Crazy for Your Love

by Lexi Ryan

  Truth be told, I’ve wanted to kiss Teagan Chopra for a long time now. Like, years. And, sure, I would’ve picked a different place than at a fancy-ass fundraiser in front of hundreds of people for our first time, but as I dip my head and touch my lips to hers, I decide I don’t care. I don’t care where we are or how long I had to wait.

  “Carter,” she whispers against my lips. But the crowd roars its approval, and she gives a subtle shake of her head and a sigh of surrender. She slips her hand behind my neck, and her long fingers thread into my hair as she brings her lips to mine.

  Her mouth is soft and sweet. I grip her hips, pulling her body against mine. I’m aware of every inch of her—every curve and plane, every hitch in her breath.

  “That’s more like it,” the vocalist says. The band starts into Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud,” and someone pulls the curtain on the front of the stage, shielding us from the stares of the crowd and leaving us in darkness.

  I keep her close for a beat, trailing my knuckles up her side and down again.

  She trembles before stepping back, fingers to her lips. Even in the near darkness behind the curtain, I can see the worry on her face, and I don’t like it. “I haven’t had enough to drink for this.”

  Damn. I don’t know what I expected to see or what I expected her to say, but her words hit me in the gut. I do my best to cover with humor. “Come on, I can’t be that bad at kissing.”

  Her laughter breaks the tension. This is Teagan. Of course she’s not going to make a big deal out of a kiss. “If only you were, Carter. If only you were.”

  As Molly introduces the next bachelor, I take Teagan’s arm and lead her through the service hallway so we can return to the party. “Was that a compliment?”

  “Maybe.” She sighs. “Or maybe it’s been too long for me, and I’ve forgotten what it feels like.”

  We stop at the double doors that lead into the Jackson Brews banquet room. “Any other physical sensations I can help you remember?”

  She smacks me in the stomach with the back of her hand. “You are shameless.”

  I turn up my palms. “What? I’m just offering.”

  “Real selfless of you, Carter Jackson,” she says, but she’s still smiling, so I call it a win.

  “Let me get you a drink. The least I can do.” Taking her hand, I lead her back into the fray and to the bar, where my brother Jake is flipping bottles in his best Cocktail impression, to the delight of the small crowd gathered there. “What are you drinking tonight?”

  “I think I need a martini.” Her grin is apologetic, the whole it’s not you, it’s me thing.

  I push down my disappointment. I didn’t think my fake grand gesture would be the beginning of something for us, but I hate feeling like my arm is the last place she wants to spend her night. “Sure thing. You can go ahead to the table, and I’ll meet you there.”

  “After seeing those women throw a fit about losing their chance with you, I don’t think you should get too far from me.” She tugs me closer and cuts her gaze to the cocktail table a few feet from us. Two women sip on pink cocktails and leer at me. They’re beautiful, but “barely legal” isn’t my thing.

  “You’re going to be my bodyguard now?”

  She surreptitiously glances their way again before nodding. “I could totally take them.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “And you’re my bodyguard too,” she says. “I don’t want to be alone when your family corners me for explanations.”

  “They won’t. Not tonight, at least.” The fundraiser is too important to Jackson Brews and to Molly for my siblings or mother to risk bad press by exposing my very public lie. And anyway, they know how nuts it’s been this last month, so they might not be surprised that I couldn’t go through with the auction—even if they don’t fully understand why.

  “I can hold my own for a few minutes.” I point to the sweetheart table at the front, reserved for me and my date. “Standing in those heels can’t be comfortable.”

  “They’re completely wicked.” Teagan shrugs. “But who can resist a strappy, glittery heel?”

  Who, indeed? I recognize this pair as her go-to for fancier dresses. They make her legs look amazing and have inspired more than a few fantasies I’d rather not admit. Fantasies I’ve typically pushed out of my mind, but that refuse to go now that I know what she tastes like . . . now that I can hardly think about anything but tasting her again.

  “I’m a pro, Carter. I can stand in these all night long.”

  “What else can you do in them?” I ask.

  She jabs me with her elbow. “Don’t you wish you knew.”

  I show my palms, all innocence. “I was asking about dancing.”

  She snorts. “Sure you were.”

  “That was quite a show,” Jake says as we step up to the bar, but he’s studying me as if he’s trying to figure out if maybe we do have a secret romance.

  “He needed a big, strong woman to protect him,” Teagan says, winking at me.

  I lean over the bar so only Jake can hear. “You have no idea how scary some of those ladies are.”

  It’s true. For the past few weeks, I’ve even been avoiding Jackson Brews and the tourists who’ve been frequenting my family’s bar in search of me. About a week after the picture went viral, I took home a woman who turned out to be a reporter here for the scoop on “the hot firefighter.” After that, I couldn’t risk it.

  “He’s lucky I owed him a favor,” Teagan tells Jake. “It’s only a matter of time before my mother hears about this and calls me to ask about our wedding plans.”

  “I hope you don’t think I’m putting out before the wedding,” I tell her, folding my arms. “I’m not that kind of boy.”

  This draws a loud snort from Jake. “That was one hell of a nice donation you gave to the Shoe Bus. I had no idea firefighters made such good money.”

  “It’s the money from those damn interviews.” I don’t accept them anymore, but right after the picture of me and the pup went viral, I let my chief talk me into doing a couple of TV appearances. I used the opportunity to spread the word about water safety. Turns out I hated it, and it only made my weird fifteen minutes of fame last longer. I don’t tell him that it feels wrong to keep the money. Or that I hate all this attention in the first place.

  Jake’s eyes narrow on me, but he nods. “It’s just money, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Are you two drinking tonight?”

  Teagan grins. “We didn’t stand in this line for water.”

  Carter

  Ten grand—that’s how much the bachelor auction brings in for the Shoe Bus, fifteen counting my donation. The guys from my station are going to be cocky sonsofbitches for weeks after how much money they each brought in, but that’s the least of my worries. Between the rest of the auction and dinner, something changes between me and Teagan. I get us more drinks between courses, but the easy laughter fades away the longer we sit at the table with everyone staring at us.

  After our plates are cleared, Teagan finally looks at me. “Why’d you do it? Why not spend your night with one of the ladies who came to charm you?”

  I’m sure it seems unreasonable. After all, I’m no stranger to beautiful women, and I’m not exactly shy. “I could see how the night was going to unfold. I’d have to recount the story and then have them sing my praises for something anyone would’ve done—anyone could’ve done.”

  She cocks her head to the side and studies me. “Not anyone, Carter.”

  I shrug. “I hate them acting like I’m a hero when in the scheme of things . . .” I grimace, unwilling to finish that sentence. In the scheme of things, I’m a fucked-up failure. In the scheme of things, I’m just lucky, and the real hero of the JHFD died in a warehouse fire in April.

  “Well, it wasn’t so bad,” she says. “And now we’re even. Right?”

  “Right.” I’m ready to tell her we can make excuses and get out of here, but the young women who w
ere leering at me earlier descend on our table.

  The first extends a hand to Teagan, flipping her straight honey hair over one shoulder. “Hi, I’m Jennifer. I wanted to meet the woman special enough to claim the heart of such an amazing guy.”

  Teagan shakes the offered hand. “Nice to meet you.” She chases the words with a long pull from her martini that suggests otherwise.

  “How do you two know each other?” Jennifer asks.

  “We’ve been friends for a long time,” I say, watching Teagan, who’s staring at her martini so intently that I’m pretty sure she’s preparing to write an ode in its honor. “It took me a long time to find the courage to tell her how I feel.”

  Jennifer presses her palm to her chest, her jaw dropping. “Oh. My. God. That is so sweet.” She looks at her friend and squeals. “They were friends. And he’s been into her forever, and just recently found the courage to do something about it.”

  Wow. I didn’t know I needed a translator.

  “Oh my God. So sweet,” the second woman says.

  “You are so lucky,” the girls tell Teagan in unison.

  Teagan coughs on a gulp of martini, then nods as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “So lucky.”

  “We’re disappointed, of course,” the first woman says. “We drove eight hours for a chance to bid on Carter.”

  “Heartbroken, really.” The second one drags her gaze over me. I try not to squirm, but it’s an effort.

  “But we love love, don’t we, Brit?”

  “Totally,” Brit says. “Love is our favorite.”

  “Right,” Teagan says. “I mean, who doesn’t?”

  “Right?” Jennifer says.

  I reach across the table for Teagan’s hand. I’m probably going to burn in hell for this, but it might be worth it to get that tortured we all know this is fake, would someone kill me now look off her face. “It turned out Teagan had been harboring feelings for me the whole time too.” Her gaze snaps up to meet mine. Good. At least she’s looking at something other than her drink. “I’ll never forget the day you showed me all those journals where you wrote me secret love notes.”

  Teagan’s eyes narrow. Her jaw hardens, and the corner of her eye twitches. “Excuse me?”

  Nodding, I turn to the girls. “She wrote one every day for a whole year. Some of them were a little . . . odd.” I turn back to her and tilt my head. “I never thought I’d meet a woman who’s actually turned on by watching me drink beer.”

  Brit smiles. “I’d watch you drink beer.”

  Teagan ignores her. “My love notes were nothing compared to your little collection from my trash.” She turns to the girls. “He saved old napkins and water bottles I drank from. Even little bits of my hair.”

  The girls cover their mouths and take a few steps back.

  I choke back a laugh, determined to keep a straight face. “You make it sound creepy.”

  “We have to go,” Brit says. “But congrats to you two.”

  “Yeah,” Jennifer says. “You’re a totally . . . special couple.” They walk away, and I can barely make out Brit telling her friend that they dodged a bullet. Teagan drains her drink as we watch them go.

  “Little bits of your hair?” I ask. “Am I in love with you or planning to murder you and store your corpse in my freezer?”

  “I’ve known guys with creepier tendencies,” she says. Standing, she holds out a hand to me and motions toward the crowded dance floor. “Come on. If we sit here, more women are going to want to talk. You dance, don’t you?”

  “I think I have to if I want to save my reputation. I’m lucky those women aren’t local, or I’d never get another date.”

  I don’t have much time to dwell on that thought. Teagan loops her hands behind my neck and rolls her hips to the song’s quick beat, and I can’t think of anything but her.

  I’m stunned by the sudden press of her body into mine, and at first I’m not sure what to do with my hands. Sliding them behind her neck seems too junior high, but if they’re in her hair, I know I’ll be too tempted to tilt her face up so I can kiss her again. If I put them on her waist, they’re bound to roam south to cup the curves her little black dress shows off so well.

  “You started this,” she whispers into my ear. “You’d better dance with me like it’s real, no matter how much you’re regretting it right now.”

  I grunt in surprise. Regret is the furthest thing from my mind. “I didn’t want to scare you away,” I say, wrapping my arms around her waist to rest my hands at the small of her back.

  “I’m still here, aren’t I?” She looks up into my eyes, and I wonder what’s going on in that head of hers. She turned so quiet and awkward over dinner. I thought it was because everyone was staring at us, but . . . maybe there was more to it.

  Am I crazy to hope that she’s as attracted to me as I am to her? That she’s thought about it—fantasized about it—like I have?

  I lean my forehead against hers but keep my eyes open so I can watch her as we dance. When the music transitions into Christina Perri’s “A Thousand Years,” Teagan leans her head against my chest and sighs.

  “You like this song?” I ask quietly.

  She pulls away enough to look up and meet my eyes. “I just love love. Love is my favorite.” She giggle-snorts so loud that half a dozen people turn to stare, and I stare too. Teagan’s beautiful, but it’s always been her quick humor and open personality that have drawn me to her. I don’t care if this is fake. I’m going to enjoy every minute of this night.

  I lose track of the drinks we have, the dances we share, and the women she politely sends away when they try to cut in. I imprint these moments on my mind—Teagan’s smiles, the brush of her hands across my back, the way she leans her head against my shoulder when the music turns slow.

  When the party’s wrapping up and the guests are trickling out, she says, “I’m glad I wasn’t planning to drive.”

  “Come with me for a minute?”

  She studies my face for a beat. Is she thinking the same thing I am—as desperate to give into this chemistry as I am? She swallows hard, then nods.

  I lead her out of the banquet room, down the hall, and into the vacant office by my brother’s. I press her against the wall. “I’m not ready for tonight to end.” My voice comes out husky, all the desire I feel tangled into those few words. I could blame the alcohol, but this buzz in my veins is more about her nearness than the beer I consumed.

  “Me neither,” she says, her gaze dropping to my mouth. I don’t need any more invitation.

  I kiss her.

  Teagan

  This isn’t the kiss from the stage—it’s not a kiss that’s gentle or asking permission. This kiss is hard. Demanding. Insistent. It’s the kind of kiss a girl dreams about, where desire is written in every nip of the teeth and slant of the mouth, where the chemistry is so potent that it has a taste of its own.

  Keeping me pinned between the wall and his hard body, Carter strokes a hand down my arm and positions a thigh between mine. “You look so damn beautiful tonight.”

  I pull back and stare into his dark eyes. My whole body is buzzing. I’m tipsy from irresponsible amounts of vodka, sure, but I’m drunk on him—his touches, his smiles, his whispered jokes in my ear, his body pressed to mine. “You think so?”

  Insecurity nagged at me all through dinner. I watched those women staring at him and kept thinking he should have let one of them bid on him. His brothers might give him shit for his revolving door of women, but Carter deserves a little fun. And a lot of happiness. One little kiss onstage had me wishing he could find both with me—despite our friendship, despite my own rules for pushing him away any time his flirting turned too intense.

  “I thought so from the minute you walked in the door. I love looking at you in this dress. And those sexy shoes . . .” He swallows, his eyes dipping to the swell of my cleavage. “Dancing with you like that was killing me.”

  “Me too,” I admit, and the room s
pins a little because I want this. His words, his mouth, his touch . . . him. “This is crazy.”

  “Then tell me to stop,” he says, even as his hands skim up and down my sides.

  “I don’t want you to.”

  He groans in satisfaction. “Good, because I’ve been dying to do this . . .” He reaches for the hem of my skirt, tugging it up to give his hands access to my skin.

  “Just that?” I ask.

  He nips my neck, his mouth trailing up and down—kissing, sucking, biting. Hot bolts of pleasure arc down my spine and have me arching closer. “All of this,” he murmurs. “I’m not done yet.”

  I encourage him with a low hum of approval. I love the feel of his rough fingertips over my hipbones, relish the scrape of his callouses across sensitive skin as he traces the satin waistband of my panties. His lazy fingers that send shivers down my arms and make my knees weak.

  I pull his shirt free from his dress pants and fumble with the buttons. Three buttons in, impatience has me abandoning my task. I slide my hands under his shirt, needing the feel of his skin, needing to get closer.

  He sucks my earlobe between his teeth, and I gasp. I rock my hips forward in pleasure, but he shifts his stance, denying me the friction I need. Before I can protest, he cups me between my legs. His fingers dance across the satin in light, teasing strokes. He growls. “You’re wet.”

  I shift my hips, chasing his teasing touch. “You’re observant.”

  He chuckles against my ear and finally gives me the pressure I’m dying for, rubbing my clit. Once. Twice. Three times.

  “Please.” The word rips from my throat. I don’t care about anything but the feel of his hand between my legs and the need that’s growing bigger and bigger within me, erasing everything else that I am and replacing it with need. Please, please, please.

  Slipping his fingers beneath the scrap of fabric, he grazes his knuckles right down my center and across my clit. He circles a finger right where I’m aching and most desperate for him.

  “Carter,” I beg. This is a fantasy. A waking dream. The alcohol in my blood makes everything hazy, but I can’t blame it for this attraction between us. I’ve spent years pretending it’s not there. Pretending we’re nothing more than friends who know how to make each other laugh.