From the Start

by Cheryl Etchison

  God, he loved her laugh. Throaty. Husky. Unlike any he’d ever heard.

  She opened her eyes to find him staring at her. “Are you ogling me, Joe?” she yelled above the music.

  “Not ogling,” he said, closing the distance between them. “Appreciating.”

  Then, before he could second-guess himself, he wrapped his arm about her waist, pulled her against him, and covered her mouth was his.

  Her response was immediate.

  One arm wrapped around his neck as she arched her body to meet his. Somewhere in the distance, outside their alcohol-soaked bubble, the group began to clap and whistle. But he didn’t give a damn about them anymore. Only her. He only cared what she thought.

  He gentled the kiss, then finally pulled away just enough to look into her eyes, to see if the hunger he felt was reflected in hers. She smiled up at him, then said the three sweetest words he could have ever hoped to hear. “Take me home.”

  Before she could change her mind, before he thought better of it, Michael took her by the hand and towed her out the front doors of the club.

  “Please let there be a taxi,” he chanted under his breath as they stepped out onto River Street.

  As luck would have it, one had just dropped off its passengers at a nearby hotel. They quickly piled into the backseat and Kacie immediately gave her address. Seconds passed in awkward silence as the cab made its way through midtown until their eyes met across the empty space between them. He reached for her, his hand cradling her neck while his thumb stroked the curve of her jaw. The kiss began as a gently press of his lips against hers before trailing his mouth across her cheek to the tender skin of her neck. And when he nipped at her ear lobe, a soft moan escaped her lips.

  She then cradled his face in her hands and guided his mouth back to hers. Through a series of kisses, she pleaded her case. “Just so you know,” she began before playfully tugging on his lower lip with her teeth. “This isn’t me.” Another kiss. “I don’t do things like this.” This time her tongue teased his upper lip. “I don’t pick up strangers in bars and take them home.”

  He chuckled at that. “I thought I picked you up.” But her body stiffened beneath his hands and he drew back so he could look into her eyes. “If you’ve changed your mind . . .”

  She stared at him what felt like hours but was likely only a matter of second before she finally whispered, ““God, no,” and covered his mouth with her own.

  Within minutes the cab stopped in front of a large historic home in Baldwin Park. Kacie flung open the passenger door and stumbled out, laughing as she fell into the soft grass just on the other side of the sidewalk. After handing the last of his bills to the cabdriver, he stepped out of the car just in time to see her standing on the driveway, her shoes now dangling from her fingertips.

  “Hurry up, Joe!” she yelled before disappearing around the corner of the house.

  He followed the blacktop to what once must have been a carriage house hidden beneath hundred-year-old live oaks draped in Spanish moss, and climbed the steps up the small porch to where the front door sat open.

  “Kacie?” He took a tentative step inside.

  “Shut the door,” she commanded as her fingers grasped the hem of her shirt.

  Michael did as told, closing the door behind him while giving a little nod of thanks to the Man upstairs.

  He never would have pegged her to be the kind of woman to put on a private show, but he was more than happy to be her audience. To stand back. Observe. To sear the memory into his alcohol-soaked brain so he could revisit this moment again and again in the future.

  Taking her time, she drew the top over her head and lowered her arms to her sides, the shirt slipping from her fingertips to land on the floor near her feet. The full moon’s light streamed through the large picture window and served as a spotlight. Her breasts were luminous in the silver glow and a soft shine blurred the edges of her naked form.

  Or maybe that was the tequila.

  Either way, the visual effect was magnificent.

  Despite the overwhelming need to have her, he kept his feet firmly in place. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting every seductive dip and curve of her body. His fingers itched to explore every inch of her skin. Blood surged through his veins. His dick stood at the ready, a sweet release its only demand. To hell with everything else.

  But as strong a man as he was physically, he was even stronger mentally. In spite of the tequila, his brain took command and forced his traitorous body into compliance.

  Her shorts fell to the floor next, along with her panties.

  His feet shifted restlessly beneath him.

  Wait.

  Wait.

  Patience will be rewarded.

  In the half-light of the room, her darkened eyes locked with his. Holding his gaze, she pulled the elastic from her hair and used both hands to shake it loose. Her sun-streaked waves, now unbound and free, tumbled over her shoulders.

  Dear God she was beautiful. More beautiful than any woman he had ever known. For one fleeting second he double-checked his surroundings to ensure he wasn’t suffering from heat exhaustion in the Afghan desert, that this woman wasn’t just a mirage.

  “Hey, Joe.”

  He brought his attention back to her and was now ninety-seven percent certain this was definitely not a mirage or a dream. No way would he ever fantasize a woman calling him by another man’s name. Or in this case, a toy’s name. But at this point, she could call him Dumbo, if she’d consider kissing his trunk.

  He chuckled at his own joke. Jesus was he drunk.

  “Joe.”

  His eyes snapped back to her face. Focus, damn it.

  “You seem content to just stand back and watch, Joe.”

  He watched her lips and tongue form the words, a slight delay between sight and sound. Her voice was raspy, nearly hoarse, but the sound was so very seductive.

  “You don’t mind if I go ahead and help myself. Do you?”

  He didn’t answer. Couldn’t if he tried.

  Kacie sucked on the end of her middle finger and smiled at him as she pulled it from her lips.

  Once again his dick surged at the front of his pants. Like a rodeo bull with a rider on his back waiting impatiently for someone to open that godforsaken gate so they could all go for one helluva ride.

  The trail of wetness from her fingertip shimmered upon her skin in the moonlight. Over her chin. Along the column of her throat. Tracing her breastbone. Her hand moved to circle the outermost part of her breast, then worked inward to her nipple. Around and around and around her fingertips skimmed until it became a darkened, tightened bud. Not neglecting the other, she brought her other hand to her left breast, working it in a similar fashion.

  Such a tease. Teasing herself. Teasing him.

  Releasing one breast, her palm smoothed down her stomach, the muscles quivering beneath her own touch. Her hand stroked over one hip bone, then followed the crease at the top of her thigh, her fingertips disappearing into the shadowed area between her legs.

  His control had frayed to the finest of threads. He took a deep breath, then another.

  The way the moonlight highlighted some of her body while other parts remained in shadow was an erotic effect in itself. But now as she stood in front of him, completely uninhibited, pleasuring herself, he didn’t know where to focus his attention.

  Her head tipped back, eyes closed. The tip of her tongue caressed parted lips. Her breasts rose and fell heavily with each ragged breath. Her fingers taunted her nipples, alternating between soft caresses and pinches that made her wince in pleasure.

  With her continued stroking, she drove herself closer and closer to bliss. And him closer to the edge of insanity.

  Her body tensed, muscles quaked. A breathy moan escaped her lips.

  The thread snapped.

  He charged across the room and pushed her backward into an overstuffed chair. Her laugh, deep and husky, sounded of victory as he draped her legs over his
shoulders and fell to his knees in worship.

  Chapter Four

  Her head pounded. Her throat burned. Her body flashed from hot to cold. Kacie scooted to the edge of the bed and dropped one foot to the floor, a last-ditch effort to get the godforsaken room to stop spinning. Even that little bit of movement sent her stomach into panic mode and she had to take short shallow breaths to hold the nausea at bay.

  There was only one option left—pray for death.

  From beyond her bedroom door she heard movement in her small carriage house. Kacie stilled and listened closely, but pretty soon the breath holding thing only made her head pound worse.

  If there was anyone in her place, and that was a pretty big if, it was most likely Sam since she was the only other person with a key.

  Or it could be a serial killer.

  Normally the thought would frighten her. But since she currently welcomed death, the prospect of meeting her doom at the hands of a serial killer wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

  She closed her eyes and must have dozed off; for how long she didn’t know, but when she woke a second time, she was absolutely certain there’d been a loud noise. Then she distinctly heard water running. Kacie grabbed the bottom edge of the curtain and drew it back, instantly blinded by the bright sunlight streaming in through the window.

  It certainly wasn’t raining outside.

  And then the water suddenly stopped and she heard the sound of a shower curtain being thrown open.

  “Holy shit!” she whisper-shouted to herself as she kicked off the remaining covers. Of course her phone wasn’t on her bedside table where she typically left it to charge each night. She had no choice but to make a run for it.

  Kacie stumbled out of bed, landing on her knees and wasting precious time before she made it to her feet. But just as she reached the hallway, the bathroom door flew open and a man stepped into the hall.

  “Oh, hey,” he said with a smile. “You’re up.”

  Kacie stopped short in front of a mostly naked, beautiful man with a very familiar face. It took a moment for her to remember the deep blue eyes, the dimples. It wasn’t long before her gaze followed rivulets of water streaming down his midline and pooling in his belly button a few inches above one of her brand-new coral pink towels wrapped around his hips.

  “How are you feeling this morning?”

  His words drew her gaze back to his face. “Joe?”

  “Michael,” he answered.

  Kacie waved a hand to show she didn’t really give a damn what his name was. She placed her palm on her forehand, hoping it would ease the throbbing so her brain could function. “What the hell are you doing here? And why were you using my shower?”

  He just stood there staring at her, a lascivious smile on his face as he clutched the ends of the towel. He was hardly wearing anything and she was . . .

  The air conditioner kicked on and a blast of cool air from the vents above her sent goose bumps racing across her skin. Kacie looked down at herself and realized that she was wearing absolutely nothing. Not a thing.

  And he was standing there. Smiling at her. Just enjoying the view.

  “Oh, Jesus! Turn around!”

  His smile widened and a low chuckle rumbled from deep within him before he complied. “Would you like a towel?”

  “Yes,” she answered without hesitation.

  And so he handed her his.

  Which left her staring at a nicely shaped, albeit paler than the rest of him, ass.

  He waved the coral pink towel in midair like a bullfighter waves his cape. “Are you still wanting this?”

  Kacie yanked it from his grip and immediately wrapped it around her body. After tucking in the end, she looked up and found him peeking back over his shoulder at her. “Hey! Eyes to the front, buddy!”

  He shook his head and laughed some more, all the while holding his hands up in the air as if she had a gun pointed at him. “Do you mind if I get dressed? Or would you rather I just stand here all day?”

  “You still haven’t answered my question.” She gave his back an indignant little shove. “What are you doing here?”

  “Kacie, come on.” He peeked over one shoulder at her. “I’m here because you invited me.”

  Again, she rubbed a hand across her forehead, trying to remember the night before, and then it came to her.

  Close the door.

  “Dammit,” she mumbled under her breath. Some of what happened the night before was slowly coming back. Her sister sending the wingman after her. The dancing. The tequila. Kacie groaned. There had been a lot of tequila.

  “How about we both get dressed and I’ll take you to breakfast?”

  Her stomach twisted at the mention of food. “I don’t know that’s a smart idea.”

  “I promise that you’ll be fine.” His words low and soothing. “Take a shower. Get dressed. And then we’ll go eat.”

  She’d never really been one who liked being bossed around, but at the moment, she found it far easier to follow orders than to argue.

  Leaving her to get ready, Michael wandered into the bedroom where he gathered his clothes from off the floor and dressed.

  For hours he’d lain awake in this room, in her bed, watching her sleep. After she’d passed out he knew he couldn’t leave her alone because she could’ve become sick, stopped breathing, or choked on her own vomit. So he spent most of the night monitoring the slow rise and fall of her chest, listening to the soft huffs of her breath and occasionally checking the temperature of her skin.

  Michael headed out into the living room, gathered Kacie’s clothing from where it had been scattered about the night before, and carried her things back into the bedroom and placed them on the end of the bed.

  He thought about going into her kitchen to make a pot of coffee. But in his mind that was a violation of sorts. He knew he didn’t like women wandering through his place, going through his things, and more than one of his past relationships had ended as a result of it.

  Nearly twenty minutes later she stepped into the living room, her hair still damp and twisted into a knot on her head. Her face was free of makeup, her green eyes bloodshot and lips pale, but she was up and moving.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath and slipped on her sunglasses. “As I’ll ever be.”

  Michael looked around as they stepped outside; he had a vague idea of where they were, but didn’t really know the neighborhood.

  “Is there a place within walking distance?” he asked. “One without tourists?”

  She nodded. Gently. As if the slightest bit of mental exertion was painful. “There’s a little hole in the wall a couple blocks away.”

  “I’ll let you lead the way, then.”

  Again, she answered with a slight nod and started walking.

  “So—”

  Kacie immediately drew to a halt and showed him the palm of her hand. “Please, stop.”

  “I’m not—”

  She shook her head. “I know you’re just being nice and trying to make conversation, but I’d really appreciate it if we could just avoid any and all chitchat. At least until I have some caffeine in me.”

  “Sure thing,” he said, stopping at that because he sensed if looks could kill he’d be lying dead on the sidewalk right about now.

  Several minutes and a block and a half later, they stepped into the small diner, the bell above the door ringing loud enough that Kacie immediately flinched. It wasn’t by any means a fancy place; the walls were covered in faux wood paneling and the booths were upholstered in green vinyl, with added touches of black duct tape covering what he could only assume were rips. A young woman, about college-aged, grabbed two menus from the counter and led them toward the back, winding their way past the counter bar stools and several tables in the middle of the room.

  He immediately ordered two coffees, and when Kacie tried to wave off breakfast, he went ahead and ordered food for both of them, items that were sure to cure even the
worst of hangovers. Essentially their breakfast consisted of carbs, more carbs, and a side of grease.

  When the waitress returned with their coffees, he poured on the charm, gifting her a wink and smile just so she’d leave the full carafe. He was smiling victoriously when he looked across the table only to see his breakfast companion glaring at him through narrowed eyes.

  Guess the means to an end wasn’t appreciated.

  Somewhere through her second cup of coffee, Kacie began to look somewhat human again. “Feeling better? You have a little more color in your face now than you did earlier.”

  She unwrapped her silverware, placed the paper napkin in her lap, then twiddled with the paper napkin ring, folding it upon itself over and over again as they waited on their food. “I shouldn’t have drank so much. And yet, I did. Like a stupid college student.”

  He chuckled. “Or a bridesmaid at a bachelorette party.”

  “Still doesn’t excuse the fact I know better than to drink round after round of tequila.”

  “True. I feel the same way about my dad’s meat loaf.”

  Michael turned his attention to the coffee cup in front of him, adding a bit of sugar since the brew was on the bitter side of things. It wasn’t until he took a drink and looked at her over the rim of his cup that he realized she was waiting patiently for an explanation.

  “My dad makes truly terrible meat loaf,” he continued, setting the cup down in front of him. “Has for as long as I can remember. But my brother and I, being growing boys and always hungry, we’d slather it in ketchup and choke it down anyway. Now, whenever we’re home on leave, he makes meat loaf. And for those first few moments when I sit down at the table, especially after a long deployment and I’m hungry for anything not military-issue, my mind thinks, ‘This looks so good. And it smells so good. This meat loaf is going to be the game-changer. It’s going to be fantastic.’ Three bites in, reality hits.”

  Kacie crinkled her brows and shook her head. “That is not anywhere close to being the same thing.”

  “Sure it is,” he said matter-of-factly. “You just said it wasn’t your first hangover and yet you continued to drink beyond your safety zone. Pleasant childhood memories of my father and the home I grew up in dulled the reality of his meat loaf. Just like the euphoric effects of inebriation outweighed the painful memory of every previous hangover. Same is said for childbirth.”