Melting into You

by Trentham, Laura

  Logan hopped out of Alec’s truck, but before closing the door, he leaned in. “Think about what I said about Will. You can’t babysit Hunter or adopt him. He has to make his own choices. All you can do is make sure you’re around to help him decide. Or to pick up the pieces.”

  Alec tipped his chin in acknowledgment. Logan and Jessica drove off, but Alec sat in the truck until Hunter and Will disappeared toward the parking lot, shoving each other playfully.

  The way I need you is a loneliness I cannot bear. Hadn’t Lilliana been insinuating the same thing as Logan? What would it take to shift the trajectory of Hunter’s life when so many other factors besides football were at play?

  A weariness that sleep wouldn’t cure came over him. He headed toward his house even though part of him craved Lilliana’s company. They had gotten close, fast. He needed to be away from her to think. To sleep. To plan.

  His house was a fifties brick ranch that he’d remodeled. Walls had come down, hard wood floors laid, bathrooms modernized. The furniture was comfortable, the colors woodsy and soothing, yet Alec had never been completely at ease in the house. It had never felt like his home.

  The silence was unnerving. In a few short days, he’d become accustomed to the creaks and groans of Hancock House. He took a long hot shower. Dinner consisted of a simple sandwich in front of ESPN.

  A couple of hours of flipping channels followed. He went to sleep with the farmers, his king-size bed cold and empty. Moonlight trekked across the navy comforter, marking the slow march of time. At some point, he dozed off, his dreams populated with Lilliana’s smiles and laughter.

  He jerked awake, unsure what woke him. He lay still, listening. Lightning flashed, the crack of thunder following soon after. Storm clouds had swallowed the moon and stars, leaving the room in near darkness. He checked his alarm clock. One o’clock. He had a full day of contracting work followed by practice and probably more site work, yet sleep eluded him.

  Ridiculous or not, he knew he would only sleep in her bed. Muttering a curse, he threw on jeans and a short-sleeve T-shirt and stalked to his truck, bordering on angry. Wanting Lilliana was something he could accept. Needing her was dangerous.

  By the time he pulled into her drive, huge raindrops pelted the cab, steadily increasing into a deluge. He made a run for her back door, hoping to God she hadn’t given up on him.

  Holding his breath, he turned the knob, meeting no resistance. The door swung open with a long squeak. He toed his shoes off and shook his head like a wet dog. A chill from his rain-soaked shirt clarified the moment, and halfway up the staircase, he froze. What the fuck was he doing creeping into her bed at one in the morning?

  Before he could retrace his steps, lightning illuminated at figure at the top of the stairs. Lilliana rubbed her eyes and said, “Alec?” as if he might be one of her ghosts.

  “I know it’s late . . . or early . . . but I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Are you afraid of storms? Do you need someone to hold you?” Even husky with sleep, her tone was teasing.

  His doubts turned to ash, and he took the remaining steps two at time, pulling her into his arms.

  “You’re all wet.” Her voice pitched high, and she shivered.

  He reached behind his head and pulled his T-shirt off, dropping it at the top of the steps. “Better?”

  “Much.” She smoothed her hands over his shoulders and back.

  Lightning flashed and thunder cracked not a second later, the heart of the storm over them. He wove his hands in her hair and took her mouth in a blatantly sensual kiss. Over and over he swept his tongue beside hers, until she strained against him, her nipples teasing him through her tank top.

  He grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. Next, he pushed her boy shorts to her ankles. Her body melded into his. He ran his hands down her back to her ass, giving a cheek a playful slap. She gasped into his mouth, but he quieted her with his tongue, his hand massaging her.

  He scooped her up, his destination her bed. Setting her on her feet, he spun her around and kissed her neck, one hand teasing her breasts, the other caressing between her legs. The satisfaction of finding her ready nearly had him forgetting protection—again.

  “I need you.” He understood deep inside that the simple confession was complicated.

  She arched her back and pressed her backside into his erection. “I need you too.”

  His heart wanted to slow things down, find out exactly what she had meant, but his body denied any delay. He grabbed a condom from her bedside table and pushed her facedown over the side of the mattress with a hand at her neck. Apologies for his lack of finesse would come later.

  Canting his hips, he entered her, slow but forceful. As his pace increased, she writhed and moaned under him. He snaked a hand between her legs. Her hips bucked, and his name falling from her lips blended into white noise as he came, his knees weakening and his body covering hers.

  She felt so tiny and delicate under him, yet he couldn’t move except to breathe in her scent and kiss her temple. Her pulse throbbed against his lips as erratically as his heart battered his ribs.

  Jesus, he driven across town in the middle of the night to fuck her.

  No, not just fuck her. With hands on either side of her, he pushed up, still inside of her. Her back was a creamy white against the blue of her covers, her hair a tangled dark mass. He ran both hands up her back, his fingertips skimming the side swells of her breasts, one hand slipping into her hair to massage her scalp. Her back arched, and he pushed his hips into her, his erection still prominent. He wanted to take her again with nothing between them.

  The thought sobered him and he pulled out to dispose of the condom. She pushed up and tossed her hair over one shoulder. “That was unexpected.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She flipped to her back, stretching her arms over her head, her breasts bobbing high. Shadows dappled her body and face, making her even sexier and more seductive. “I said unexpected, not unwelcome. I’ve never been taken like that. I kind of liked you being so in control. Is that weird?”

  He whipped her covers back, picked up her and lay her down, stretching out beside her and pulling the covers over them both. “Not weird. I liked it too. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “Anytime you want to bend me over like that, you do it, Mr. Football. That was hot.” Her voice lowered and grew more tentative. “I had given up on you tonight.”

  A question lurked behind the statement, but he had no clue what to say. He’d done such a good job in the last few years graying the intensity of his feelings, the roiling of his stomach and the words ricocheting around his head felt foreign.

  The only safe place for him had been the familiarity and routine of the football field, and even that had turned into a minefield with Hunter’s problems. Lilliana’s bed wasn’t safe, yet the weariness and restlessness that plagued him all evening had disappeared sometime between entering her house and entering her.

  “I’m where I want to be right now. Can that be enough?” he asked, knowing it wasn’t a fair response.

  She hummed and snuggled into his arms, notching her head under his chin. Remnants of the storm blew outside. The house protested with groans and creaks. With the discordant music in his ears and a soft woman in his arms, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

  18

  When Lilliana woke, Alec was standing over her in his jeans and still-damp T-shirt. His tattoo trailed out of his shirtsleeve. Predawn light diffused into the room. He smelled of wild sex and rain.

  Without giving it a thought, she slid her fingers under his sleeve, pushing it up to see more. His arm flexed, the ink dancing. Did he not realize a woman had limits to her self-control? Hers was at an all-time low when it came to him. She gripped his biceps and pulled him closer. Didn’t all men love morning sex?

  “Can’t stay, darlin’. I have to get home to change for work.” His expression was intense, not happy or angry or regretful.

  Would she
ever learn to read him? Then, when she expected him to lay an unemotional kiss on her cheek or forehead, he pulled the covers to her waist. Her nipples pebbled in the cool morning air. She was on display in the dawning light and tried to tug the sheet back over her, but he grabbed a wrist in each hand and pushed them over her head.

  She squirmed, not from fear but arousal. The covers slipped even lower. A rumble came from his throat, and he flicked her nipple with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth. He repeated the kiss on her other breast.

  “Please, Alec. Stay.” In less than a minute, he’d turned her into a blubbering, begging mess.

  He let go of her wrists and pulled the sheet to her chin. This time the kiss he brushed over her lips was as chaste as a virgin’s first kiss. “Wish I could, but I’ll be back tonight. With some stuff. That okay?”

  “More than okay.” He turned to go, and she bit her bottom lip, sitting up and holding the sheet over her chest.

  The front door opened and closed, and the nerves and worry holding her upright were cut. She fell into the pillows. He wasn’t moving in, just storing a few of his things. No big deal. But, combined with his sudden appearance the night before, it felt like a big deal. A really big deal.

  The day passed both slowly and quickly. The shippers picked up the portrait, which meant a big payday was close. While she had morning light, she went to work on the stadium picture from a photo her cousin Elizabeth had emailed. Making money was surprisingly satisfying to her muse.

  That afternoon she wandered through the woods, heading toward the practice fields. She could hear the boys before she could see them—the clash of shoulder pads, the grunts of effort, the yells from the bleachers. She crossed the street and jogged to the field.

  Ms. Elizabeth’s husband Ralph stood at the fence with a half-dozen other gentlemen of a certain age who lived for football. A dozen other people were scattered on the bleachers. Darcy had tucked herself underneath like the outcast cliché. Lilliana joined her. “What are you hiding from?”

  Darcy chucked her head toward the crowd. “All anyone wants to talk about are our chances Friday night. They seem to think I have some magical influence on Robbie to play their kid longer or not play some other kid.”

  “You are having sex with the man.” Lilliana waggled her eyebrows.

  “Trust me, when we’re getting it on, he is not thinking about football.” She shot a narrowed gaze toward her husband who was in a three-point stance with his offensive line. “At least, he’d better not be.”

  “I think you’re all good. The man walks around looking like he wants to drag you off into the woods and do wicked things to you.”

  Darcy’s face transformed with her smile, her soft blue eyes twinkling. “Speaking of wicked things . . . What’s going on with you and Alec Grayson?”

  “What’ve you heard?”

  “Only that he went to church with you yesterday. That’s some serious stuff right there.”

  “Aunt Esmerelda caught him at my house.”

  “Sneaking out of your bed?”

  “Not literally, but it was pretty obvious what we’d been up to. His shirt wasn’t even tucked in.”

  Darcy looked out at the field and whistled low. “I can’t say I’m surprised you finally hooked up. You two couldn’t keep your eyes off each other during practices. Your antipathy for the man was obviously a thin cover for your lust.”

  Lilliana harrumphed and picked a piece of nonexistent lint off her shirt knowing Darcy was closer to the truth than she wanted to admit aloud.

  Practice broke up, and Darcy and Lilliana headed toward the fence. Alec jogged over, and Lilliana hoped she wasn’t imagining the spark of happiness to see her.

  “Hey,” she said breathily.

  “Hey yourself. How was your day?” He smiled, his gaze darting over her.

  “Productive. Shipped off the portrait. Started a new commission. What about you?”

  “Busy. Jeb finished Hunter’s car. I’m going to drive him over to pick it up after practice, and then I have a couple more work sites to visit. Make sure everything’s up to my standards. It’ll be late before I’m finished.”

  Was he dropping a hint? She repeated the offer she’d made on Sunday considering it had worked out rather spectacularly. “I’ll leave the back door unlocked.”

  The smile that creased his face was one she remembered from college, carefree and full of charm.

  “Hey, Miss Lilliana! My car’s fixed!” Hunter waved from the middle of the field.

  “I heard!” she hollered and waved back. He ran toward the practice pavilion with a teammate. “How’s his eye?”

  “Still swollen a little. Bruised. But mentally, emotionally, it’s like it never happened.” Alec shook his head and stared into the distance where Hunter had disappeared. “I can’t understand why Hunter doesn’t cut his brother out of his life. He has to know Will is going get in deeper and deeper.”

  She grabbed onto the metal rail of the fence and shrugged. “It’s hard to see the people you love the most let you down. You come up with excuses and more excuses until you run out. Just because you cut your parents off doesn’t mean Hunter’s there yet or ever will be with his brother.”

  “My parents almost bankrupted me. They cared more about my money than they did about me.” His voice turned harsh and cold.

  The reversion back to old, defensive Alec put her on guard. “I understand how difficult things have been for you the past few years, but at some point you have to put all that aside unless you want to drown under it. Lord knows, my dad and I—”

  A whistle cut through the air. He turned his face in profile, a virtual door slamming between them. “Gotta go.”

  “Sure you do,” she said to his already retreating back.

  Uneasiness seeped into her stomach. Their relationship might be too new and fragile to survive a sudden frost. She distracted herself by working into the evening with no clue whether he was going to show up at her house or not.

  The knock came around nine while she cleaned her brushes and debated on texting him. The fact he waited at her front door instead of letting himself in back seemed meaningful.

  A duffle hung over the shoulder he’d propped against the doorframe. His arms were crossed over his chest, the worry around his eyes belying his confident masculine stance. “Am I still invited?”

  She didn’t fully open the door. “Are you going to keep shutting me out?”

  He looked off to the side where orange leaves glowed around the streetlight. When he looked back, a puppyish apology softened his face. “I’ve spent the last few years wallowing in my problems. You were right to call me on it. When I think about what Hunter has to deal with . . . my childhood was idyllic.”

  “Yeah, mine too.” She rolled her eyes, a smile coming in spite of a lingering worry. “Come on up, Mr. Football. Invitation stands.”

  She led him to the dresser in her bedroom and opened the drawer she’d cleared out for him. Surprised at the burst of nerves that blossomed seeing him unpack something as mundane as underwear and a toothbrush, she retreated to the edge of her bed and pulled a throw pillow to her chest, running her fingers through the fringe.

  Unpacking took him all of forty seconds. Dropping his empty duffle on the end of the bed, he rubbed his jaw, the sexy stubble more pronounced than usual, and stared at her. Feeling like a wild animal under the scope of a gun, she shifted.

  “You started to say something about your dad this afternoon before I cut you off.”

  The question was there, but asked in such a way to give her a way out if she wanted to dodge the memories. Yet, she sensed he was testing her. “My father enjoyed swooping in to take me for ice cream or a surprise weekend at the beach, but he wasn’t around when my cat got run over or when my high school boyfriend dumped me. My mom and Aunt Esmerelda handled the hard stuff. He would vanish when things got tough.”

  The bed dipped with his weight, and his arm circled her shoulders.

&n
bsp; “Whenever he called, I managed to find an opening for one good dig.” The satisfaction that buoyed her after her slicing comments now filled her with shame. “He left me Hancock House in his will anyway.”

  “He loved you.”

  “Yep. In spite of how big a jerk I could be, he still loved me.” Tears drew her throat tight. “I wish—” She tried to swallow down the regret, but it spewed out. “Why wasn’t I nicer when he was alive? Why couldn’t I understand he was trying his best? I didn’t deserve to inherit this house. It should have gone to someone else. Someone who could handle it better.”

  He squatted in front of her, inserting himself in her field of vision. “I don’t know anyone better than you, Lilliana Hancock.”

  “You obviously need to get out more.” She ducked away from him and under the covers, hoping he’d take the hint she was done talking.

  He stayed in a squat for a moment before disappearing into the bathroom. The toilet flushed and water ran. She flipped the lamp off and tucked the covers under her arms. He slid under, smelling of toothpaste and her face soap, and slipped his arms around her.

  He picked the conversation up as if she hadn’t blown him off. “Your daddy wanted to make sure you were taken care of once he wasn’t around. Maybe you weren’t the most understanding daughter and maybe he wasn’t the most dependable father. But you loved each other anyway, right?”

  She nodded, knowing if she said anything he would hear the wobble in her voice. Brushing her hair off her neck, he skimmed his lips down her sensitive skin. One hand rose to cup her breast. He made love to her as if he understood her mood. Slow tenderness replaced the frantic playfulness of their last encounter. The gentle care he took was a salve on the wound she’d hidden from everyone yet picked at constantly.

  Afterward, she cuddled into his side, laying kisses along the tattoo on his chest. “I want a tattoo.”