In Too Deep

by J. Kenner

  *

  Matthew was filling his plate with sliced brisket and potato salad when Hannah returned, her mere proximity sending awareness coursing through him. She pressed her palm against his back, then leaned close, her manner so casual it almost seemed as if they really were dating. But, hey, method acting, right?

  Then again, maybe she was just good at deception. Usually, Matthew wasn't. But in this case it wasn't difficult to appear head-over-heels for his pretend fiancee, because Hannah Donovan had mesmerized him from the first moment he'd met her.

  "Hey, stud," she said. "If you get the food, I'll grab some wine. I got us a table near the band. And after the bride and groom do the first dance, we can go out on the floor, too. Less talking to people about our engagement if we're lost in each other's arms, right?"

  He swallowed, imagining the feel of her against him during a slow dance. "Sounds good. I'll meet you at the table in a--"

  "Oh, hell. Red alert." The harsh, almost scared, tone of her voice cut through him, making him want to hold her close and soothe her. "It's my dad. Ernest."

  His stomach curdled, his protective instincts now warring with a strong urge to just get the hell out of there.

  But he couldn't. The man was the entire reason he and Hannah were at this wedding together. Why they were pretending to be engaged. Why she'd been looking at him all gooey-eyed for most of the evening, and he'd been diligently reminding himself that it was fake. All fake.

  "Let's head over and talk to someone," Matthew suggested. "Your aunt. One of your friends."

  "Too late. He's heading toward us. Dammit, I don't want to deal with him right now."

  "You and me both." He hadn't had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Donovan yet, but he'd heard enough to already be wildly intimidated by the successful lawyer. Matthew knew his strengths, and he also knew that if Ernest Donovan wanted to discuss legal ideas, current events, or even great literature, Matthew was going to come across sounding like a goddamn idiot. Shit.

  Why the hell had he said he'd do this? So far it had been easy--hell, it had mostly been Hannah. But Ernest was the real test, and Matthew didn't think fast on his feet. Words always escaped him.

  "Quick," Hannah said. "If we're already talking about something, he won't ask us about the engagement. Um, the school voucher system everyone keeps talking about. I think the Legislature's going to look at it again for Texas this year. What do you think about that?"

  Terror ripped through him. He didn't have a clue about vouchers, and since he didn't have kids yet, he didn't have an opinion, either. Anything he said would reveal to Hannah that he was a clueless fool, and that was one thing he didn't want to be.

  "Or you pick a topic," she said urgently. "Just talk. He's almost here."

  But there was no topic. There was nothing for him to do.

  Nothing except one thing.

  He left the brisket on the table, pulled her roughly against him, and kissed her.

  For a moment, she was stiff with shock. Then she melted against him, her mouth opening under his.

  He sighed, lost in the feel of her. Because this felt right. Not overwhelming like the rest of it. This--the woman, the kiss, the pressure of their bodies--this was the way it should be.

  And for one brief, delicious moment, Matthew knew what heaven felt like.

  Chapter Seven

  They'd been mingling for at least half an hour when Hannah heard a familiar voice call, "There you two are!"

  Matthew's incredible kiss had waylaid Ernest earlier, but now her stepfather was heading right for them, his voice carrying the several yards from where he stood in a group of gray-haired movers and shakers in law and business. Hannah recognized most of them--one had even been an adjunct professor when she was in law school--and they were all looking at Ernest as if he were the second coming of reason and virtue.

  Maybe he was. Maybe he just got on her nerves because he'd replaced her father. Surely she wasn't so shallow as to find him irritating because he made her mom happy?

  No, it was like she told Matthew--Ernest overshadowed her mom. Made her shift just slightly off center so that she wasn't entirely herself anymore. They were Ernest-Amelia instead, and that just made her sad.

  Still, she didn't doubt that Ernest loved Amelia, which is part of what made it so hard to be around him. She didn't want to seem angry or ungrateful when he'd given her mom so much.

  Now he was hurrying toward where they stood beneath a shade umbrella with his arms outstretched, and because she knew the drill, she moved into them for a bear hug. "Look at you, Hannah. You look lovely as usual. And you," he added, turning to extend a hand toward Matthew. "I'm looking forward to talking with you about your thoughts on a number of issues in healthcare and fitness right now."

  She cringed as something like panic flashed in Matthew's eyes, but he rallied, and the relief that swept over her as he shook Ernest's hand was palpable. "That sounds great," he said. "But keep in mind that this is a celebration for you and Amelia. I'm not sure she wants to lose you to shop talk."

  Ernest laughed heartily, and Hannah wanted to kiss Matthew right then. A thought that, surprisingly, wasn't even a figure of speech. Her cheeks burned from the realization of how much she'd enjoyed their earlier, unexpected kiss, and she looked down, trying to gather herself.

  Which was why she missed Ernest's expression when Matthew said, "It really is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Donovan."

  Her head whipped up, and though Ernest's face was perfectly blank, she could see the shift from confusion to horror on Matthew's face. She opened her mouth to reply, but he got there first. And this time when she looked, his expression was nothing but calm.

  "I am so sorry," he said. "Hannah speaks of you like a father and so I foolishly made that connection without even thinking, and it just slipped out."

  "So you do know who I am," the older man said, the ego that Hannah knew so well obviously surfacing.

  Matthew, she knew, had no clue.

  "Of course he does," she hurried to say. "How can he be in business in Texas and not know--"

  "Ernest Pierpont," Matthew said. "And Hannah is right. I can only hope that someday I make the kind of splash in the business community that you have."

  Ernest chuckled, and Hannah forced a smile that she hoped looked completely innocent and not at all surprised. Next to her, Matthew cut his eyes toward her for just a moment, but she saw the satisfaction there and had to force herself not to laugh.

  He'd talked to Selma or Easton, of course. And she gave him serious brownie points for doing his homework. God knows she'd failed to properly prep him.

  "Let me get you a whiskey," Ernest said, casually steering Matthew toward one of the drink stands. "Now, Hannah, you stay here. Let the men talk."

  She swallowed, nervous, but Matthew only nodded.

  And all she could do as they walked away was hope that Matthew stayed sharp. Because otherwise, they were screwed.

  *

  Matthew managed not to hyperventilate throughout his conversation with Ernest, which, for the most part, was easily navigated. He'd obviously scored major brownie points for knowing Ernest's last name--thank goodness Selma had mentioned that the man was Hannah's stepfather or he never would have thought to run a Google search on the lawyer before Hannah arrived.

  Fortunately, Ernest was prominent enough that his first name, town, and his wife's previous last name had been sufficient to track him down. One of Matthew's better attempts at research, actually. If he'd done as well in school, maybe he would have stayed past his sophomore year.

  On the whole, the conversation with Ernest was easy. The man talked mostly about himself and very little about Matthew, a fact that seemed strange, but Matthew was grateful anyway.

  It was only when Ernest cornered him later--after Matthew and Hannah had finally made it onto the dance floor--that the conversation turned truly odd. "You're in Hannah's room, of course," Ernest had said. "She never lived in it, but Amelia keeps her
old things there, and we like knowing she has a place here."

  Matthew only nodded, his feet starting to feel a bit leaden at the realization that he and Hannah were sharing a bed. Of course he should have thought of that earlier, but he'd never quite let his imagination go so far.

  "To be honest, Amelia's old fashioned and would have preferred you sleep in separate room, but I told her this way was better."

  "Oh, I don't want to upset Hannah's mother--"

  "Nonsense. You're much less of an upset than the last time she brought ... someone ... with her."

  "Sir?"

  Ernest patted him on the shoulder. "We men have to stick together."

  Matthew supposed they did, although he really didn't know what the man was talking about. Or at least he hadn't known. Later, as he and Hannah walked into the bedroom and he saw the double bed, it hit him.

  "The last time you were here was with a woman."

  She turned to him, her eyes wide. "So?"

  He shook his head. "So, nothing. I just--something Ernest said just clicked with me."

  "Oh." The tension that had seemed to fill her with his words fell away. "Yeah, he was less than thrilled about that."

  "And your mom?"

  "Remember what I said about her losing her identity?" She sat on the foot of the bed, then sighed. "Look, I'm sorry about this. I know sharing a room is super awkward."

  He moved to sit next to her. "We'll survive." Hopefully, he sounded confident. The truth was, she was right. Simply sitting next to her was unnerving. He could remember the way she'd felt in his arms when the slow dances had come on. He'd been about to walk her off the floor, but she'd pulled him close, then whispered that her parents were watching. And he'd lost himself in the fantasy that she'd stayed because she wanted to.

  "So, um, we should probably crash now." She nodded to a door. "That's the bathroom. You can go first."

  He did, and when he came out in a T-shirt and boxers, she looked up, startled from whatever she'd been reading on her phone.

  "Oh." She said, and he stood there stupidly as her gaze skimmed over him, finally pausing on his face. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, he felt the warm heat from her attention bubble through him. Then her eyes widened, and she said, "Oh!" again, and a lovely blush crept up her cheeks, painting her pale skin red.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare. I only--well, holy hell, you know you're good looking."

  She couldn't have said anything better if she'd tried. They both burst out laughing, and just like that, the tension evaporated. "I'm going to go change, too," she said when they'd calmed a bit. "Get into bed and feel free to make a pillow wall if you're afraid that I'm going to ravage that body of yours."

  "I'll take my chances," he said, forcing himself to think of cold showers so that she wouldn't notice the effect that the threat of being ravaged by her was having on him.

  As she'd suggested, he was in bed when she returned, though he hadn't built the pillow fort. He caught a glimpse of her in a tank top and sleep shorts, and all he could think of was how incredible it would feel to have those long, lean thighs wrapped tight around him. Never had he wanted more to make a pass at a woman, but he couldn't do that. Not under these conditions. In bed. Forced to share sleeping quarters. With her warm and soft beside him.

  Fuck.

  He rolled over, putting his back to her.

  "Probably a good plan," she said. "Less awkward and tempting."

  "Tempting?" he repeated, but was answered with only silence.

  "Hannah?"

  "I didn't mean to say that."

  "Oh." He considered that, then found himself smiling. "I'm flattered."

  "We've already established you're a hottie. Don't think you can go back to that well."

  He bit back a laugh. "Fair enough." He shifted, then stiffened when her back brushed up against his. He closed his eyes, fighting for control.

  "Small bed," she said, increasing the distance.

  "Very." He cleared his throat.

  She shifted again, and this time her foot rubbed his calf.

  "You're doing that on purpose."

  "Doing what to you?"

  "I didn't say you were doing anything to me. I said you were doing that."

  "But am I doing something to you?" Her voice was so low he could barely hear it, and when he did, he felt himself go even harder.

  "Hannah..."

  "I know. I'm sorry. It's just..." She rolled over, and he felt her breath against the back of his neck as her hand rested on his hip. "Well, it's just that I'm not interested in a relationship or any of the stuff we're pretending to be. But that doesn't mean I don't want you."

  He closed his eyes. He should say no. He should slide away.

  He should grab a blanket and sleep on the floor.

  Instead he said, "What do you want?"

  "Only tonight," she said. "We could call it method acting."

  He swallowed the sudden lump that grew in his throat. "You're wearing barely nothing and you're pressed up to me in bed. If you don't mean what you're suggesting, you need to scoot away and not tease a man like that."

  "Like this?" She slid her palm along his hip, up higher until her hand was under his shirt, and the heat of her palm against his skin was burning through him.

  Slowly--wickedly, enticingly slowly--she moved her hand to his lower abs. Her body moved too, because she had to close the distance. Which meant that by the time her fingers had slipped under the band of his boxers, her entire body was spooned against him. Her chest to his back, her sex against his ass. Her breath against his shoulders.

  He closed his eyes, striving for control but not finding it. He was hard already, painfully so, and when her hand slipped lower and curled around his shaft, she released a low, throaty gasp of pleasure.

  "Tell me I did that. That thinking about me made you hard."

  "Baby, you know it did."

  "Do you like this?" Her hand was curved around him, and she stroked slowly with just enough pressure to drive him wild."

  "God, yes."

  "Me, too," she murmured, then shifted behind him, adjusting her position so that her lips teased his shoulder, his neck, his ear. And all the while she was teasing his cock, whispering about how much she wanted him. How much she'd wanted him the whole night.

  "When you kissed me, I thought I'd come right then," she said, and that was when he couldn't take it anymore. He reached down to take her hand--mostly to make sure he didn't injure himself--and then rolled onto his back, forcing her to straddle him.

  She grinned. "I like this," she said, then pulled off her top and tossed it onto the floor.

  With slow motions, she freed his cock from his boxers, then moved her still-clothed sex over his shaft, now hard and throbbing against his pelvis. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and moaned. "I should be the one driving you crazy," he whispered.

  "I'll hold you to that," she said. "Meanwhile, ladies first."

  She bent forward, then kissed his lips. A soft buss before she started to slide down his body, her hips gyrating as her breasts rubbed against his T-shirt and her mouth sucked on his nipple through his shirt.

  "Let me take it off."

  "Hell no," she said. "But I'll take the rest of mine off." She rose on to her knees, and in what looked to be a truly acrobatic maneuver, managed to extricate herself from her sleep shorts without getting off of him or falling backwards. And when he saw that she wore no underwear, he sucked in a tight breath of air, all the more deep because she was so completely waxed that he could see ever sensual inch of her.

  "Okay?" she asked, stroking her pussy over his rock-hard cock.

  "Okay is an understatement." He had no idea how he was managing words.

  She bent forward, a wicked grin on her lips. Then she moved her hips back and forth, sliding her slick heat all along his shaft until he had no choice but to arch his head back, close his eyes, and try his damnedest not to come.

  That was a battle he wa
s going to lose, but damned if he didn't want to be inside her. "Baby, have you got a condom? I didn't bring one." And wasn't he kicking himself for that. Sometimes it sucked trying to be a gentleman.

  "I think I've got one in my purse. Maybe. I don't know."

  She crawled off him, and he heard her dump the entire contents of her purse on the floor. Then he smiled at her squeal of triumph. "One," she said, then climbed back on the bed. "Make it worth it."

  "I think I can promise you that," he said, thrilled by her delighted shriek when he took her by the shoulders, flipped her over, and straddled her.

  Chapter Eight

  "I want you undressed, too," Hannah begged. As decadent as it was to be naked while he still wore a shirt and boxers, she craved the feel of his skin against hers.

  "Soon," he promised, then bent over her to capture her mouth with a kiss. She had no idea what he'd done with the condom she gave him, but she knew for certain that if he lost it she was going to be one very unhappy woman.

  Then again, the way that he was sucking on her nipple while his fingers pinched its twin suggested that he knew a variety of ways to satisfy a woman. And oh, dear Lord, he was doing an amazing job at the moment. Just the sensation of teeth and suction, and she was pretty sure she'd come from this touch alone.

  "Please," she murmured. "Don't stop."

  He didn't, but he did slide his hand down between her legs, and in time with each long suckle of her breast, he thrust two fingers deep inside her, the rhythm driving her crazy until she was bucking against his hand, desperate for release, her mind too cloudy with passion to even beg for more.

  "Christ, you're beautiful. Your skin flushed. Your body tight. That's it, baby. Come on." His thumb pressed against her clit and she arched up, coming so close to an orgasm that she whimpered in frustration.

  He took pity on her and rolled them over once again, this time pulling off his shirt and nodding for her to tug off his boxers, which she did as quickly as she could. His cock sprang free, hard and ridged and beautiful, and she started to mount him, forgetting about the condom. He stopped her, sheathing himself, and then she lowered herself onto him, going slow to accommodate his girth, and then faster as her body molded to his.

  She took his hand, putting his thumb back against her clit, then arched back, riding him hard, as one hand teased her clit and the other cupped her breast, the pressure on her nipple tightening as the orgasm came closer and closer, until finally his thumb flicked over her clit just so and everything shattered.