by Lia Riley
But that unsettled sensation quickly faded as she watched Patch efficiently remove the damaged tire and install the spare.
“You’re staring,” he said, squatting and screwing in a bolt.
Her tongue grazed her top lip as she admired the view. “I like to see a guy who’s good with his hands.”
“Then I got news for you.” He leapt to his feet with an effortless bound, not even using his hands. “You’re going to love me.”
And as unbelievably stupid as it sounded, she believed him.
Chapter Twelve
“What’s the verdict on my culinary skills?” Patch knew he was hovering, but didn’t care. His gaze didn’t leave Margot’s lips as she popped the second bite of his homemade Denver omelet into her mouth.
Her wide eyes went wider.
“Have I got skills or what?”
“It’s good.” She covered her mouth with her hand, chewing. “Damn, boy. That’s really, really good.”
“Hell yeah it’s good.” He demolished half of his own omelet in three more bites. “I know my way around an egg.”
“If the way my ovaries exploded as you whisked was any indication, I’d have to agree.”
They shared an easy laugh and continued to eat their omelets, and buttered sourdough toast, in companionable silence. This was new. He didn’t usually have people over to his place. In fact, he’d been a little self-conscious to bring her in here. It was big, but barren. He’d wanted a place to invest his hard-earned salary, and his financial advisor pushed real estate, but more often than not he just bounced around the three stories. Five of the six bedrooms were empty.
“It’s a little stark,” he’d said sheepishly, when he’d unlocked the front door and turned off the security.
“Um . . .” She had taken in the bare white walls. The leather couch, coffee table and flat screen with a PlayStation were the only furniture in the living room. A pool table held court in the dining room as he preferred to eat at the island in his kitchen. “You like the minimal look?” she teased. “Maybe you’re more Zen then you let on.”
He’d brought her into the kitchen, determined to impress. A bonus of cooking from the age of eight was that he could improvise.
She nibbled another piece of toast. “How long have you lived here?”
“Bought it last year.” He shrugged. “At the time I was too busy with hockey to worry about figuring out furnishings. And besides, what does a guy like me know about interior decoration? During the lockout, I had more time . . . but was in a bad headspace.”
“Because of the fight?” She leaned in closer, searching out the secrets of his face. “The Jury Room is a classy bar, the décor feels like a library in Oxford. You must have been one of their first fights.”
His mouth flattened “Lucky me.”
“I hate Guy Footscray’s commercials. He talks so loud I’m surprised spit doesn’t fly out of the television screen.”
“Out of all the gin joints in the metro area, and I cross paths with that prick.”
“Well . . . prick or not, you didn’t have to dislocate his shoulder. Even if he isn’t that nice of a guy.”
He remembered how it felt, having Footscray’s arm between his hands, the blind rage he’d felt. The fucker was lucky he didn’t rip the appendage off and stuff it down his throat.
“You want to talk about what happened?” she asked lightly. “Because from where I sit, it looks like there is a lot going on between your ears.”
Heat rose within him as memory washed over him. His temples pounded. His stomach clenched like he was trying to do a sit-up.
Fuck.
He didn’t want to feel this way around Margot. She was all that was good, light and happiness. Freckles. Flying in his arms. This thing between them was pure. The last thing he wanted to do was taint it with his anger.
“No.” He screwed the lid off a bottle of Gatorade in front of him and took a swig. “Not really.”
“I know I’m not a qualified therapist or anything,” she said lightly. “But sometimes talking to a friend can help.”
“Let’s make one thing crystal clear.” He set down his drink. “You’re not my friend, Margot.”
She blinked. Did she set a world record for the longest lashes?
“Margot, eh? You’re using my name in a sentence. That makes this a serious conversation.”
“I’m a serious guy.”
“So I’m not a friend.” She dabbed her pink lips with a napkin. “What’s that all about? You don’t like me?”
“I more than like you.”
She went quiet a moment. “You didn’t invite me to your house to eat an omelet, did you?”
“And you didn’t come to my house to eat an omelet, did you?”
She huffed a small laugh. “No.”
The air was thick with everything going unsaid. He tried drawing a full breath, just like she’d taught him, but his lungs might as well be encased in plaster.
At last she huffed a husky laugh. “This isn’t easy.”
“Be more specific.”
“This.” She waved her hand in the narrow space between them. “This. This. This. You. Me. I don’t know what is happening. I’m not a poet. I don’t have the best words. I just can’t deny that when you look at me, I feel . . . more me. The most me. I don’t just just like you either. It’s more than that.”
“Those sound like pretty good words from where I sit.”
“But can’t you see? You’ve been waiting a long time for someone special. And I haven’t.” Her chin raised an inch. “And I won’t apologize for having more experience.”
“Don’t see anyone asking you to.”
“I don’t have the best track record with relationships.” Her words picked up speed. She spoke faster and faster. “I can teach yoga. I have friendships. But when it comes to guys, and dating, I’m no expert. Far from it.”
“Stop. Stop right there.”
“I’m sorry.” She rose in a rush, knocking her bar stool over. “There is absolutely such a thing as too much honesty. You are dealing with your own baggage. You don’t need me here adding to it.”
On the rink, he might have lightning-fast reflexes. But here, with this woman, he was stuck in slow motion. He reached, but she’d already moved away, evading his grasp.
“I’m being stupid, and that’s not my intention. I don’t want to make this more dramatic than it has to be,” she said, backing toward the kitchen exit. “I abso-frigging-lutely acknowledge that I am, in fact, wearing a drama queen crown. What we need is headspace. Tomorrow you’re travelling for your first game. I want you to focus on that.”
“Here’s a fun fact. I’m able to think of more than one thing at once. It’s sort of my job.”
“And you’re good at your job.” She pursed her lips, appearing to swallow a smile as she stuck on her pink pussycat hat and shrugged into her jacket. “Really good, Patrick. And you could be even better.”
“Now you’re the one saying my name in a sentence.”
“Because I mean business.”
She stood on tiptoe, clutching the front of his t-shirt, and kissed him full on the mouth. Their ragged breaths mingled a moment. He tasted the brown sugar in her lip gloss before she broke free, pressing a quick second kiss to the tip of his nose.
“Go to bed,” she whispered, clearing her throat and stepping back. “And win tomorrow.”
It took every last shred of Patch’s willpower not to close the space again, to consume her. “There’s something you should know.”
“Shoot.”
“I’m not going to get a lick of sleep if you leave.”
“If I stay, you won’t sleep either,” she shot back.
“I’ll take those odds.”
She shook her head slowly as if with reluctance. “Goodnight.”
He took her hand and held it between his own. Her skin was cooler than his. He didn’t like that. He wanted to tuck her against him, warm her up. “Do me a favor an
d call when you get home. I want to know you got back safe, especially driving on that spare.”
“It’s been a long time since anyone has cared if I got home,” she said with a smile. “Careful, you might be turning into a gentleman.”
“The things that I want to do to you are far from gentlemanly,” he said in a husky tone.
She rocked her head back and unleashed a frustrated moan. “Quit leading me into temptation. I’m trying to respect your virtue here.”
“My virtue can take a long jump off a short fucking bridge.”
“That might be. But . . . if we end up taking that jump. I want it to be special. That’s important. I want you to feel special.”
Blood rushed to his ears. “Funny, I feel the same way about you.”
“Then we’re in agreement and I’m leaving.” A wicked gleam entered her gaze. “But while you wait for my call, slip into something more comfortable.”
“Like?”
“Nothing at all.” She blew a kiss, pirouetted, and was gone.
After the door snicked shut behind her, it was as if all the gravity had exited too. He floated to the living room, watched a couple minutes of news, nothing sticking, the words running over him. He ended up in the master bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face, and because he couldn’t think of any good reason not to, stripped down to skin.
He stared at his familiar reflection in the wall-to-wall mirror as if trying to see himself for the first time. Discover what he was working with. He had a good body. It wasn’t arrogance, just a statement of fact. He used it for his job and it looked it. The muscles in his stomach weren’t perfectly cut and defined like a bodybuilder, but he was carved around the V-line and his pecs and arms were large. The hair on his lower belly ran in a thick mahogany line down to his cock, which also didn’t seem to give cause for any complaints.
He didn’t know a ton about dick but his seemed good.
He grimaced, rolling his eyes. What the hell was he doing? Here he was . . . twenty-five years old, and he still didn’t have a definitive idea how a woman would view his junk.
His phone started ringing. He glanced down, a flicker of relief lighting inside him.
Margot.
Except the call was coming in on FaceTime.
No way was he going to answer the phone buck-ass naked so he hauled ass to his king-sized bed, sliding beneath the down comforter, ensuring the blanket was tucked in around his waist before clicking.
“Surprise!” she sang out. “I made it home in one piece.”
“Your cheeks are pink,” he answered. And her hair was damp around her face as if she’d recently washed her face. Just seeing her twisted his heart.
“I took a shower.”
“A cold one?” he teased.
“Ha! It’s below zero tonight. I probably used up all the hot water in the building, but it was glorious.” She eyed him. “In bed, eh? And shirtless.”
“I followed your instructions to the letter,” he said in a raspy voice. “What can I say? I’m an eager student.”
“Impressive.” She cocked an eyebrow. “A-plus for effort.”
“This is what happens when I’m hot for teacher.”
The blush in her cheeks deepened. “I thought it would feel safer having you miles away. Instead it still feels dangerous.”
“What are you wearing?” he asked, tilting his head back, determination rising within him.
“Not a lot,” she admitted.
“Show me,” he growled.
She cast the screen down to reveal a white bath towel wrapped around her gorgeous curves. And her long legs poked out the bottom. Legs he’d love wrapped around his neck again.
“Nice.”
“Thanks.” Her lips twisted wryly. “Are you planning to return the favor?”
He cast his own screen down and she made a murmur of approval.
“What’s going on below that blanket?”
“If you were here, you could find out,” he said in a teasing tone.
Her forehead creased in frustration. “Maybe . . . you could describe it for me?”
“Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Kowalski?”
She giggled, her tongue darting from between her lips, the tip stroking along the seam. “Apparently I can’t help myself.”
He leaned back against the headboard and slid his big hand beneath the sheet. He was already hard. “It’s . . . full.”
“Go on.”
“Big,” he rasped. “Ready.”
“You’re stroking yourself?”
He gave a short nod, his thighs throbbing.
“Are you cut or uncut?” There was only the slightest catch to her throat.
His cock twitched in his hand. “Cut.”
“God, look at your face.”
He lowered his chin. “What about it?”
“You’re beautiful.” Her pupils filled her irises.
“Shouldn’t that be my line?”
“You’re welcome to plagiarize.”
A low groan ripped from his throat. “What about you? Going to join in or let me have all the fun?”
“Ooooh. Challenge accepted.” Her camera slipped to one side before she got it righted. “There we go.”
“By there you mean you’ve dipped your fingers in your pussy.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Your pussy is a good place.” He stroked harder, imagining pushing into the hot, sweet ache between her thighs. “The best place.”
“Glad you like it.” A soft wave of hair fell across her cheek. He longed to smooth it back.
“It’s all that I think about.”
“We really do have a lot in common.” Her laugh hitched. “Because having you there again is all that I think about too.”
“What are you doing?” he asked. “How are you touching yourself?”
“Right now I’m just going slow, light, just a little circling.”
“Over the clit.”
She nodded. Her top teeth closed on her full bottom lip. “I’m imagining it’s your cock, pressing against me.”
His intensity rose, his sac constricting, pulling up tight beneath his shaft. “What about slipping a finger inside?”
“Usually I use both hands. But seeing as I’m holding a phone.”
“Ah, right.”
“I don’t mind. Trust me, this works fine. How about you? What are you doing?”
“Slowing down,” he said through a moan. “But increasing pressure.”
“That’s how you like it.”
“Yeah,” he barked.
“Then that’s exactly what I’d do. I’d get my hand between your legs and I’d feel the weight of you in my palm.” Her words sped up. “I might even be greedy and inch a few fingers lower. Graze your balls. Would you like that?”
How he managed to nod he’d never know.
“Then I’d pull back and lick my hand to make it wet,” she purred.
Jesus Christ. He couldn’t even regret the blasphemy.
“I’m using both hands. One cupping your sac, fondling, gentle squeezes, that sort of thing. The other hand? I’m taking it up and down with a little twist at the end.”
His chest shuddered. He was a goner, seduced by her provocative words, the smolder in her clear grey eyes, the mouthwatering way her hair fell over her shoulders, a few strands flirting with the curve of her throat.
“That’s good?”
“Yeah, babe,” his voice was taut.
“If it’s really that good, you’re going to get a little wet on your slit. Precum.”
Heat slid through his veins. His pleasure was drawn tight, a hard knot. She was going to kill him tonight.
“You have any of that?”
He ran his thumb over the bead of wetness at his tip, massaging it into his sensitive skin. “Yeah.” His belly was tight. The muscles rock hard. His whole body was revving. “I do.”
Her eyes closed to slits. “Perfect, because
I’m going to drop to my knees and lick it clean.”
He couldn’t hold back the grunt of pleasure. “I’m getting down beside you,” he gasped. “I got my hand between your legs and you’re riding my fingers while you suck me.”
Now it was her turn to make a sound, the cutest exasperated whimper that he’d ever heard.
“You like sliding over my skin?”
She nodded. Another shallow moan of pleasure.
“Answer when I ask you a question.”
From the look on her face, she loved that, him taking charge and being bossy, and that was good because he could get addicted to this sensation of power.
“You’re fucking my fingers right now,” he said, gruffly, luxuriating in his strokes. “They are deep in you.”
He was rewarded with another of those cute-as-hell sounds.
“Whose fingers are they?”
“Yours.” The word cracked.
His hips sped up and the pulsing sensations took root and spread. This was too good. Too much. He squeezed down on his slick crown. “Babe, I’m close.” He couldn’t choke back the rough sound of building desire.
“I think I’m passing you by.” She rocked her head back and as he watched her fall apart, he became undone, the climax bursting forth from inside him, internal spasms of sensation like he’d never known.
It had never been that good. Not that he’d had a lot of experience, but he didn’t even know his cock could feel that way.
“That was amazing,” she said in a sleepy, satiated voice.
“All I want to do is suck your fingers clean.”
She shuddered. “I’m an idiot.”
“Why?”
“Because right now I could be with you and this could all be real.”
He wanted nothing more than to kiss that pout off her face. “Babe, if you were here right now you’d have been fucking a lot more than my hand, that much I can tell you.”
She swallowed. “When do you come back from the road?”
“Two nights.”
“Am I going to see you?” she whispered, very softly.
“More than you might want to,” he answered hoarsely. He ached to reach through the smartphone and touch her, lean in and press his forehead to hers, devour her vanilla scent.
