His mouth went to her temple. “Easy, baby,” the dream lover said. “We’ll get you there. Take your time.”
Single mothers didn’t have time. They had obligations and responsibilities and a weariness that could sink into the bones. So she kept moving, short strokes as the climax continued building.
Almost there, she thought, relief hovering near.
Without losing hold of her behind, he slid his free hand under her shirt, then under her bra. His big palm covered her breast, gave it a light knead, then his fingers came together and he took hold of her nipple, squeezing with a delicate pressure that made her gasp. Her body went rigid, pleasure crashing through her system, and she opened her eyes just as he groaned, his body twitching once, twice. He grabbed her hand and pressed it to the bulge in his jeans, his own holding it close.
Beneath the denim she could feel him, stiff and hot, and he pushed against her hold, his hips rolling, rolling, and then he groaned again. Dream Lover climaxing too, the signs seemed unmistakable.
And the identity of the dream man was unmistakable as well, she realized, as she blinked against the half-light streaming from the hall. They were twined on her narrow bed, the fantasy she’d tried to deny herself come to life.
It was Eli King, and by allowing herself to imagine the unattainable, to experience what she’d been more than reluctant to imagine, she could only worry that surrendering to a long-blocked need might mean it wouldn’t return behind the walls she’d built for it.
Chapter 7
The sky was still dark when Eli trudged toward the kitchen and coffee in his stocking feet, desperate to fuel up with the dark brew before facing Sloane and spouting some sincere apology to go along with his half-assed explanation.
Because yeah, he was sorry for what happened between them the night before. And no, he didn’t have any convincing rationale to reason it away.
His footsteps stuttered in the doorway when he scented newly ground beans and then saw the woman sitting at the kitchen table, her head bent and her body wrapped in a fuzzy robe, the material thick enough to safely pack fine china for an overseas voyage.
The enveloping fabric didn’t do anything to smother his memory of her curves in his hands though. Recalling the sleek skin of her breast and ass cradled in his palms made them itch, and he curled his fingers into fists then cleared his throat.
Her head came up, her gaze steady.
“Good morning,” she said, steady with that, too.
He stared, taken aback by her calm reaction. It wasn’t as if he’d expected for her to go all outraged virgin on him—she’d come before he had—but they hadn’t gone into the interlude the night before with any discussion first. He’d had a talk with his sisters as they reached dating age. Not the talk, he’d relied on the school’s curriculum and his mom’s best friend for that, but he’d warned first Nora, then Allison, and finally Lynnie and Molly against being swept away—that is, letting their hormones be boss and entangling them with the wrong person at the wrong time.
“About last night,” Sloane began, further confounding him. “I’m sorry.”
He needed coffee. Crossing to the pot, he ran a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have carried you to bed.”
She waved a hand. “That was a kindness. I’m the one who dragged you down to the mattress.”
Though she kind of did, he hadn’t put up much of a fight. Any fight, not really. He filled a mug, then breathed in its steam as he brought it to his mouth. He needed to wake up all his senses if he was going to be any good at this discussion of their teenage-caliber carnal encounter.
“How was your date?”
His head swiveled toward her. “We’ve moved onto my date just like that?”
“Sure,” she said. “Unless you want to go over what happened between us move-by-move.”
She’d kissed his neck on the way up the stairs, her arms around his neck, her eyes closed. He’d clenched his teeth, catching on she was in the middle of a dream, and his intention had been to put her on the bed and then bolt before she came awake.
But she’d rendered that impossible, her arms like chains, her kisses impossible to ignore, the sensation of her using him to get off…well, he hadn’t had sex with anything but his hand in almost a year and those little noises she’d made while orgasming had resulted in him coming in his jeans like a fourteen-year-old. “Christ,” he muttered now, feeling his morning wood stirring again.
He shook off the distraction. “I should have put a stop to it.”
“Because you’re the responsible one?”
A trick question, he could tell. But only one answer presented itself. “Well, yes.”
“You weren’t the only person there. If I wanted to save myself from you, I would have saved myself from you.” She hesitated. “I worry about the other way around. That I didn’t, um, give you the opportunity to exercise your right to choose.”
That was so many damn words this early in the morning, especially following eight nearly sleepless hours. Last night, he’d left her slumbering and gone downstairs to toss and turn. “Sloane…”
“Mommy.” Paige wandered into the kitchen in pajamas and with one hand gripping Baby Sally’s ankle.
Eli cast the toy a quick look and breathed a sigh of relief that she was in dolly-sized sleepwear and a sleeping cap. Then he looked again. “Is that one of my socks on her head?”
“Want cereal,” Paige said, crawling into her mother’s lap.
Without thinking, Eli walked to the cupboard and pulled out a bowl. In his lifetime he must have poured hundreds of portions of cereal for small girls who looked as sleepy-eyed as this one. Smiling a little, he made for the refrigerator, recognizing another burst of warm nostalgia. Then Sloane bumped him aside.
“I’ve got this,” she said. “We’re not your chore…last night or now.”
Ho! He looked more closely at Sloane, seeing the pink cast to her skin. So that was the way it was. She thought he’d stayed in her bed and been a party to her finding her pleasure as a…as a what? A courtesy? A favor for a house guest? For a second he thought about correcting her, letting her know he’d been nearly powerless to move away when she was moaning and wiggling in his arms, but hell. Why give her the upper hand?
“You could have said no,” she continued in a testy tone. “You could have walked away. But not you. No, not Eli King who is always paying it forward and doing nice things for others.”
“Sloane—”
“It’s a terrible habit, you know, all these…these kindnesses.”
He stood there, unsure how to handle this. Her quick movements betrayed a temper she’d been trying to hide.
“Everybody knows,” she continued as she stomped the bowl of cereal back to the table and her waiting daughter, “that nice guys—”
“Finish last?” he asked, smirking, because he couldn’t help himself.
His double-entendre didn’t make her laugh. Instead, she shot him a look designed to inflict pain. Then she turned her back on him to engage her daughter, clearly closing the discussion.
Fine. They’d both forget about what had happened in her bed.
However, their conversation continued to replay in his head all morning at the nursery. The nice guy remark, in particular, began to rankle around midday, when he contacted his sisters for an update on their trip.
Lynnie’s phone was the one he called this time. She picked up and exclaimed in alarm, as if talking to someone else, “Darcy, unhand my sister!”
“What’s happening,” he growled, not falling for it, but unable to let it pass either.
“We’re touring a sculpture collection of half-naked people and Darcy has taken the opportunity to get fresh with Allison.”
Eli sighed. “I’ve seen Pride and Prejudice a thousand times with you girls, and Darcy doesn’t get fresh in the sculpture room.”
“You’re no fun,” Lynnie said. “The truth is, we’re visiting a glassworks.”
“Is everyone
getting along? You haven’t locked Molly out of the hotel room recently, have you?”
“The last time I did that we were eleven,” Lynnie said, “and that was because she broke the carved squirrel you bought me at the Grand Canyon gift shop.”
“Put Nora on,” he commanded, deciding to speak to the oldest sister. Lynnie grumbled, but after a pause he heard Nora’s voice.
“Eli?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “The car has this strange knocking sound, the tiny gauge thingie on the dashboard reads ‘E’ and what exactly does that mean again? Also, do you suppose that Peanut and Peanut Shell truly need to be fed daily?”
Peanut and Peanut Shell were the twins, some family joke the source of which was lost to the annals of time and with their parents who’d called the girls that interchangeably since birth. It made Eli smile a little, because the use of the nicknames and Nora’s other bullshit told him all was well, easing some of the concern he’d been carrying since the instant they’d walked out the door. “It sounds like you’re all having fun. I hope Darcy has a friend or three, though I’m counting on you to rebuff any Wickhams.”
She laughed. “I hope you’re avoiding all arrogant blondes like Caroline Bingley.”
His blonde wasn’t arrogant, but inordinately pissed at him. He gripped the bridge of his nose, hardly believing he was about to ask this.
“Look, Nora,” he said. “I have a question. Be honest—”
“Uh-oh. You remember how this goes, right? One never says yes if one’s asked about the size of butts—meaning the best answer is always no, that dress does not make yours look fat.”
He sighed. “I’m not going to ask you about my butt.”
“Well, you have a good butt, as guy-butts go.”
“Nora.”
The burble of laughter left her voice. “Okay, you’re serious. What?”
“Am I too nice?”
The hesitation on the line told him everything.
He shook his head in disgust. “Great. Just great.”
“Not for a big brother, no, you’re not too nice,” his oldest younger sister hastened to say. “But you’re so pretty—”
“What?”
“—that you could afford to up your asshole a little.”
His jaw dropped. “I can’t believe my sister is telling me this. Didn’t I teach you—”
“Hey, you asked.”
Maybe she was kidding him again, because once more he could hear the humor in her voice.
“It’s Thursday, right?” she said now. “Poker night. Bring it up with the guys. Tell them about your worries.”
He yanked on his hair. “What makes you think we discuss feelings, for God’s sake? We don’t discuss feelings, we discuss sports, cars, and whether certain female celebrities are better for marrying or for…for making love to.”
“God.” The eye roll sounded loud and clear. “There’s the proof of your other problem. You can’t even cuss in front of me.”
“What other problem?”
“Your…well, let’s call it hyper-responsibility.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why does that sound like a synonym for old?”
“You said it, not me. But you’re not yet thirty, and because you’ve been taking care of younger sisters for so long you can’t even slip on occasion and say the word fuck,” Nora said. “That’s much too nice and hyper-responsible and...”
“Old,” he finished for her, resigned. “Still, Nora—”
“And to prove I’m not nice at all...fuck,” she said, and hung up on him.
For the rest of the afternoon he stewed over that conversation too, until he left his office for Cooper Daggett’s house, the designated host for this week’s game. He’d told Sloane not to expect him for dinner because they ate before play, and this time Sophie, Cooper’s sister, was on hand providing the food.
She sunny-smiled him as she set out platters of ribs. Beans and coleslaw lined up beside the meat on the long island of Cooper’s condo. “There’s my favorite bachelor,” she said.
His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How do you describe me when you set up these dates?” he demanded.
“Uh…” Sophie blinked, obviously stalling. “How do you want me to describe you?”
“Never mind.” He grabbed a beer and stalked to the other side of the room, where he let himself out a sliding door to the balcony overlooking the pool.
“And my lucky streak continues,” Cooper crowed, gesturing toward the lounge chairs and the turquoise water. “A new neighbor who looks great in a little red bikini.”
In the distance, a woman stood and wrapped a long beach towel around herself, grabbed a book, then headed away. “She’s gone,” Eli said.
“She’ll be back, though.” Cooper looked over. “Want to make a bet on how long it takes her to go out with me?”
The bastard was lucky. “No.”
Sophie stuck her head out then. “The other guys are here, the food is served, and I’m on my way.”
Eli and Cooper went in and joined the line to fill their plates. He saw Sophie pause beside Hart Sawyer. It was the other man’s first time to make it to their poker gathering since his fiancée had died. Hart bent his head as Sophie spoke to him, and she placed a gentle hand on his back. The touch didn’t linger, and then she was on the move again, out the door.
The savage beast newly roused inside their old friend Hart didn’t look the least bit tamed by the brief encounter. Eli had known the other man—all the poker crew—since they took Auto Shop together sophomore year in high school. Fifteen-year-old Hart had been the golden boy then, and almost that number of years later, he’d continued to be the town Midas. Successful in all ways. Known for his even temper and genial manner.
Until he’d lost his fiancée.
Things changed, Eli acknowledged. Hart’s mood had been mercurial since.
With his plate filled, Eli took a seat beside Boone. The poker table had been covered with a heavy-duty plastic cloth, since the felt required protection from the ribs and fixings. The seven men downed beers and ate their meal, then the plates were dumped, the plastic rolled up, and the card games commenced.
By their designated halftime, one single poker chip sat in front of Eli’s spot. Usually, over the course of play, the pots split fairly evenly amongst the group as their skills were well-matched. But tonight, between inattention and a streak of lousy hands, everyone but Eli was up. It meant digging into his wallet again or going home early.
Where he’d be tortured by his house guest who’d painted him with what she deemed a terrible habit-of-kindness brush.
“Fuck.” He said it aloud here because his sisters were hundreds of miles away.
Six heads turned to look at him. They’d all left the table and were replenishing beverages or helping themselves to the non-greasy snacks that were opened once the cards were out.
“Uh…what?” Boone asked.
“Just fuck.” Eli glanced around at his buddies. “I’m a week into spring break and that’s my current mood.”
Cooper laughed, his amused expression quirking his dark, devil’s eyebrows. “Is it time to share then? Because my new manicure girl is moving to Arkansas and I cried myself to sleep last night. Does anyone have a rec?”
Everybody laughed except Hart. “What’s up?” he asked quietly.
Boone turned serious too. “What’s going on with your spring break?” He didn’t mention Sloane, which just went to show the kind of good friend the man could be.
“He needs to get laid,” Maddox said.
“I need something,” Eli muttered.
“I heard Sophie was setting him up.” Maddox looked to Cooper.
Mr. Lucky held up his hands. “I don’t know anything about it. Including why you’d turn to my sister to find dates, Eli. You’re not as ugly as some of the guys here.”
Rafael threw a pretzel at him, which Cooper batted away. “Seriously,” he said. “Hit a bar, find an appealing lady, improve your mood.”
“I want naked body to naked body sex,” Eli admitted. The clothes-on version he’d had with Sloane had only served to prime his raging libido.
“Nothing’s wrong with that, buddy, it’s nature,” Cooper said. “Go forth and find yourself a hookup.”
“With the sisters gone,” Maddox added, “it’s not like you have a curfew.”
Eli thought a minute, then slipped his keys from his pocket. “You’re right, damn it. All of you are right.” With the sisters far from home, he didn’t have four girls for whom to set a good example. He could seek sex without even asking someone to dinner or lunch or coffee first.
He could stay out till dawn. Later.
No more Mr. Nice Guy. No more acting like old Mr. Nice Guy. It was time to go after what he wanted.
* * *
Sloane heard Eli come in from the garage. Glancing at the clock, she noted it wasn’t yet ten p.m. When he’d told her that morning about his weekly poker night, he’d mentioned something about arriving home past eleven.
She hadn’t pointed out it was kind of him to let her know, since she’d already been feeling bad about lashing out over what had happened in her bedroom.
Nice guys…finish last.
He’d completed that sentence for her.
Did it mean he’d found some satisfaction too? She’d thought so, but found it too embarrassing to ask outright. And anyway, the crux of the matter was all the same. She’d made a mistake and made him part of that mistake—though he refused to let her take all the blame.
He walked into the family room now, his gaze finding her on the couch, under the light of the standing lamp. Papers surrounded her and her laptop stood open.
NO LIMIT (7-Stud Club Book 2) Page 10
