. She was his best friend and had been for years, and she needed a place to stay. The fact that he’d kissed her last week shouldn’t matter.
It shou
ldn’t, but it did.
He was determined to push past the bizarre urge to kiss her again, confident that once she was in his space, painting or baking M&M cookies, they’d snap back to the old them—the them that didn’t look at each other like they wondered what the other looked like naked.
He pictured her naked and groaned. It was a stretch, but he clung to the idea that he could unring that bell. It wasn’t looking good since the buzz reverberated off his balls every time he thought about her.
He dragged in the easel, Sabrina’s suitcase and the last of the canvases tucked under one arm. She was unpacking the makings of cookies onto his countertop and clucked her tongue to reprimand him.
“I told you I’d help.” She moved to take the canvases and he let her, then he leaned the easel against the wall.
“This is the last of it. Besides, you’ve helped plenty.”
In the bedroom he rested her suitcase against two smaller totes. The suitcase was bright pink, one tote neon green, the other white with bright flowers, adding energy to the apartment’s palette of neutrals. If Sabrina being here infused him with a similar energy, he wouldn’t complain. He’d been living in black and white for far too long.
Until Valentine’s Day, when she’d taken him to breakfast, on a cheese tour, and made him sit through a trapeze act he’d found fascinating rather than emasculating, he hadn’t noticed just how long it’d been since he felt...well, alive.
His life had been a blur of Mondays, and he’d been working every day until he dropped. He’d been under the mistaken notion that if he kept moving forward he’d never have to think about Veronica or Julian or Emmons ever again.
“Bastards.”
“Yikes. Are you talking to the luggage?” Sabrina asked from the doorway.
She’d tied on her Converses and slipped a denim jacket over her T-shirt. Her hair was pulled off her face partway, the length of the back draping over her shoulders. She was gorgeous. So stupidly, insanely gorgeous he wondered how he’d kept his hands off her for this long.
“I’m here if you need to talk.” Her dark eyes studied him carefully.
“I don’t need to talk.” What he wanted was to not talk, preferably while her mouth occupied his.
“Okay.” She patted him on the arm.
It was the first time she’d touched him since Monday and he wanted it to feel as pedestrian as any pat from any hand belonging to any random person. A certain member of his anatomy below his belt buckle had other ideas, kicking into third gear like it was trying to break free of his zipper to get to her.
“Are you too tired to bake cookies?” he asked, desperate for a subject change.
“Are you too tired to help?” She hoisted an eyebrow.
“Can I drink a beer while helping?”
“Hmm.” She tapped her finger on lips he wanted on his more than a damn cookie. “I’ll allow it.”
With a wink that had him swallowing another groan, she led the way to the kitchen.
* * *
Sabrina dusted her hands on her jeans and set the last tray of M&M cookies on top of the stove. Flynn came jogging into the kitchen from the adjacent TV room to snag one.
“Those are piping—”
“Hot!” He blew out a steaming breath, a bite of cookie hovering on his tongue, and then needlessly repeated, “Hot.”
“Yeah, I know.”
He took another bite, his eyes closing as he chewed. He moaned almost sensually. She tried not to notice as she slid the spatula beneath each cookie and transferred them to the cooling rack—also brought from her apartment.
She hadn’t baked him cookies for years and yet nothing about the scenario had changed.
She’d pull them out of the oven and he’d run in, eating one while simultaneously complaining they were “hot.” Then he’d blow on the remaining half of the cookie in his hand before dropping it into his mouth with a moan of pleasure.
“Amazing.” Over her shoulder, he reached for another. “So good.”
The words were muttered into her ear and answering shivers tracked down her spine. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed.
She turned to warn him that the cookies were still as hot as before, and came nearly nose to nose with him.
It was like they were magnetized.
Cookie in hand, he didn’t move when her breast brushed his shirt. She didn’t back away and neither did he.
Someone should...
“Want a bite?” His nostrils flared as he took a slow perusal of her face.
“No thanks,” she said quickly. “They’re too...hot.” That last word came out on a strangled whisper.
He backed up a step, broke the cookie in two and carefully blew on the halves. She watched his mouth, mesmerized by the sudden hold he had over her. The powerful, almost animal reaction she had to him. She wondered if it’d always been inevitable, but ignored. And if it had always been there, how had she ignored something so explosive? It was the difference between a warm burner on a stove versus a roaring bonfire throwing sparks into the air.
In this case, Flynn was the fire, and she was the wood, unable to keep from catching aflame whenever he touched her.
He offered half a cookie and she took it, brushing her fingers against his. They ate their halves, he in one big bite and she in three little ones. She jerked her gaze to the stove and back to him again.
“We should talk,” he said.
“I agree.”
“You first.”
“Chicken.”
“I’m not scared. I’m smart. Go.”
She would’ve laughed if she didn’t want him so damn much.
“When you kissed me on Valentine’s Day, you opened Pandora’s box. When I’m around you, it’s all I think about.”
Well, not all. She’d thought about a hell of a lot more than kissing him, but she wasn’t going to reveal that.
“Agreed,” he said. “And you have a suggestion?”
“I do.”
“You’re not going back to your apartment. That’s final. Not until you have running water that’s not the color of rust-stained pipes.”
“I wasn’t going to suggest that.”
His head jerked as he studied her curiously.
She licked her lips, willing herself to say what she was thinking. There was a very big chance Flynn would refuse her, which would be bad for both her ego and their friendship.
If he agreed it could also be bad for their friendship.
Which was why she started with, “Promise me we’ll always be friends because we’ve always been friends. It’s not worth throwing away because of a weird wrinkle in the universe where we explored a possibly brief attraction for each other.”
“Never,” he agreed without hesitation. “I’d never let you go, Sab. You know that.” His eyebrows were a pair of angry slashes.
“I know. I wanted to say it before I made a suggestion.”
“Which is?”
“I think you should kiss me again.”
He didn’t react like she thought. He didn’t recoil, nor did he lean forward. He stood motionless, watching her as carefully as a hunter approaching a skittish deer.
“I’m pretty sure that moment on the pier was a fluke,” she continued. “And since we never really talked about it, and I was caught off guard, I thought if we tried it again we could finally put it behind us. Especially if this time there aren’t any sparks.”
“You felt sparks?” His question was an interested murmur as he closed the gap between them.
Yes.
“I...it’s an expression.” She pressed her lips together.
“And you think we should try again to make sure there are no...sparks.” Seeming more comfortable with the idea than she was, he lifted a hand and slid his fingers into her hair. When those fingertips t
ouched the back of her scalp, a shot of desire blasted through her limbs.
She swallowed thickly. “Then we can go back to...to...the way things were before.”
“Friends without kissing.”
“Friends without kissing.”
His other hand moved to her hip, and his fingers were in her hair. She’d seen Flynn kiss other women before, but she’d never paid close attention. Now she couldn’t not pay attention.
It was as if the world had tipped violently on its axis, putting her squarely in his personal space and sharpening her awareness to a fine point.
She heard his breathing speed up, felt his heart thudding under her hand when she placed her palm on his chest. His eyelids drew down as he tilted her head gently and moved his mouth closer to hers.
Instinctively, she did the same.
When their mouths met, it wasn’t surprising or awkward. The kiss was tender and curious as he stroked her jaw with his thumb and moved his mouth over hers. He opened, encouraging her to do the same. She complied, accepting his tongue on hers.
And, Oh, yes, please, God, don’t stop.
It was like someone plugged her into a power source. Her body vibrated with need as her mouth moved eagerly over his. She couldn’t get enough of the new, unfamiliar taste. Their tongues kept rhythm without their trying. Stroke, in. Stroke, out. It was mind-numbingly incredible.
He moved his hand from her hip to her back and tightened his hold. Her thundering heartbeat echoed between her legs as blood thrummed in her ears.
Then he pulled away, his chest moving up and down beneath her fingers, his eyes a murky, dark ocean blue. His hips tilted forward of their own volition and that’s when she felt it. The very determined ridge of his erection pressing into her belly.
Her mouth opened and closed once, then twice, but no sounds emerged. He’d yet to let go of her and she’d yet to untangle herself from his hold.
There weren’t sparks this time around, that was an honest-to-goodness forest fire. An atom bomb. The burning surface of a thousand suns.
Best Friends, Secret Lovers (The Bachelor Pact Book 1) Page 8
