She stood. “Tell Ben that we would love to his support. He can come by anytime to work out the details and sign the agreement.”
He stood. “Paige…look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that day, but…How are you?” Concern registered in his expression as his gaze drifted to her neck.
Anger rose in her chest, mixed with hurt of the untimely reminder that the skin in that area looked no better now than it had weeks ago. Of course he had no way of knowing that, but he shouldn’t have known anything. He’d betrayed her trust by not letting her know that it was him there that day. A stranger hearing her story was one thing…a man she was attracted to and had conflicted feelings for was another. “I need you to go.”
She heard the office door unlock and Isabelle enter. She shot her a look full of daggers, and her mother frowned as she sat at the reception desk.
“Paige. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you…”
“Out, Owen.”
He sighed. “Okay. I’ll get Ben to contact you,” he said, sounding just as tormented and defeated as she felt.
She watched him leave the office and say something to her mom as he left, passing Clara, the head nurse from the burn unit, as he exited.
She squared her shoulders, but her hands shook at her sides. The twisting in the pit of her stomach was making her nauseous. Good, Clara was here. Another meeting would get the day rolling and force thoughts of Owen, Bernie…and the embarrassment she felt that he’d fooled her, gotten close without her knowing, out of her mind.
Waiting until he disappeared, Paige forced a smile as she greeted Clara. “Hi. Just the woman I was hoping to talk to today…” she started. Unfortunately, Clara was giving her a look she couldn’t quite decipher. “What?”
“Nothing. I just finally figured out who the mystery man is.”
“What?”
“That guy who just left. He was in the waiting room a few weeks ago while you were in surgery, but none of us could figure out who he was there to see. Though we all thought she was one lucky lady…Turns out it was you.” She grinned.
Paige blinked. “What?”
“Darling, you’re sounding like a broken record,” Isabelle said.
Paige turned to face her mother. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”
With a sigh, she said, “I didn’t tell you because I was trying not to interfere, but Owen was there during your surgery. The whole time until you went into recovery.”
Her mouth gaped. “What?” She was confused. He’d been there? For her?
“Oh my God, stop saying ‘what’ and go after him,” her mother said.
Clara looked confused as well. “You mean, you two are not together? He waited over four hours in a hospital waiting room and you’re not even dating him?” A dreamy expression took over her features, and Paige knew one thing. If she didn’t chase after Owen right now, the fifty-year-old head nurse just might.
“Excuse me,” she said, hurrying out of the office. She scanned the hall, but she didn’t see him. Launching into a sprint, she prayed she didn’t break an ankle on her three-inch heels as she rushed through the Burn Treatment Center’s front doors and out into the August heat.
He was in the parking lot, approaching a pickup truck.
Picking up speed, she called his name.
He turned, surprise in his eyes visible from that distance. He slowly started toward her. “Paige?”
Slightly out of breath, she closed the gap between them. Her arms wrapped around his neck and a second later her lips met his.
Her mind reeled, so she shut it off as she kissed him. Years of pent-up sexual energy, combined with weeks of constant thoughts of him and mixed emotions, came out in the kiss, and when his hands gripped her waist, she relaxed and savored the best kiss of her life.
Her hands tangled in his hair, and the smell of his soft cologne filled her senses, reminding her of the night in the bar. Being in his arms had felt amazing…until he’d messed things up. The mixed reviews of that evening dampened her fire just a little, and she pulled back. “So, you’re Bernie?” She wasn’t sure if she should still be annoyed with him for not telling her or not, but somehow, she couldn’t force herself to be after he’d spent an afternoon in a hospital waiting room to make sure her surgery went well.
“Yes, and it’s top secret information, so now I have to kill you, but I’ll give you a running head start if I can have another kiss,” he teased.
She shook her head. Sure, she may be in his arms and kissing him, her anger melting away quickly, but he still wasn’t completely off the hook. “You were an asshole the night of our date.”
“Only at the end. And I’ve made up for it twice since then, right?”
“That was Bernie, not you.”
“One and the same, baby,” he said pulling her in and stealing another quick kiss.
No wonder she’d felt an attraction toward the mascot. At least she didn’t feel weird and fetishy anymore. Her eyes widened. She’d seen Owen’s body. Hot mascot was actually hot Owen. And the scars…
“Can we go somewhere and talk later?” he asked quietly, smoothing several strands of hair away from her face.
The feel of his fingertips against her skin made her body tingle. “No.”
His smile faded.
“But we could go somewhere and kiss some more.”
* * *
She was still behind him. Smiling, Owen hit the button for his garage door then, rethinking it, shut it again. He always went inside through his garage turned man cave, but bringing a woman through there was probably not the smartest idea. He hadn’t cleaned up the space since the bachelor party they’d held for Frankie Rothberg, the team’s goalie, two nights ago.
The party had been trouble-free (no strippers) as per the request (demand) of Frankie’s fiancée, but the faint smell of cigar smoke still lingered, and beer cans littered the space.
His older home was harder to find, located in a section of town that newer GPS systems didn’t seem to recognize, so he’d met her at the hospital at five thirty and she’d followed him. Cutting the engine, he climbed out and met her at the end of the driveway as she parked her car in front.
She continued to sit inside, hesitating long enough to make him nervous.
He waved when she glanced his way.
She climbed out, and as she made her way up the sloping driveway, his palms were sweaty. Still in her tan capri-length dress pants and ivory blouse, a pale blue scarf, and matching wedge heels, she looked better than anything he’d ever seen walking toward him. His mouth felt like sandpaper.
She was way too good for him. He’d already messed things up once. And he was already in too deep. This was going to end badly.
“This is your house?”
He couldn’t quite figure out her expression—surprised by his choice of old-fashioned, homey, two-story house as a bachelor pad maybe? True, most of his single buddies lived in condos or million-dollar homes, but he liked the quiet neighborhood and his space. He grinned. “No, it’s my parents’. I live in the basement.” Sarcasm could always be relied on to shield his nerves.
Her eyes widened briefly, then she hit his shoulder. “You have to stop doing that.”
“You’re more relaxed now.” So was he. Looking at her intimidated the shit out of him, made him feel like a tongue-tied teenager on a first date, but once the teasing banter started, the obvious reasons that he was going to get his heart crushed seemed to fade from memory. “Yes, this is my home.”
“So, did you suddenly remember the dead bodies you have hidden in there?” She nodded toward the garage.
So she’d noticed the abrupt change of plans. He laughed. “Nope, just the still alive ones that I don’t want to escape.” He opened the front door and held it for her.
She shot him a look as she passed. “Well, just so you know, I’ve texted all your vitals—address, license plate, name, and alter ego to my friends, so if I don’t show up at work tomorrow…”
He c
ut her off by pulling her into him. “There could be another reason you don’t show up for work,” he murmured, his gaze drifting to her lips. Since their kiss in the hospital parking lot, he’d been craving another taste of her. He’d been shocked when she’d come after him, but if she was willing to give him another shot, he was hell-bent on showing her that her gamble was worth it.
She pressed a hand to his chest. “I always show up for work.”
The spontaneity of the moment hours before had taken the edge off, but now, the quiet, intimate setting of his house seemed to make her a little nervous. So, instead of pressing his lips to hers and savoring the taste of her watermelon lip gloss until it was gone and they were breathless, the way he wanted to, he kissed her forehead gently and reluctantly released her. “Drink?”
“Sure…a water would be great.”
“Nope. No water—just beer or vodka.”
“In that case, I’ll have a beer.”
He winked, opened the fridge, and removed two, then untwisted the cap and handed one to her. She took a slow sip while she scanned his kitchen, an unreadable expression on her face.
“It’s the drapes, isn’t it?”
“Huh?”
“The strawberries and sunflower drapes. I can’t take them down—they were gift from my grandmother.”
She laughed. “I like them. Very retro. I was actually just looking for alternate escape routes in case you really do turn out to be a serial killer.”
Setting his beer aside, he walked toward her, taking hers just as the bottle touched her lips. He couldn’t resist any longer, and it had been her idea to kiss some more.
Her arms went around his neck as his hands gripped her waist, pressing her body to his. Every part of him was touching her—chest, stomach, thighs all connected, but he couldn’t get close enough.
His tongue slid along her bottom lip and the taste of watermelon had him desperate for more. He lifted her soft, silky hair from the back of her neck and moved his lips to her cheek, her jawline, her neck, leaving soft, yet desperate kisses there. He wanted to kiss her everywhere…all night long. The bulge appearing in the front of his pants demanded he do other things all night long as well. He knew he had to go slow with her, but damn, it would be torture. She felt and smelled and tasted too good to resist. His body was ignoring all attempts at reason, daring to go just a little further…
She swallowed hard when his hands traveled up her body, over her stomach, her ribs, and slowly up her arms. “Owen…”
Don’t tell me to stop, please don’t tell me to stop.
His feelings for her were already soaring to an unhealthy level, and now his body craved her the way his heart did. He continued kissing her neck, capturing one delicate earlobe between his lips, waiting for her to continue, but she was silent. Just the sound of her shallow breathing…
Silence was far too ambiguous.
Reluctantly breaking away, he fought to clear his head. “Too fast?”
She reached to readjust the blouse around her neck, covering the scars he’d uncovered.
That’s what was holding her back? Giving her hesitation? He gently stopped her. “Because of those?”
She nodded. “Yeah, no one has…I haven’t been with anyone since my accident.”
Attack. His blood pressure rose thinking about the stories he’d read online. He forced a slow breath, gently trailing his fingers along the pale pink thin lines of skin. The reality of her nightmare tangible beneath his touch helped to keep his hormones in check. She’d been through hell, and she was slowly letting him in. He wouldn’t ruin things by pushing. “It’s okay. We can go as slow or fast as you’re ready for.”
Her expression softened, but he suspected his still held a trace of desire.
“As for me, I’m ready to love every inch of you anytime.”
* * *
Oh, sweet baby Jesus. His words had her more ready and willing than the knee-weakening kisses he’d placed along her neck. The look in his eyes as he stared at her held not a trace of expectancy, just sincere understanding and patience.
Damn, if he was playing her, he played the game well.
She wanted him. She wanted to be wanted again. Her entire body had responded to his touch, the feel of his lips, and the intensity of his desire. But could she really let go and be with him knowing her ugly scars would only be a turn-off? Of course he wouldn’t say it, but she’d see it in his eyes, wouldn’t she? And she wasn’t sure she could take the silent rejection once she got that close. Her therapist had said sex would be slow to return to her life and to take her time, only move forward in a committed, loving relationship with someone she knew she could trust.
But she wasn’t sure that would ever be possible. How did she know she could believe in and trust someone until she’d seen their reaction to her new body? Until she’d suffered through their response to seeing the lines of tragedy that had faded with surgeries but would always remain?
She knew all of this, so why was her gut telling her that the person she’d been waiting for was standing right in front of her, allowing her to take all the time she needed. A promise to wait she didn’t doubt he meant.
“Here’s your drink—let’s go into the living room,” he said when she’d been quiet for far too long.
Taking the beer, she set it back on the counter and, without hesitation, kissed him again. Hard, quick, and with more urgency than she’d intended. “I’m ready,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his waist, pulling him closer. Once again, her body tingled at his nearness—the feel of his rock hard body pressed against her and the smell of his cologne, which tantalized her senses.
“Unh-uh.” He shook his head, putting some space between them.
She frowned. He was rejecting her? After that excruciatingly tempting foreplay? “What?”
“No way. That internal turmoil I just witnessed tells me you’re not ready. You don’t have to do this for me, I meant what I said—I’ll wait.”
Okay, he really was good at this. Now he was going to get her to beg? She was tempted to make him wait, but unfortunately that would just be punishing herself. She could already feel her underwear getting wet, and her breasts ached for his touch. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she leaned into his chest. “I said I’m ready,” she said with far more conviction than she felt.
He studied her for an excruciatingly long second, and she actually thought for the first time in her life that she might have to beg a guy for sex.
Also for the first time in her life she experienced an intense respect for a man she’d known for such a short time…respect and longing. The combination was powerful and nearly took her breath away. “Owen,” she whispered. It was as much begging as he would get from her, and she hoped it was enough because her body was practically trembling with desire for him.
Bending, he wrapped his hands around her thighs and lifted her body to straddle him. Her legs went around his waist and her hands rested on his thick, muscular shoulders as he carried her down the hall.
“You’re sure?” he asked as he set her onto a bed.
“Quit asking,” she said, dragging him down on top of her. She reached for his shirt, but he took her hands and pinned them overhead.
“Just because you’ve seduced me doesn’t mean we’re rushing this,” he said, the teasing smirk she’d come to love appearing on his handsome face. “I still want to take it slow…if we go too fast or too far, stop me.”
She was nodding. “Yes, okay, you’re a saint. Now, kiss me,” she said. She knew what she wanted, and for once she refused to let her past stop her from going after it.
* * *
A saint? Ha! The lower half of his body wouldn’t agree. Her kisses alone were driving him crazy, and the way she ran her hands beneath his shirt and caressed his stomach and chest was making him slightly tipsy. He’d heard the expression drunk on love before, but he’d never experienced the light-headed, floating feeling he was right now. He wanted to rip the clothes f
rom her body and savor every inch before he woke up from this dream he didn’t feel worthy of having.
But when the universe sends a man a woman like Paige, he was required to make each second last.
He opened a button on her blouse and searched her expression for any sign of hesitation. He was nervous as his fingers fumbled with rest of the delicate buttons. Nothing he could see would make him think she was any less than perfect, but would she see sympathy or anything other than appreciation in his gaze?
As he gently opened the blouse, she closed her eyes, and he could see her sharp inhale. The trust she was putting in him made his chest ache with a burning need to show her she could relax, knowing she was safe with him. That she hadn’t made the wrong decision letting him this close. Without a word, he lowered his lips to the part of her stomach free of scars and placed a string of kisses around her belly button. Then, resting his weight on his hands, he lifted his body to reach higher, over the damaged flesh at the base of her ribs, between the pale pink lines covering her beautiful breasts, and up and over her chest. Gently, carefully, with all the emotions he had spiraling inside, he kissed her neck, wishing the strength of his feelings for her could erase the markings of hate.
Sliding the blouse off of her shoulder, he kissed her, teasing her bottom lip with his tongue as he reached behind and unclasped her bra, tossing everything aside. He broke away to remove his own shirt and lowered himself to her.
Her gaze landed on his arms and she touched the electric set of designs. As her gaze scanned them, she smiled, confirming his suspicion that she didn’t mind the intentional scars.
“These are sexy,” she said.
“Yeah, I noticed you checking them out on Bernie,” he teased.
“Bernie was hot.”
“Bernie is me.” And he was going to make her forget about everyone—everything—else.
She reached for the button on his jeans, and he lifted his hips to help her slide them off. He moved them down his legs and kicked them to the floor. Then, removing her capris, he hesitated once more before reaching for the silky seamless underwear. But the look in her eyes—full of need—told him to continue.
Maybe This Summer Page 8
