She points at the mug that WanderWell’s women’s group delivered last Christmas. Empowered women empower women is emblazoned on the ceramic in glossy blue letters. Steam wafts from the mug now, the scent of coffee almost masking the scent of Greer’s light, sweet perfume. “I’m good.”
“Cool.” I shove my wallet back in my pocket and turn on my heel to make my way toward the kitchen area of the office. The cheery white walls and bright overhead lighting in the kitchen provide a sharp contrast with the dark, quiet desk area, and as I start the espresso machine, I pull the scent of coffee and toast into my lungs with a deep, grateful breath.
“There you are.”
I glance over my shoulder and smile at the sight of Eden speeding across the kitchen like a woman on a mission. Eden doesn’t ever just walk—she walks with purpose. Probably part of the territory, since in her spare time, she runs the Go-Getter Girl’s Guide blog all about tech and empowerment. She has too much to do to waste time.
“In the flesh,” I acknowledge.
“Good. Before you scatter off to other meetings, you need to pick your Secret Santa recipient.”
“Oh?” I lift an eyebrow.
She nods. “You must have missed the email when you were meeting with Damien.” She lowers her voice and inspects my face with a worried look. “Everything go okay?”
A muscle jumps in my jaw. “Yep.”
“I was just picking up on a little tension there.”
“Eden,” I bite out. “It’s fine.”
Her eyes say she doesn’t believe me, but she lets it go. “If you say so.” She thrusts a red silk bag into my face. “Pick a name.”
I reach inside and withdraw a slip of folded paper, then hold it up without opening it. “What are the rules of the game?”
“You have a twenty-five-dollar limit to get a holiday gift for your recipient. It’s a secret thing, so don’t let them know who you are until the party this Thursday.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
“Sure. Let me just write down the name of your recipient so I can keep track of everyone.” She plucks the name from my hands, and her cheeks go pink as she reads it. Her lips flatten as she scribbles the name on her clipboard, but she holds the information just out of sight. “I’ll leave you to it,” she says quickly, placing the paper back in my hand.
She scurries away in a swish of perfume, and I finally look down and read the slip of paper. Greer’s name curls in my palm—the loop of the G, the double Rs, twin Es. A treasure map of everything I want.
Inevitable.
Some decision solidifies inside my chest as I remember my conversation with my sister. I’ve been so worried about having to make a choice between Greer and this job offer that I’ve built everything up in my head to be bigger than it is. Right now, there is no job offer and there’s no Greer. There’s nothing to actually choose from. And I’m squandering whatever I might have with Greer if I never even try.
I’ve just been handed an opportunity to make her happy, and this time I’m not going to be dumb enough to waste it.
I know exactly what I need to do.
15
Greer
“Tell me, Greer Lively, how’s your no pants party going?” Locke’s low, seductive voice slides down my spine and tightens my nipples in a way that’s seriously inconvenient considering I’m only wearing a bralette under my thin sweater and we’re still in the office an hour from quitting time.
If his question’s not an opening, I don’t know what is.
I will my body to calm down and nibble on my bottom lip as I consider how to answer. “Technically, I’m only partying from the hours of six p.m. to eight a.m. since I think WanderWell looks down on pantlessness. But so far, so good.”
Locke’s quick smile dances not just on his lips, but also in his warm brown eyes. “Your roommate make it back home okay?”
“Yeah.”
Molly left me on Sunday afternoon with a hug and a knowing wink. “Something’s happening with Locke,” she singsonged as she zipped her suitcase around a stack of skimpy bikinis and a pair of polka-dotted flip-flops. “Use this time wisely.”
I couldn’t deny that I’d spent nearly every waking hour—along with most of my sleeping hours—with him last Thursday and Friday, a fact that Molly was more than happy to repeat for me.
She even texted me this morning, a single word followed by five question marks: So?????
That’s the question of my life, though. Does Locke want me? Does he not? And is whatever I feel worth possibly ruining our friendship?
“Do you want company?” Locke asks. “With pants,” he hurries to add. “I feel like tonight calls for a viewing of Elf to boost my holiday spirit.”
My body screams at me to say yes, but this is beyond the terms of our agreement. What does it mean? What does it mean? What does it mean?
I hesitate, and Locke repeats the question.
I stare at his earnest eyes, the familiar features of his face that make me feel more confident in myself than I’ve ever felt with anyone, but also more vulnerable.
What do you want it to mean, Greer?
This time I don’t let my mind answer. I let my heart.
“I’d love it.”
His only response is a grin.
“Snacks,” Locke declares, pausing Elf just before the opening credits run. He rubs his hands together and looks around my apartment. “We need snacks.”
“A man after my own heart.” I blurt it out without thinking, then gulp back my words. I’m still getting over the fact that Locke is here, in my house, among my books, on purpose, and I’m so flustered I can’t think straight.
Locke, though, just smiles at me from his spot on my sofa. “What are the options?”
I make a face. “In fairness,” I start, holding up a hand, “I wasn’t prepared for company. It’s mostly dessert.”
“Well, let’s see what you’ve got.” Locke leads the way toward my kitchen and pulls open the fridge. He bends over to peruse the contents, and cold air puffs into the room, making me shiver. I still haven’t changed out of my thin sweater and bralette, and the chill tightens my nipples, but when Locke glances over his shoulder at me and does a double take, I’m not sad about it. Not even one bit.
I curl my bare toes against the tile floor and fold a smile between my teeth. “See anything you like?”
His voice comes out husky, his eyes dark. “Hell, yes.”
For a second I think he means me—I want him to mean me—but then he cracks a grin and pulls a carton of ice cream from behind his back and wiggles it in my direction.
I try to wipe the disappointment off my face, and I drop my hands to my hips and shake my head. “I thought you were trying to keep me healthy with your daily pushups routine.” I’ve actually been doing the pushups, too. Despite how silly I felt about them at the start, there’s something kind of nice about getting stronger each day.
“Ah, yes,” Locke says, but he sets the carton on the counter anyway. He lowers his voice suggestively. “But it is the season of indulgence.”
I spin away from him and his stupid, frustrating face to grab two bowls from my cabinets. “Ice cream it is.”
“Do you happen to have tahini?”
Tahini?
“Um.” I cock my head to the side. “I think so…?”
He grins like he’s sharing a secret. “It’s delicious on vanilla ice cream. Kind of like peanut butter but a thousand times better.”
I smirk at him. “That’s so hipster of you.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it. It’s going to blow your mind.”
A laugh bubbles up my throat. “Well, then obviously I need to try it. What are we waiting for?”
I move past him and root behind an expired tub of Greek yogurt to pluck a jar of Molly’s tahini from the fridge. She won’t be mad about a missing spoonful sacrificed for a good cause.
Locke opens the lid of the tub and glances around. “Spoon?”
&nb
sp; I gesture at the drawer behind him, and he fishes out a spoon like he belongs here, like we’ve done this before. Then he pops off the lid and frowns at the oily liquid floating on top of a layer of sesame sediment.
I look inside the container and grimace. I know tahini tastes good and all, but right now it looks like something you scrape from the bottom of a lake.
Locke starts to stir the contents of the jar, and I can’t help staring. I drink in the sight of the flexing muscles in his forearm as they dance beneath his tanned skin. His eyes darken with concentration, and his lips part ever so slightly and—
“Shit!”
A spray of tahini oil launches out of the container and splashes onto the counter between us. Locke sets down the spoon, licks the side of his hand, and then inspects his pants.
“Crap. It got me.”
Sure enough, an oily stain spreads on the front of his light gray pants.
Locke grabs a paper towel and runs it under the tap, then dabs at the fabric.
“You need to put dish soap on that and scrub, or it’s going to leave a stain.”
He twists his mouth. “Really?”
“As someone who’s lost many an article of clothing in my battle with food, take it from me when I say if you don’t act quickly, those pants are going to become a casualty.”
“If you say so. But I can’t scrub them when they’re on me.” He drops his hands to the button of his pants and lets them hover there for a minute.
Oh shit.
My lungs squeeze so tight I can’t breathe.
He’s going to take them off.
My throat goes dry and my palms sweat, and I look away with burning cheeks as Locke flicks them open. My heartbeat roars in my ears, but it’s not quite loud enough to cover the seductive sound of his zipper sliding down and the fabric pooling on my tile floor.
Lachlan Mills is half naked in my kitchen and I can feel his eyes on my face like a dare, but if I look up, my body’s going to tell him everything I’ve been trying to hide.
Oh fuck. Oh fuuuck.
I’m not supposed to look. I’m not supposed to lust after my best friend like a horny high schooler. But I want to look and I’m lusting after him and I’m absolutely pinned to the spot until the kitchen tap squirts on.
The room fills with the sound of rushing water, and Locke’s cheerful whistle floats my way. “Do you have something I can scrub this with?”
I edge around the kitchen island, and then I’m forced to look because his strong, firm legs block the cabinet where I keep the scrub brush. My eyes slide over the honed muscles of his back, the solid, sculpted planes of his body. His taut, delicious ass clad only in a pair of boxers printed with soft pretzels. I try to pull in a breath and drive away the need to touch him, but as I drop into a crouch to pull open the cabinet by his knees, my body feels light and fuzzy.
Locke moves to the side to accommodate me, and I grab a scrub brush and hand it up to him without comment. I think I’m fine, I think I’m going to escape unscathed, but the return trip to my feet has it in for me. I start to lose my balance, and I grab for his arm to steady myself. And then I find myself holding onto him, breaking every rule.
When you want someone the way I want Lachlan Mills, you don’t touch. You never, ever touch.
But here we are.
Locke steadies me by the waist, and the heat of his palms through my soft sweater burns away all my senses. “It’s okay, Greer. I’ve got you.”
“Thanks.” I snatch my hand back, my cheeks scorching, and Locke drops his hands. We are so deliberately not touching that the space between us hurts.
I take a half a step back, but Locke catches me lightly by the wrist and stops me before I get too far. “You’ve got tahini on your face.”
I swipe at my left cheek, and he shakes his head with a slight smile. He releases my wrist and reaches toward me to sweep a strand of hair behind my ear. Then, with trembling fingers, he strokes a thumb over my cheek and my. heart. stops.
The room goes still—we go so quiet and still—that it feels like we’re in the eye of a hurricane. The world might be blasting apart outside but the only thing I’m aware of is me and Locke and this intimate touch that’s making every nerve in my body light up. This touch that’s unwinding me, that’s making me shake as I lean into his palm and breathe in his masculine scent.
The air between us crackles with heat, and electric energy pulses through my veins as Locke holds my face in his hands. My head spins and my knees threaten to buckle again, but I can’t make myself move away.
“Greer, I…”
There’s anguish in Locke’s tone, like he’s been wrestling with himself for ages and he’s finally giving in.
I want to reassure him, to give him something solid, so I reach up a hand to cover his wrist. We stand there, staring into each other’s eyes, me holding him holding me. I’m pretty sure the whole universe lives inside Locke’s eyes, constellations and galaxies swirling in those amber depths, reminding me that we are all made of the same atoms and ions. We’re all connected.
Locke tilts my chin in his hands, and his gaze locks on mine, intense and wanting and so focused that heat pools between my legs. We’ve never done this—never touched so intimately, laid our feelings out so bare. I’m intensely aware of each of his fingers, the pad of his thumb at the edge of my jaw, and my heart fucking aches.
“Locke,” I whisper. It takes everything in me to say the next word. “Wait.” He is the single most important person in my life right now, and I absolutely cannot have this be a kiss and run. It would destroy me. I’d rather never have a taste than to get a glimpse of what this could be and have it yanked away.
The air goes thick and hot, and Locke’s eyes blaze on my face. “What are you afraid of, Greer?” he challenges.
I swallow hard and drop my gaze. “Nothing.”
He shakes his head and grips my chin gently, so I’m forced to look him in the eye. “Bullshit.”
His rebuttal is so direct and shocking that I gape at him. “Excuse me?”
“What are you so scared of?” he repeats.
I can feel tears prick the corner of my eyes, and my heart bleats like a lamb. “I can’t lose you,” I admit. My whole body aches, wired so tight I could crack.
“Lose you?” Locke’s eyes crinkle with amusement and warmth. “I’m not going anywhere, babe.”
“Babe.” Doesn’t he know what that does to me? How damn confusing it makes everything? “There’s that word again.”
“I’m fond of it,” he smirks.
I snort in exasperation. “Locke—” I start to protest.
“How about I start by getting rid of that tahini?” he asks.
God, I’d forgotten all about it.
“Right.” I bite my lower lip. “Tahini. That’s fine.”
Locke sucks in a breath, and before I realize what’s happening, he lowers his face to mine. I’m so shocked that I don’t move, don’t even breathe.
I’m a rabbit, frozen in front of a wolf, but it’s lust hammering my ribs instead of fear. I relish the delicious anticipation as Locke comes closer, stepping forward until our chests press together and my heart bangs so loud I’m sure he can hear it. His lips brush my cheek, his tongue following hot and sensual on my skin.
He’s licking off the tahini. He’s just licking it off…
But then he nibbles his way down the slope of my cheek until our noses touch and his lips hover over mine.
“You taste so good,” he groans, the sound strained and almost painful, so raspy and thick with need.
“That’s just the tahini,” I mumble, and I feel his grin against my lips, and then I’m grinning too.
Locke pulls back a fraction of an inch to look me in the eyes, and then he smiles a pirate smile. First it steals my breath, then it steals my mind, and finally it steals my heart. I’m absolute putty in his arms, which makes me want to stage a feminist protest, but which also feels so blissfully good that I want to give i
n and let go. Now that we’re here, now that we’ve crossed all these lines, I can’t imagine ever going back.
“You have to tell me if you want me to stop right now.” Locke strokes a thumb over my cheek, so close we’re sharing air. “Because this isn’t just going to be a kiss, Greer. I’ve been waiting too long for you, and I’m going to take my time with whatever we start.”
His words shoot straight through my body, lighting up my skin and swirling through my veins like the sweetest drug.
He’s wanted this too?
Any last protest I was going to make dissolves on my lips. My nipples strain against my bra, and my clit begs for his touch, but I’m not the only one aching for more. Locke’s erection presses into my stomach, hard and thick and hot.
He wants me, so much that his body shakes against my skin. And look—look what he’s offering me in the dark. He wants me, and I just want to feel. To stop thinking and let myself give in to my craving for him. To stop being afraid. How could I possibly say no?
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, and Locke brings his mouth to mine.
16
Locke
I kiss Greer like I mean it, cradling her head in my hands and sucking her lower lip between mine, needing to convey just how much I want her in a single kiss. I’ve always wanted her, ever since she waltzed into my life.
And now she’s here.
Greer parts her soft, lush lips and yields to me, moaning into my mouth in a way that makes me tighten my grip on her and never want to let go. I taste her, slow and sweet, needing to savor this moment even though I’m ready to jump from this minute to the next. And god, it’s good—heat floods my body and my skin buzzes with pleasure as her sweet, fruity scent tantalizes my senses.
I sweep a hand down Greer’s back, finally letting myself touch her the way I’ve been dying to. The way I’ve pictured on a hundred empty nights. My palm skims the curve of her ass, and I pull her body closer to mine. When I drag her in, her breasts push up against me deliciously, her thin, soft sweater doing nothing to hide her pert nipples and the outline of her lacy bra.
The Fake Date Agreement (Awkward Arrangements Book 1) Page 9
