It was supposed to be a taste of the relaxed, responsibility-free—well, dependents-free at least—life in his future.
Pulling into the garage, he noted Sloane’s car on the street and decided he didn’t feel anything in particular about the return of mother and daughter. So much so, that he’d pretend she and Paige weren’t there and he’d make a comfortable place for himself on the family room couch and go potato with sports and the remains of the cold pizza.
The downstairs was quiet, like his future bachelor pad would be. He smiled to himself and made for the kitchen where he tossed down the pizza box and flipped open the top. Then he heard a child’s laugh and his head turned. A mother’s answering murmur changed the trajectory of his feet.
Swept up by the sounds, he headed for the stairs.
* * *
At the noise of knuckles against the doorjamb, Sloane looked away from where Paige was selecting her story time choices from the bookshelf in the play room. Eli stood, framed by the white wood trim, a working man from his tanned face to his scuffed boots. Even his forearms, bared by a flannel shirt rolled to the elbows, looked capable and powerful.
Distracting.
Averting her gaze from the male splendor of him, she tugged on the hem of the T-shirt she wore with yoga pants. “Hey,” she said, her tone light and breezy. “I threw together a pasta salad. The leftovers are in the refrigerator.”
“I brought home some leftovers too—pizza.”
Paige glanced around, her hair still damp from her bath and dressed in pajamas decorated with pink cats. “E!” she said. “Time for books.”
He smiled at the little girl. Sloane steeled her heart. Yesterday she’d come to a conclusion. Her lonely childhood and her disastrous marriage, which should have stomped the sentimentalism right out of her, had instead made her vulnerable to the atmosphere contained within this family house.
At another time, she would have been unsusceptible. But without her own roof to shelter under, she’d fallen prey to looking at the King home and at Eli himself through a gauzy, glittery veil, giving her a star-spangled view. Remember her fantasy of the man’s smart and beautiful wife and the two sons they would share?
A fabrication.
Somebody gets to have that, she’d said aloud in the garage the day before, but whether that somebody was or was not Eli or that somebody was anybody…it was time for her to let go of her preoccupation with the idea. Her concern should only be about her own life and to that end, she’d rededicated herself, her thoughts, and her energies to her priority.
Blinders off! Rose-colored glasses gone! Fantasy cap tossed away!
Time to get down to the business of mothering Paige, her number one concern and the sole person who filled her heart. The little girl was enough to keep a single woman taking the next step and the next and then the one after that. Her daughter was all Sloane needed.
With a short stack of reading material in one arm, Paige stepped toward the bedroom, then halted near Eli. “What’s this?” she asked him, pointing to the height markings on the jamb.
He took a step away and looked at the ink lines, names, and dates. “Ah. This is where we kept a record of how my sisters and I grew. Every year on our birthdays, we’d draw a line to show how tall we were.”
“My birthday is Saturday,” Paige said.
“I heard that.” He shot a quick glance at Sloane.
Suddenly she remembered chattering to him about the upcoming event. They’d been naked, in bed, and she blushed recalling how she’d been sprawled over his length, blissed out on whatever endorphins were released upon orgasming.
Despite her embarrassment, the heat on her face took a little trek down the rest of her body. Ignoring an attraction that was of no use to a woman who had other, more important considerations, she cleared her throat, preparing to usher her child toward bed.
“Let’s see how you measure up,” Eli said, moving aside and positioning Paige with his hands on her shoulders.
Her daughter took direction seriously, holding still with her eyes and chin level. Eli put a fingertip to the wood as placeholder, then pulled Paige away. “You’re much bigger than Lynnie and Molly were at four,” he said in admiring tones. “See?”
Her little girl peered at the doorjamb, a small smile on her face. Then she grinned and looked to Sloane. “Big!” she told her mother.
“Yes, big.” Sloane shot a cursory glance and then took a second look. The King twins were of above-average height, at least from her five-foot-three perspective, but Paige did have half an inch on them when they were the same age. “You’re growing up too fast.”
Truer words, she thought with a pang, as she settled her daughter into bed. Wasn’t it just last week that she’d put her down in a crib?
At Paige’s insistence, Eli stayed for story time. They read a book about a dog, a cat, and then The Paper Bag Princess, the child’s latest favorite. “Bad Ronald,” she declared in a sleepy voice at the end.
“Yeah,” Eli said. “Beware of the Ronalds of the world, Paige.” He sent Sloane a smile. “Well, as I tell my sisters, beware of all boys.”
Words to live by, she thought, as she tucked her little girl beneath the covers and then bestowed the compulsory three kisses. One for a good night, one for a good sleep, and one for good dreams.
With a night-light left burning and Boo settled on the foot of the bed, she and Eli retreated from the room. Sloane repeated the all-important word to herself again—beware. Because that sentimentalism was beckoning again, making it too easy to cast herself and Eli in the role of mommy and daddy, now heading downstairs for the evening, their child securely on the way to dreamland.
“She’s going to grow up, you know,” Eli said. “Faster than you think.”
Alarmed, Sloane’s bare feet stuttered on the runner. She’d just reorganized her thinking and screwed her head on straight by putting her daughter once again at the center of her universe.
“Then she’ll be out on her own,” the man continued.
Where would Sloane be without her focal point? Her feet stuttered again, and this time Eli grabbed her hand, squeezing to steady her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, still retaining his grip as they began descending the steps.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, letting him tug her into the kitchen. “I can barely imagine her four, let alone fourteen or twenty-four.”
“You can’t stop time,” Eli said.
Slipping her hand from his, she frowned. “I guess not.” That was true. It would be just another kind of delusion to ignore the fact that every day her daughter grew older. Grew away from her.
Without asking, he poured a glass of wine and put it into her hand. Then he poured another for himself. “Cheers,” he said, clinking the rims.
“Not a kissing toast this time?” The words tumbled out of her.
His hand froze halfway to his mouth. He cut his gaze to hers.
She froze too, heat flashing across her skin, receding, flashing again.
Like the lights at a railroad crossing. Yet another warning.
Heeding it, she glanced away and wiped her face free of any expression, her lips turning up in what she hoped was a pleasant, neutral curve.
But when Eli tilted back his head to take a long swallow of wine, her gaze shifted to track the movement of the muscles of his throat.
How could that be so sexy? And why was she allowing herself to be distracted just as she’d re-righted herself as a single-focus single mom?
She’s going to grow up, you know.
Shaking off the thought, she took a sip of wine and moved toward the kitchen table. A map of the western United States was spread upon it and she saw the markings he’d penned. “Always trying to steer them right?” she asked.
He came nearer, standing close enough that if she cocked her elbow she’d touch his arm. How could so small an idea loom so large in her head? But she couldn’t get her mind off that short bit of space between them, the o
ne she should regard as an insurmountable gulf.
Eli leaned down to trace his finger over the route lined in red. “They disregarded my suggested travel plan during hour one.”
She laughed. “They’re growing up too.”
“Definitely. Nora and Allison…I accept that with those two. It’s still hard to think of the twins leaving home, though.”
“Did I hear right?” With exaggerated wide eyes, she turned her head to look at him. “Are you saying you’ll miss them?”
He cast her a sidelong glance. “I detect a note of feigned disbelief.”
“Well, you have seemed impossibly composed about the whole idea of them flying free of the nest…outside of your compulsive need to micro-manage this trip, that is.”
Turning, he set aside his glass. “Sloane Clarke, I believe you think you see right through me.”
At the teasing note she turned too, the both of them now face-to-face. “You’re not so hard to read.”
His eyebrows rose. “Oh, yeah? What am I thinking at this moment?”
The truth was, the challenging light in his eyes made him harder to decipher. So she put her wineglass aside as well, then crossed her arms over her chest and slowly rolled her gaze down his broad chest to his lean hips and long legs. On the return trip, she went even slower, because…
Because she was sidetracked again, remembering all those muscles and that length of him naked. A new warmth suffused her skin and she had to curl her fingers into fists so as not to reach out and touch him. But if she indulged…
It would be the soft flannel of his shirt first, just the barest skim of it with her fingertips, and then she’d find the small buttons, unfastening them one by one until she could reach the hot flesh over hard muscle underneath. Her breathing became shallow and she felt the hair at the edges of her scalp prickle.
It was impossible not to touch him, so she did. As she’d imagined, the very tips of her fingers ghosting over the flannel, starting at his shoulders and then moving in the direction of the untucked tails.
“Hold still,” she said. “Please don’t move.” Her head was in the game…this game, the touch and tease game, and she refused to think beyond this moment, this man. Now.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked, his voice rough, even as she also heard what went unsaid. The man didn’t ask her to stop nor did he move away.
Her gaze followed her fingers. “You mean do I know what this isn’t about?”
“Yes.” He could speak through gritted teeth.
Smiling a little at that, she progressed to step two, finding the topmost fastened button. Her heart thrummed in her throat and her breasts swelled, aching, just like that place between her legs.
“This means I have needs,” she said. “I thought…but I’m not…” All day she’d been telling herself that looking clear-eyed at the world meant embracing her single motherhood. And she did. She loved being Paige’s mom and was fine with raising her daughter alone. But…
The complete reality was that she wasn’t only that one thing. Yes, she was a mother. But she was also a woman, living, breathing, wanting. That part of herself had been laid aside during the previous four years.
“You’re just so pretty,” she said, moving on to another fastening and then another. “Nobody could blame me.”
“I might.” Eli scowled. “What’s this about prettiness? I’ve heard that before and I didn’t like it then.”
She smiled up at him, still unbuttoning. “You remember I’ve seen you with barrettes in your hair.”
His hands found her shoulders, dug in. “Sloane, I’m serious.” His gaze bore into hers. “This isn’t about romance,” he warned.
“I’m not asking for romance,” she replied. “I’m merely asking for this.” And she spread the two sides of his now-opened shirt, baring him.
He sucked in a sharp breath, his chest expanding, his belly hollowing. She felt another rush of heat, and her body softened inside, her womb growing heavy. With her nails, she drew a path over his nipples toward his waistband. “And this,” she said.
But before she could lay claim to another inch of him, he pounced.
His bigger body propelled her three feet in an instant, her back thumping against the flat surface of the refrigerator. Her gasping mouth was then filled with his tongue, his lips hot and urgent on hers, and she sagged, grabbing hold of his sides to keep from sliding to his feet. He grunted, pushing his hips against hers, and feeling the bulge there, her blood ignited. Reaching for his hair, she tangled her fingers in the long strands as his big hands slid to the back of her thighs and hefted her up. She parted her legs to wrap her ankles at the small of his back and they both groaned as he shoved against her, his heavy, denim-covered sex fusing with her heat.
His lips raced from hers to her cheek, her jaw, and then he was kissing her neck, open-mouthed and almost desperate as she let her head drop to give him more access. She drove her hips upward, wanting more sensation, wanting everything male about him against her female parts because this act was about primal need and primitive differences.
Base desire.
He could be any male body, she told herself as they dove into another wet and almost violent kiss. He thrust against her, and she tipped her hips yet again to take more, to ask for more.
“I want everything,” she said against his mouth. “Give me all you have.”
In another place and time she might be amazed at her passion and lack of self-consciousness, but Eli’s spring break had liberated her as well, it seemed. With another groan, he let go of her legs, controlling her slide to the floor. When she was steady on her feet, he whipped her shirt over her head.
“Oh, shit,” he said, his face flushed, his gaze trained on her breasts. “You mean to kill me.” No bra tonight, and they felt full and hyper-sensitive, the tips beaded. His head lowered and he took a nipple into his mouth, suction and heat sending shafts of pleasure rocketing through her body.
He sucked with aggressive pleasure, and then she was holding his head to her, thinking she might come from just this, from just this man’s mouth. He switched to her other breast, taking as much as he could into his mouth and slid his hands into the back of her yoga pants, clutching at her like he was afraid she might make a break for it.
Which was so far from the truth and he must know it, because her nails dug into his scalp and she was chanting, pleading, praising. “Good, good, good,” between wordless moans of approval.
His head lifted and his breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling as if he was sprinting. He stared at her, his face—God, so pretty, no matter how he hated that—communicating the same hunger driving her on. “My room—”
But she was already shaking her head because that was too far and her excitement too demanding, because what they were doing was all about now, now, now. Life and liberation were much too fleeting, she knew that.
“Sloane…”
She began shoving down her pants, taking her panties with them. Her movements jerky, she stepped free of the fabric, her heart racing. Then she attacked the button of his jeans, the material fighting her until he put his hands over hers and moved them off. “I’ve got this, love,” he said, a little smile softening the harsh lines of his face.
Love.
Her heart tripped.
Stupid, stupid, she told herself. Stupid that a casual endearment could weaken her knees and hitch her breathing.
Love.
To ignore the echo of it, she took hold of his shirt even as he continued to work at his jeans and then his boots. The flannel tangled at his wrists and she might have laughed at the awkward undressing but there was nothing funny in the way she was feeling, that it was necessary, so vital, for them to connect once again.
Right this instant.
Now.
He tossed a foil packet and then his wallet onto a nearby countertop. She heard her breathing, rapid and raspy, as he turned to her. “Come here,” he said, hauling her close for an
other consuming kiss. She molded herself to his naked skin, her arms around his neck and one leg twining his calf.
Good, she thought, and more.
He boosted her onto the cool tile surface, her hot, bare skin barely registering the contrast in temperature as she drew him between her open legs. His palms cupped her face, turning it upward for another bold kiss.
Her tongue tangled with his and she reached down to caress his stiff shaft, reveling in the heavy jut of it, and was bold herself as she stroked him, her hand claiming the long, hard inches. He crowded closer and the back of her knuckles bumped his belly as she continued to roughly stroke him.
He broke the kiss on a gasp. “God, Sloane.” Breathing hard, he pressed his forehead against hers and stilled her hand. “Too much.”
“Bad?”
“No.” A laugh choked out. “But the way I want you…”
She tilted her chin to catch his mouth again. Before the kiss could catch fire he lifted his head and pulled her hand from him. “Condom,” he muttered and she reached for it blindly, her hand finding foil then passing it over.
He was prepared, they were protected, but he hesitated now, and she made a greedy sound in the back of her throat. “Eli. Please.”
“I like you eager,” he whispered, and one of his hands ventured between her legs, where she was open and wet and ready for him.
“I am eager,” she agreed, arching into his delicate touch. One long finger filled her. “I’m eager now.”
Nuzzling the side of her head, he chuckled and her hips moved in silent entreaty, wanting more than this taunting penetration. His thumb circled her clit and she jerked, her body pulling in that lone, teasing finger. “Please.”
Eli groaned as her muscles squeezed. “Were you sore after…”
“I don’t care,” she said, digging her nails into his shoulders. “I want it. I want to be sore. I want to feel you tomorrow.”
NO LIMIT (7-Stud Club Book 2) Page 15
