by A. J. Pine
She huffed out a small laugh as she poured him a generous serving.
“Ava Ellis is marrying your brother. If anything, her connection will help you guys rather than pose a threat.”
He nodded, picked up the glass, and swirled the burgundy liquid. Then he inhaled its fragrance.
“You like the bouquet?” she asked, and he pursed his lips in contemplation.
“It smells like—” He blew out a breath. “It smells like fucking wine. I don’t know what the hell a bouquet is.”
She laughed again, this time a little louder.
“So you’re really not leaving?” she asked, but the anger had ebbed from her voice.
He could walk out right now. He should turn and head right for the door. He’d done what Ava asked—gotten Lily to open the door and prove she was okay. And while she was standing before him with no visible injuries—his normal barometer for a person’s well-being—she was anything but okay.
“I’m not leaving,” he said, and waited for her to kick him out.
Instead she grabbed both their glasses and headed around the counter and into the living room. She set her glass on the wooden coffee table—on a coaster, of course—then pulled another coaster from a small stack for his glass.
Without a word she collapsed onto the plush cream-colored couch.
He grabbed the wine bottle, followed, and lowered himself onto the oversize chair perpendicular to her.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked. “First the hospital. Now this.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I don’t think you should be alone right now.”
She nodded slowly, wrapped her afghan tightly around her shoulders, and pulled her knees to her chest.
“Well—maybe I don’t want to be alone.”
“Then we’re in agreement,” he said, raising his glass.
She lifted hers as well. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
Chapter Ten
Never have I ever planned my life more than an hour in advance,” Luke said, staring at her until she lifted her glass and took a sip, but then she gave him an accusatory grin. “What?” he asked. “You’re the one who carries around that goddamn dictionary with every minute of your day recorded in it. Not me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Just because you don’t write stuff down doesn’t mean you don’t have a plan. You work the vineyard and the ranch each day. You train for your rodeos. That’s not all”—she waved her free hand in the air—“just fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of stuff. You have to know what your days entail to do your job. You have to plan your training so you’re ready for the next performance.”
He groaned. “It’s not a performance. It’s a serious competition.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You know what I mean. I’m just making the point that even if you don’t want to admit you’re a grown-up, you kind of are.”
He threw his head back against the soft chair, and she giggled. She didn’t know what the hell they were doing, but one thing was sure. Her eyes were dry, and the weight on her chest that had been making it nearly impossible to breathe since the second she dialed 9-1-1? It was lifting. All because she had answered the door.
“Your turn,” he said, still staring at the ceiling. He was biting back a smile, which meant his irritation was feigned, maybe for the first time since they’d been in a room together and not been—well—lip-locked. They weren’t actively trying to get under each other’s skin, which had always been the norm. Right now they were just—being—something they hadn’t done before. “Unless you want to throw on your favorite country song and teach me a line dance.”
He sat up straight, and her eyes widened.
“You really do remember?” she asked.
He sighed. “The night you and Tucker met?” He dropped his head, shaking it slightly. “I was there, Lily.”
She cleared her throat. “I know,” she said. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just—wait, do you actually think I don’t remember you being there—or my roommate going home with you?”
He lifted his head, and his stubbled jaw tensed. “Forget it,” he said. “Your turn.”
She nodded and swallowed. She didn’t want to fight with him, but this felt different. She wanted to poke and prod but she feared what else Luke might say about that night if she did. Instead she tried to maintain the status quo.
“Never have I ever ridden a bull.”
The reaction was immediate, the Luke Everett devil-may-care grin. Because she knew he couldn’t stay angry, or bothered, or whatever he was, if she mentioned something he loved.
He downed the rest of the wine in his glass, then filled it again just as quickly.
“What’s it like?” she asked.
His grin widened, and she was overcome with the urge to brush her fingers over his smiling lips.
“It’s knowing the one thing you can control is whether you hold on to the rope or let go. Sure, there’s training and technique, but that’s really only there to make sure you don’t kill yourself. The rest is just admitting that the bull will throw you off. It’s just a matter of how long—and whether or not you’ll get up to try it again.”
An unexpected tear leaked out of the corner of her eye. Without meaning to, Luke had just summed up her life—and the part of it she wasn’t sure she could do. Try it again.
His brows drew together. “Shit. What did I say? I swear I didn’t mean—”
She shook her head. “Here’s the thing,” she said. “Never have I ever messed up more than I did today. I mean, I got knocked off the bull in a pretty spectacular way.”
“That’s not what I was getting at,” he interrupted, but she raised her brows.
“I’m not done,” she said.
He waited, so she decided to go for broke.
“Never have I ever cried in front of someone else,” she added. “Not since I was a kid.” She shrugged. “It’s probably one of the biggest reasons my marriage didn’t work, you know? I don’t do vulnerable really well, especially when it means admitting I messed up.”
“You’re doing good with the vulnerable thing, Lil,” he said softly.
Lil. Not sweetheart.
“It’s because never have I ever heard anyone put into words the reason why. Until now.” She laughed. “Not sure you noticed, but I’m a bit of a perfectionist. And lately, my life has been far from perfect. But you walked in here and didn’t judge. You could have rubbed it in my face or said I told you so or any number of things, Luke. But instead you made me feel like—like I could try again.”
“Lil,” he said again, an insistence in his voice that made her heart ache in a way she’d never experienced before.
The tears fell freely now, and the words spilled out of her mouth almost as quickly. It was as if what he’d just said had broken the dam, and she couldn’t stop, even if she wanted to.
“One more thing about that night.” She sniffled. “Never have I ever admitted out loud that if you had asked me to go home with you, I would have said yes.”
And then she saw him as he was three years ago, striding into that bar all confidence and swagger—and trouble.
You know I didn’t step foot on the dance floor to meet your roommate.
“What happened that night?” she asked him.
He set his glass down slowly, deliberately, the sound of it rousing her from the memory. All the while he held her gaze.
Her heart slammed in her chest, a caged animal threatening to break free.
She was losing it, her control. All he had to say to make her abandon it completely was that he wanted her, too. It wouldn’t matter that he hadn’t wanted her then. Just here. Right now. That’s all she needed to do what she’d never been able to—let go.
“You left with Tucker that night,” he said, voice rough and gravelly. “You left with my best friend. You married him weeks later.”
“You made that decision for me,” she reminded him. “Why?”
&
nbsp; She’d never diminish what she and Tucker had, but she’d no longer ignore that the night in question started off on a whole other trajectory.
He let out a bitter laugh. “You chose the better man, Lily. Can’t we just leave it at that?”
She bit her lip, setting down her own glass. “But you don’t like me,” she said, not able to hide the tremor in her voice. “You’ve never liked me,” she added, though the more she repeated what she’d always thought to be true, the less she believed it.
Their knees were touching. She’d slid forward without noticing, and now something was happening that was beyond her carefully maintained control.
So she reached out a hand, brushed her thumb over his perfect lips, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
“You don’t hate me,” she said softly.
He opened his eyes, his steely gaze back on hers.
“No,” he whispered.
“You—want me?” she asked, a little less sure of herself.
“Fuck,” he growled. “You know I do.”
She wiped away the last remaining tear.
“Tucker doesn’t get to lay claim on me anymore. You think I’m the control freak,” she said. “But you’re the one sitting there holding back from what you want.”
He ran a hand through his hair, then stood, pacing a few steps before turning back to face her.
“Jesus, Lily. What the hell else do you want me to do?” he asked, eyes dark with what she hoped was the same heat bubbling inside her.
She stood, too. It didn’t matter that he was a head taller than she was. For the first time, she felt like she was on an equal footing with Luke Everett.
For the first time, she was veering from the plan, and it felt—right.
She took a tentative step toward him so there were mere inches between them. “Take it,” she said. “Take what you want.”
She held her breath and waited a beat, knowing they were either stepping way over the line or retreating permanently.
A beat was all it took before his strong, rough hands were cupping her cheeks, his lips crashing into hers.
Their bodies didn’t meet. They collided, two speeding trains not daring to veer off course even if the result would be complete and utter carnage.
She threw her arms around his neck, and he hoisted her up, hooking her thighs onto his hips.
“This doesn’t hurt?” she asked, breathless. “I can walk, you know.”
He shook his head. “The only thing I feel is you, sweetheart.”
“But—” she started.
He cut her off. “Bedroom,” he growled, then kissed her harder, deeper, stealing her air, and she gave it to him willingly. “Which door?” His teeth nipped at her bottom lip.
“Second one on the right,” she said, legs squeezing around his waist, pressing his erection against her center.
He spun, claiming her mouth again as he carried her to their destination, backing her through the doorway and throwing her onto the four-poster bed.
For a second he paused, taking in his surroundings. This was Tucker’s room. Tucker’s room with Lily. He’d seen it once, maybe twice, but could tell something was different. Was the bed was on a different wall? And he didn’t think he remembered the posts. Also the room was as crisp and neat as if he’d just walked into a fancy hotel. The whole space was just so—Lily.
“You make your bed even though you live alone?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Is this really a conversation you want to have right now?”
He grinned. No. No it wasn’t.
“The bed is new, by the way,” she said. “Tucker and I split up the furniture when he moved out. So—I, uh—I gave him the bed.”
Meaning they’d never slept together in this new one.
“I get it,” he said. “But can we make a rule right now?”
She nodded, waiting for him to continue.
“From here on out, no talking unless it’s me telling you what I’m going to do to you.”
Her legs hung over the side of the bed, and he pushed them open, stepping between them. “Or, vice versa, of course.”
She sucked in a breath, and he pressed his palm against her pelvis.
“Is that a deal?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
His thumb traced a soft line between her legs, and she whimpered. He massaged the spot over her opening, and she fisted her duvet.
“I’m going to make you lose control, sweetheart. I’m going to show you what it means to let go.”
She reached for him, tugging at the belt loop of his jeans, and he fell over her, his face a breath away from hers.
“And I’ll show you what it means to slow down and savor the moment.”
He raised a brow. “Not as dirty as I’d hoped, but the night is still young.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he kissed her, his tongue slipping past her parted lips, and she answered him by running her hands up his chest, his neck, and into his hair.
He kicked off his boots and rolled them both to their sides.
She palmed him over his jeans, giving him a firm squeeze that elicited a groan.
“I want you to…taste me?”
The statement came out like a question, and he laughed softly. She was trying to dirty talk him, and he didn’t know what was hotter—the sweetness of her not being sure how to do it or her knowing exactly what he’d been dying to do.
“Better,” he said. “But now say it like you mean it.”
She grabbed his hand and pressed it to her belly, his fingertips teasing the elastic band of her pants.
Well, shit. Maybe he didn’t want her to abandon her control completely because he liked her giving him direction.
“Taste me,” she commanded this time, and he was more than happy to oblige.
He slid his hand beneath the pants, beneath her panties, and let one finger travel from her clit, down her crease, sinking it deep inside her warm, wet center.
Christ.
He throbbed against his jeans. She had no clue what she was doing to him, that he was the one whose sense of control was dangling by a thinning thread.
She cried out as he withdrew just as achingly slow, taking care to circle her clit before his hand emerged. Then he swirled his tongue around the finger that had been inside her, and he thought he might lose his tether right then and there.
“Fucking hell, Lily. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?”
But he didn’t wait for her to respond because he was far too close to revealing more truth than either of them could handle. Instead he lifted her tank over her shoulders, then sucked in a breath as she lay before him, half bare and too beautiful for him to speak.
So he just—stared.
“Say something,” she said as he drank her in with his gaze. “You’re making me nervous.”
She bit her lip and smiled, but he shook his head.
“For some things, sweetheart, there simply aren’t words,” he admitted. “I mean, there are, but I sure as shit don’t have the right ones.”
She gave him a teasing grin.
“Not as dirty as I’d hoped,” she said. “But the night is still young.”
He cupped her breast, pinched her rosy peaked nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and she gasped.
“I just remembered,” he said. “I’m more of a doer than a sayer.”
He lifted his own shirt over his head. Her eyes widened, and her fingertips explored the dusting of hair on his chest, the trail of it that led to the button of his jeans. But then she detoured, traveling instead over the fading bruises on his side.
“Does it still hurt?” she asked softly, her cheeks turning pink. “I mean, it has to, right? It’s only been a couple of weeks. Should you have just carried me? Oh God, did I make it worse?”
“Do you ever get out of that head of yours?” He laughed softly, then kissed her. “And yeah, I guess it still hurts, but only when I think about it. I’ve been knocked
around enough that I think I just get used to the pain. It’s the nature of what I do.”
She kissed the side of his jaw. “The me that gets stuck in my head would ask why you love something that’s also so dangerous—why you put your body through the wringer when you know how high the risks are.” She kissed his neck, and he dipped his head, breathing in the sweet vanilla of her hair. “That same me would ask how long you haven’t hated me.” She was kissing his chest now, and he knew in this moment if she asked him any of what she was thinking, he’d answer her. He’d be powerless not to.
She lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. Then she undid the button of his jeans, lowered the zipper, and pressed her palm against his erection.
He hissed in a breath through clenched teeth.
“But that’s not who I want to be tonight,” she said, rubbing a thumb over his tip, the cotton of his boxer briefs the only thing separating skin from skin.
“Who do you want to be, Lily?”
She slid off the edge of the bed and stood, removing her panties and pants in one quick movement, then pulled his jeans and briefs down his legs until they lay in a pile on her floor.
He rolled to his back, rose up on both elbows, and stared at a woman so beautiful he almost had to look away. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t.
Just like that, there was nothing left between them other than one best friend/ex-husband and years of buried truths he wasn’t ready to uncover.
Tucker doesn’t get to lay claim on me anymore.
Those were her words, and maybe it was time he believed them. Maybe it was time to let himself want without the guilt.
“I want to be the girl who loses control. Just for tonight. I’m not giving up my dictionary-size planner or anything.”
She grinned, then crawled over him, sliding up his length and letting him tease her opening.
“Christ, Lily. What about—”
“I’m on the pill,” she said. “Have been for years and never missed a dose. Never even messed up the time of day.”
He pressed two fingers to her lips and chuckled.
“Of course you haven’t. Okay Lily-who’s-letting-go-of-control, don’t you at least want to know if I’m free of infection?”
