He took the beer out of her hand and set it down, his gaze intent. “I find I don’t have much use for a bed.”
Hard hands moved up either side of her thighs, pulling her closer to the counter’s edge and spreading her legs so he could settle between them. Desire tingled up her extremities, mingled with a twinge of disappointment.
Naturally, she hadn’t expected Jared to go the whole fancy dinner and flowers route for the evening, and there was nary a bloom nor a bite of food in sight, but she’d thought—okay, hoped—there’s be at least a little wooing going on before they got down to business.
She focused on desire over disappointment. It wasn’t as difficult as one might hope—not with Jared eyeing her lips as if they were a snack cake.
“Even you have to sleep somewhere, Dr. Fine.” She ran her hands up his arms, reveling in the twisty, muscular strength of him. “Even you have to slow down sometime.”
“Do I?” He lifted his hands as suddenly as he’d dropped them. “You want to see where I sleep?”
“Um...okay?” She jumped off the counter on wobbly legs and took his hand. Would she ever feel steady around this man? One minute he had her pinned against a bathroom wall, riding her hard. The next he unloaded his life story in a surge of boyish contrition. One minute he was sending her flirty, easygoing texts. The next he was...well, this. Back to normal. Terse, abrupt. Fidgety, even.
He’s nervous.
Her stomach gave a quiver, butterflies escaping from Jell-O. Why hadn’t she realized it before? These weren’t the characteristics of a man so filled with his own consequence he couldn’t be breached. He was a man with no walls left to protect himself at all.
His grip on her hand was insistent as he pulled her out the sliding glass door toward the backyard. She was happy to go. Happy to feel the shared heat of their palms, of the strength contained in fingers entwined.
She’d been surprised to find that Jared lived at the end of an isolated road rendered all the more remote because of its location backed up against state parkland. Like many of the neighborhoods around the borough, this one was nestled against a lazily winding creek and a thick copse of trees that made it seem much more secluded than it really was.
As Gretchen stepped onto his patio, where the late afternoon dusted the sky with clouds, she could almost pretend there weren’t neighbors located over the hedge or a major roadway about a mile to the east.
“You’re looking the wrong direction,” he said. “Not up. Down.”
Gretchen let her gaze fall. Small when measured in terms of family standards, his backyard was nevertheless a well-groomed patch of countryside that ought to make any man proud. Well, except for the oversized drab olive tent erected right in the center.
She recognized the tent from Gran’s old M*A*S*H reruns, the thick, heavy canvas signaling ample wear and tear, the simple triangular shape designed for easy breaking down. It looked well used, too, frayed at the edges and splattered with mud—as though it had been dragged across third world countries.
That’s probably because it has.
The implications of that tent weren’t lost on her. Nor was the fact that Jared wanted her to see it standing just like that, dirty and used. He was showing her his home, that elusive inner piece of himself, and unlike most guys—who would probably throw the dirty dishes under the sink or buy a new throw pillow to show he wasn’t a complete loser—he was flashing his isolation and pain like a banner.
It should have comforted her. It should have made her feel as though she was finally making headway with this man.
Instead, she just felt a heaviness somewhere near the center of her chest.
“So, I have a confession to make,” he said, taking a place next to her at the patio railing, the pair of them looking at the tent but not saying a word about it. Apparently, they weren’t going to talk about the bizarreness of living in an empty, echoing house and sleeping in a tent.
Maybe it was just enough that someone else knew.
“Oh?” She strove for a light tone. Poor guy seemed like he could use a free pass right about now. “Are there more dark secrets you feel the need to unburden? I thought we already made this clear. You can’t shock me, Jared, but it’s cute that you try.”
“I’m not trying to be cute.” His lips struggled to suppress a smile. “I’m trying to be open. It doesn’t come as easily to me as it does to other people.”
She wasn’t so sure about that. He did just fine with her. “You know who else says that? Sociopaths.”
“Oh, yeah? You come across a lot of sociopaths in this neck of the woods?”
“I’ll have you know that sociopaths love woods. And necks.”
“I kind of love your neck—what does that make me?”
“Horny.”
Jared laughed softly, acknowledging the truth of that statement. Seeing Gretchen always came as a shock to his system, a sort of awakening he didn’t expect and certainly didn’t deserve. But she kept coming back. That had to count for something.
He reached up and touched the side of her neck with his knuckles—a light graze, barely registered beyond the skin. He still hadn’t seen where that vine led. It was starting to make him crazy.
“So...what’s this big confession?” she asked, arching into his hand.
He forced himself to focus. Gretchen had no idea how her reactions to his touch drove him wild. For all her talk of sociopaths, she opened her jugular vein up to quite a bit of exploration.
“I had an ulterior motive in asking you over today.”
“That’s not a confession. I gathered that much five minutes after walking through the door.”
“You did?” He shook his head sadly. “We’ve only been together a short while and the mystery is already gone. I must be off my game.”
Her lips parted in a smile. “There never was any mystery. I’ve had your number since day one. Besides—there’s no food in your house. Unless you’re planning on catching and plucking me some chickens, it’s obvious I’m not here on a real date.”
“The great thing about living in the States again is that they bring food right to your door. Already plucked and everything.” He might be no good at romance, but he was exceptional at ordering takeout. “What I really wanted to say was that I normally wouldn’t invite you over to such an abyss of a place, but I thought you might want to meet Max.”
At the sound of his name, his dog trotted over from under the back porch, where his makeshift doghouse resided. Unwilling to part from his owner at night but afraid of the tent for reasons only understood by his once-neglected canine brain, Max had taken to living underneath the steps. Jared had done his best to make it comfortable—dog bed, chew toys, dead things to play with—and the setup seemed to suit him, so who was he to argue? Dogs had lived in stranger places before. So had men.
Max approached with a huge doggy grin, one brindled ear cocked to hear Jared’s next order. He made the formal introductions, going so far as to remind Gretchen that she knew of the dog’s history. “He looks a lot better now than when you first saw him, though he’s scared of the bathtub. He’s scared of everything, actually. Even the birds make him nervous.”
Gretchen laughed and knelt down to scratch one of Max’s ears, letting out soft coos and cupping his face, telling him exactly what a sweet and perfect gentleman he was.
Lucky dog.
She peeked up at Jared with a grin. “I’m beginning to see why this little setup of yours required a confession.”
He felt oddly disappointed at being so transparent. For once, he’d hoped to be on solid footing with this woman. For once, he’d hoped to be at least a little bit ahead. “You do?”
“Yeah. You wanted me to see that your rescue dog is thriving and happy. To admit out loud that you’re a prince among men. There’s no need to be so full of
yourself—I promise I’m feeling the appropriate amount of meltiness inside.”
Unable to help himself, Jared pulled her to her feet. She rose quickly and easily, and he used the momentum to clasp her about the waist and bring her close. He didn’t kiss her, content for the moment to feel the rapid flutter of her heartbeat against his own.
“What was that for?” she asked, breathless and dazed.
“You’re the one talking about meltiness. You tell me.”
“I also mentioned full of yourself.”
He could have stood there for hours, the two of them pressed against one another, the sun setting over the tops of the trees as if he’d commanded the view for this exact moment, but Gretchen disentangled herself and resumed her stance looking down over the backyard.
He came up behind her, toying with a strand of hair resting against her neck. It almost seemed an extension of her vine tattoo—all those winding, twisting parts. They wound him up. Twisted his thoughts.
Her body shuddered at the soft skim of his touch, and he leaned down to place a kiss on her neck. He’d only just managed to get a taste of her when she whirled, facing him. “To be honest, I thought you only invited me over for sex.”
There was no safe way to answer that. He liked sex. Wouldn’t mind having it again right this very second. But today was supposed to be about breaking barriers, trying to move past being the guy who ran out in the middle of a roller derby bout. So far, all he’d done was reinforce the fact that he had no idea how to make friends. He could woo this woman—whip her into a sensual fury.
But get her to stay afterward? He had his doubts.
“Maybe you could return the favor and introduce me to your lobster,” he suggested.
“What I should do is introduce you to my sisters. That would teach you.”
“I like sisters,” he said leadingly.
“I don’t,” she countered. “Besides, you’ve already met one. She came to see you at New Leaf for a consultation. You told her she was well preserved, which was a huge mistake. I’m pretty sure she’s ready to leave her husband and run away to Bora Bora with you.”
Jared pretended to think about it for a moment. “Is she as cute as you? I could go for a tropical vacation right about now.”
“Cuter. I’ll set the two of you up.”
“I think I’ll take my chances with this sister.” Jared stared at Gretchen, trying to get a read on her. “If she doesn’t mind?”
“Oh, you’re asking now. That’s new.” She shoved her bangs out of her face. She wore them blunt across her forehead, long enough to obscure her eyes. “You know, you’re being very well-behaved today, what with the dog and the house tour. I might even call you out for being too nice. I’m not quite sure what to make of it.”
He reached up and gripped her neck—that slender twist of skin and muscle and bone that tormented so many of his sleeping and most of his waking thoughts. “That’s something that can be easily rectified.”
“Oh?” She turned into his hand. “What did you have in mind?”
He thought about it for half of a second—that was all it took. They’d already determined that when it came to this woman, his control was purely a matter of conjecture. “I think it’s about damn time I discover where that vine starts once and for all.”
Without giving her a chance to respond, Jared pressed her against the railing to the porch—thankfully reinforced with thick wooden beams able to hold the weight of them both. She let out a squeak of protest, but Jared had both her wrists gripped behind her back and clasped in his hand.
She fought back, her body wriggling against his as she struggled to get her hands out in front of her. Squeals of delight escaped her parted lips as he held her firm. Whether it was her near-constant movements against him or the heady sensation of mastery that overcame him as he held her firm, his body responded in an instant.
“I’m warning you,” she managed. “You’re only going to be disappointed.”
He licked his lips and, using his free hand, reached for the bottom of her shirt, a tight red thing that claimed Roller Derby Girls Do It on Wheels. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“I can’t—oh!” An almost breathless sound escaped her, as though her lungs had suddenly emptied, as she struggled to get out of his grasp. “Jared!”
“What?” Now he was really curious. What could she possibly be hiding under there? Short of a third nipple—which wasn’t, as far as he was concerned, a deal-breaker—he didn’t see anything to be ashamed of. Flat, smooth stomach, her belly button an adorable umbilical protrusion. Skin taut and strong, free of the ink that covered the rest of her.
“Aaaack. Stop!” She wriggled harder.
He paused, her shirt all the way up to her waist now, and no sight of the vine’s origins anywhere. It was almost as though... “I can’t believe this.”
Instantly suspicious, she stilled and glared up at him. “You can’t believe what?”
He gave her side a tentative poke. She squealed and vaulted her body against his.
“You’re ticklish.” He poked the other side. This time, she squirmed so hard she got one of her hands out of his grasp. Jared didn’t let that stop him. Using her laughing, defiant protest that she was no such thing, he wrestled her to the ground, careful to cushion her fall with the brace of his arms. “You’re so ticklish you can’t even handle me looking at your stomach.”
“You can look at it,” she protested, lying still beneath him. “Just don’t, you know, breathe too hard.”
“I’ll be very careful,” he promised. He placed her hands carefully at either side, taking his time lifting her shirt up, doing his best not to disturb the air around them. Her stomach muscles clenched tight enough that he could make out the clear definition of what must be roller derby abs, but still he lifted. Up past her waist and to the band of her bra, a deep red piece of satin he couldn’t help but reach out and touch. She twitched.
“That’s not careful!”
“Trust me. I’m a doctor. I know what I’m doing.”
She laughed, and he became mesmerized by the movements of her abdomen at the sound. Her laughter came from her whole body, a sort of release from deep within, leaving no part of her untouched. Or him, if he was being honest.
His hand didn’t leave the soft material of her bra. Spreading his hand wide, he allowed his thumb to travel over the cup of her breast, stopping just short of grazing her nipple. The rest of his fingers laid a track to her side, his pinky finger reaching the vibrant green of his favorite vine. Leaning in, not breathing for fear of setting her off again, he pulled back the bra’s band with his teeth and laid a soft kiss on her skin.
And that was it. The vine stopped in a sort of jagged cliff at her side, hanging alone, going nowhere.
He sat back on his heels. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”
She laughed again. “I warned you. It was supposed to go all the way down and wrap around my waist—almost like it was squeezing the life out of me.”
“That sounds kind of cool.”
“It would have been. Except, as it turned out, nothing was going to happen unless they were willing to strap me to the chair and gag me. Once they got past the first rib, I kicked and screamed and broke their lamp.”
“As hot as tying you to a chair sounds, I’m glad things didn’t progress that far. I thought tattoos were supposed to hurt, not tickle.”
“Tickling does hurt,” she said. “And you can chalk it up as one more unfinished Gretchen project. This one is literally stamped on my skin.”
Gretchen struggled to sit up and lower her shirt, but Jared stilled her with a hand flat against her stomach. There was enough strength in the movement that she skipped ticklish and went straight for a sharp stab of desire.
“I told you. I’m a doctor. I’m trained
for this sort of thing.” The look he cast down on her was one of amusement and raw intensity.
“I hate to burst your bubble, but you aren’t the first man to try and cure me of being ticklish. Unless you plan on drugging me and hiding me under your porch with your dog, you aren’t getting anywhere near these parts.” She gestured around her midsection. Feet, armpits, even that sensitive spot behind her knee—those she could handle. But for as long as she could remember, the slightest twinge near her stomach had her done for. Just ask Janice. She’d made it her youthful mission to sneak up on Gretchen whenever possible.
“I can’t even do this?” He leaned down and blew softly in the region of her belly button. She squeaked and fisted his hair with both hands.
“One more move and my knee will inadvertently find its way to your throat. I can’t claim any responsibility for damages incurred while you try and prove your point.”
“I’m pretty strong. I’ll take my chances.” Using his body weight—which was considerable, given what a solid package of manhood he was—he pinned her legs to the ground and laid a soft kiss on her lower belly. Fire curled down between her legs, but even the heady promise of this man’s tongue wasn’t enough to stop her muscles from protesting.
She very nearly landed that knee in his throat. What adrenaline could do for lifting cars off trapped victims, tickling could do for Gretchen’s karate skills.
Naturally, Jared wasn’t fazed. He sat back and rubbed his hands together like an old-time villain—complete with the way his eyes devoured the exposed bits of her body. “I see you aren’t going to make this simple. I accept the challenge.”
“It’s not a challenge, Jared. It’s a fact.” This time, she got all the way into a seated position and tugged her shirt down. “If I couldn’t withstand tiny repeated needle pokes, what makes you think your lips could do any better?”
“I have very nice lips.”
A laugh escaped her. She reached up and traced his lips, strong and curved in an arrogant quirk. “They’re quite nice—but they’re not magic. And you’re not a god.”
The Derby Girl Page 19
