by LK Farlow
I dart down the hall and into the restroom and plant my hands palm down onto the countertop. My lower lip trembles as I take in my flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. No. I will not cry. Not over him—or any man, for that matter.
If Nate Reynolds doesn’t want me, well, fine. It’s no one’s loss but his. There are certainly plenty of other fish in the sea. Even if they aren’t six plus feet of brooding hot cop. It’s not like he’s got the market cornered. I just need to…redirect…my interests, so to speak.
I take a deep cleansing breath, inhaling my resolve and exhaling my schoolgirl crush on Nate. I can do this. I straighten my posture, give my cheeks a pinch for a little color, and readjust the thigh holster holding my pump before turning to head back to the reception. Who knows, maybe I’ll find someone else to dance with.
With a quick shove, I fling open the bathroom door, only to come face-to-face with the devil himself. Sighing, I try to step around him, but he moves with me. Kind of hard to redirect when the thing you’re trying to avoid is literally blocking your path.
“Decided to take up stalking in your free time?” I snap, impressed at the strength of my tone. For once, I’m not tripping over my words. Go me!
Nate simply smirks at me, looking so damn fine. Which just aggravates me even more. Only he could make stalking sexy.
“You do know it’s illegal, right?”
“You’re right,” he says in a stupid, mollifying tone that makes me want to throat-punch him. “Stalking is illegal. But, that’s hardly what’s happening here, Jenny.”
The way his lips wrapped around my name, his voice all low and raspy, has heat unfurling low in my belly. Jackass. “Oh, so you didn’t follow me inside?”
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. For now, let’s chalk it up to a happy accident.”
I stare at him blankly. Why on earth would running into him be a happy anything? Maybe a few hours ago, I would have agreed. But now, happy would be avoiding him like the plague.
“C’mon, let’s grab something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I say right as my traitorous stomach rumbles.
“Sure you’re not. But, I am.” He looks down at me, dragging his eyes over every inch of me. “Starving, actually.”
Hope—stupid, silly, ridiculous hope—blossoms in my chest. Jesus, could I be more pitiful? He’s like my very own Pied Piper. I frown at the comparison, because that makes me a rat helplessly following him and his magical—no, Jenny! Do not think about his pipe.
Before I have a chance to respond, Nate links his arm with mine and sets off, presumably back out to the reception tent, damn near dragging me. It’s on the tip of my tongue to yank my arm free from his, chew him out, and just retreat back to the safety and comfort of my hotel room.
But the senseless, pathetic part of me lets him lead, because as much as I hate to admit it, I’m a little excited to see where he may be taking me. Judging by the fact that he’s already whisked us past the double doors leading out to where the tent is set up, it’s not to eat.
“I thought we were—” I start to speak up, but my words dry up when he guides me through a small side door and into the balmy night air. Looking around, I see we’re in a secluded pergola at the edge of where the grass meets the sand. We’re close enough to the patio that the sounds of music and laughter from the reception mingle with the soft crashing of the waves.
“You thought what?” he asks, never once breaking his stride.
“I-I thought we were gonna get something to eat.” If I’m being truthful, I need to eat. I’ve spent most of the day running around like crazy, trying to make sure Natalie was as relaxed as possible. But I don’t speak up, mostly because I’m too intrigued by where we could be going and a little because I simply don’t want to eat with him, as childish as that sounds.
“We will. I just want to do this first.”
I pull my head back in confusion. “Do what?”
He abruptly releases my arm and turns to me. “This,” he murmurs before cupping my cheek and laying his lips against mine. He sucks lightly on my lower lip, drawing it into his mouth, eliciting a soft moan from me.
His kiss is far sweeter than I imagined it would be—he’s so strong and virile, I figured his kiss would match. In all of my fantasies, his lips were dominating and searing, completely commanding mine.
Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with how he’s kissing me—like I’m some delicate, precious jewel—it just doesn’t reconcile with who he is. This kiss is nice, and Nate Reynolds…well, he isn’t.
Not really.
Sure, he’s a good person and has a kind heart. Would do damn near anything for anyone. But he’s also powerful and sexy and intimidating—a real man’s man. Honestly, I would have never guessed he was capable of such gentleness or restraint.
He presses two more small, open-mouthed kisses to my mouth before flicking at the seam of my lips with his tongue, begging for entry. In a daze, I open to him, falling easily into the gentle dance our tongues are engaged in.
His pace never speeds, and his hands never stray, which is a little disappointing. Unless…this is a pity kiss. A way for him to ease his conscience for being a dick to me twice in one night. The thought is ice water to my libido, and I pull away. “What in the hell was that?” I demand, internally vowing not to let my emotions get the best of me.
Nate has the decency to look embarrassed. “Jenny—” he starts, but I’m not having it.
“No! No, sir. Don’t you Jenny me, with your bedroom eyes and sexy voice. You are giving me freaking whiplash. You’re moodier than a damn teenaged girl. I’m not some badge bunny you can play games with. I’m not here for a good time at your convenience. You either want me or you don’t, and it’s beyond obvious you don’t—your actions have shown that over and over again.”
By the time I’m finished, my chest is heaving. We stand in silence, chests heaving as we stare at one another. Finally, Nate exhales a long breath and scrubs a hand over his face. “Fuck, Jenny. I’m…it’s not that I don’t want you. Trust me, you’re a walking wet dream—any guy would want you.”
“What’s the issue, then?” I ask, stepping back from him. “Is leading girls on your kink or something?”
He huffs out an amused laugh, and it takes my all not to slap the stupid, sexy smile off of his stupid, sexy face. “You’re something else, you know that?”
My scowl deepens, which only seems to please him more.
“No, leading girls on is not my kink. And, it wasn’t my intention to lead you on.” He holds up his hands in surrender, knowing my patience is a thin thread ready to snap. “I realize I’ve been sending you mixed signals all night. But here’s the thing: I absolutely want you. I just know that nothing good would come from us being together.”
I blink at him, shocked by his honesty. When I don’t say anything, he takes it as his cue to continue.
“You’re so beautiful, Jenny.” His previously amused tone shifts, his voice deepening. “And while I’d love nothing more than to take you back to my room and worship you from head to toe, I won’t. You’re light and good and pure, and you deserve a man who will worship you for more than one night. I’m not the guy for you.”
“You’re not the guy for me,” I echo back, my voice hoarse.
A million different emotions flit across his face before he leans down and presses his lips to mine once more. This kiss is chaste, friendly almost, and he certainly doesn’t linger. “But, damn, I wish I was.”
Figuring it’s well past time to go our separate ways, I turn to head back to the party. “Where’re you going?” Nate asks, stopping me.
I jerk my head in the direction of the reception tent, wondering why he even cares.
He glances at me, biting his lip—why is that so sexy?—before dropping his gaze to my shoes. “Mind if I join you?”
I’m expecting my knee-jerk reaction to be anger, or at the least indignation. As quickly as the image of me yelling and scream
ing and demanding to know how dare he comes, it passes in the blink of an eye, and all I’m left feeling is mild indifference.
Sure, knowing nothing will ever happen between us stings, but there’s also a kind of mercy in that knowledge. The what-if has been eliminated, hopefully paving the way for a friendship between the two of us—after all, panty-dropping grin aside, Nate’s personality is what draws me in the most, and I’d rather count him as a friend than nothing at all.
“Go right ahead,” I say to him with a smile, allowing him to take the lead. Boundaries defined or not, the minute he steps in front of me, my eyes fall to his delectable ass—I mean, I’m only human.
chapter five
Nate
Half an hour and one drink later, Jenny’s taste still lingers, as does the way her body fit so perfectly against me. And don’t even get me started on the soft moans that passed from her lips to mine. Jesus, Lord in heaven, help me, because my sanity is dangling by a thread.
Currently, we’re posted up at one of the many round tables surrounding the makeshift dance floor, as the bride and groom dance their first dance as a married couple. My gaze darts around the room, not really wanting to focus on the way my little sister is staring into my best friend’s eyes. Jenny, on the other hand, looks positively entranced. Her gaze is misty as she watches Natalie and Alden glide across the floor to some sappy song about forever and always.
“They’re so good together,” she whispers, turning to me. “Don’t you think so?”
I grunt out my agreement, and she laughs.
“Does talking about romance with me really get you that...” She trails off, leaving me hanging.
“That what?” I prompt.
She taps her bottom lip thoughtfully, and all I can do is imagine my dick tapping against it instead. Get it the fuck together, man.
“Well, when I started talking to you, you got this look on your face. Almost like you had an atomic wedgie. So, it’s either talking to me that caused the face, or it’s talking about love and feelings with me. I’m really hoping it’s the latter.”
I can’t help but laugh. “An atomic wedgie? What are you, eleven?”
She shrugs her delicate shoulders. “Hey, it’s the most accurate description I could think of. You actually looked physically pained by my question.”
The thing is, it isn’t her question that got me. Nah. It’s the fact that she’s able to sit here next to me and carry on as if we both don’t officially know just how much chemistry we have together. It’s almost like…now that she finally got a taste of me, her metaphorical reset button was pressed. She’s suddenly cool, calm, and collected—as if my presence no longer affects her. Which is just fucking perfect, seeing as her proximity alone has me wanting to drag her off to the nearest flat surface so I can hear those soft, breathy moans of hers again.
I don’t even realize I’m staring at her until she nudges me with her elbow. “Take a picture, playboy; it’ll last longer.” Her easy, carefree tone grates my nerves—which I fully realize is shitty of me, and yet I can’t stop it.
Spending time with her tonight has been the greatest form of torture. Maybe if I wasn’t such a fuck-up, I could be the man for her, but I refuse to ruin her. Jenny is far too bright to be brought down by my brand of bullshit. And that’s exactly what would happen if I took a chance on her—or hell, any woman for more than a night.
Nate the lady killer, that’s what the guys at the station like to call me. I always force a smile and laugh right along with them…if only they fucking knew just how close to home that hit.
I startle when Jenny’s small, warm hand comes down on mine. “Are you okay?”
I bristle at her question. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Her eyes widen at my defensive tone. “Whoa there, big guy. Take a breath.”
She pulls her hand away, and immediately I mourn the loss. Jesus, get it together, Nate, you’re acting like a psycho.
“Honestly,” she continues, her voice soft. “I wasn’t trying to imply anything. You just looked tense. I…I was actually gonna ask if you wanted to get out of here.”
A smirk pulls at my lips as I glance around the tent. Guests are still roaming about, dancing and eating. Hell, they haven’t even cut the cake and little Miss Jenny is suggesting we skip out. Maybe my good girl isn’t such a good girl after all…
“You think anyone would miss us?” I ask, fully aware that we have yet to do ninety percent of any of the traditional wedding bullshit—you know, like cut the cake or whatever that shit is when the bride throws her bouquet at all the female guests. Though, gotta be real, I won’t miss watching my best friend remove my little sister’s garter.
This time she’s the one smirking at me. “Absolutely, but they’ll make it.”
I know I should tell her no—I should send her on her way to fulfill whatever maid of honor duties she may still have, and I should find someone else—anyone else—to warm my bed for the night.
But, I don’t.
Because deep down, I know that hooking up with someone else won’t chase away the newfound desire I’m drowning in for my little sister’s best friend. Not to mention, the thought of her doing the same—of her spending tonight with someone other than me—is enough to have me standing from the table we’re at, grabbing her hand, and yanking her up to follow me.
“Lead the way, GG.”
She quirks a brow at me. “You…you do know that my name starts with a J, right?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, Jenny, I know.” I give her hand another tug, and we’re on our way, fleeing the action of both of our best friends’ wedding.
Hand-in-hand, we make our way out of the event space and into the lobby, pausing at the elevator bank. “My room or yours?” I ask, and she cracks up. “What? Why is that funny?”
“Because,” she sputters, damn near doubled over in laughter, giving me a glimpse of her glorious cleavage. “That totally sounded like a line.”
She straightens, and I drag my eyes back up to hers. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” I punch the up arrow and reiterate the question once we step inside the car. “Like I said, my room or yours?”
Her tongue swipes across her bottom lip as she mulls it over. “Mine. I want to get out of this dress.”
Immediately, I’m hit with a million dirty images. Like me helping her out of that dress, slowly tugging the zipper down while pressing a hot kiss to the space where her neck and shoulder meet. I can damn near see the fabric pooling at her feet, leaving her completely bare to me—minus her fuck-me heels.
Jesus, what an idea.
Trying to regain my composure, I inhale through my nose and grip the elevator railing with enough force to turn my knuckles white.
When I don’t immediately reply, she skims her index finger over the top of my hand that’s gripping the rail. Instantly I release the breath I was holding. “Yeah, GG. That’s fine. What floor?”
She searches my eyes for a long moment before whispering, “Three.”
I punch the button, and we settle into an awkward silence as we ascend. When the doors open, I step back and allow her to pass me and lead the way. Less than a minute later, we’re standing in front of her room.
“Gotta get my key, hang tight.”
When she reaches the fingers of her right hand into the front of her dress, I swear, I almost knock her hand out of the way and offer my assistance with the retrieval. She wipes the card on the hem of her dress and passes it over the sensor in the handle. It flashes green, and I turn the knob, holding the door open for her.
I’m not sure what I was expecting the inside of her room to look like—I guess I figured there would be clothes strewn all over, you know, stereotypical girl shit. But what meets me couldn’t be further from it—her room is neat and tidy, with her duffel bag stashed under the desk and her toiletry bag on top of it.
She heads straight for her bag, crouching low to rummage through it. She stands and turns to face me. “I’m just gonna get c
hanged really fast. Make yourself comfortable, okay?”
I give her a brisk nod as she walks into the bathroom. It’s really all I can manage, because there’s no way in hell I can be comfortable knowing she’s just about naked with only a door separating us.
Pacing the length of the room, I’m on my third pass when I hear the door open. “Hey, uh, Nate?” Jenny calls timidly.
“Yeah?” I call back, willfully keeping my back toward her.
“I…I need some help unzipping my dress.”
Involuntarily, my spine stiffens, and I barely hold back my groan. I pivot around to face her. “Sure. C’mere.” I crook my finger at her and internally recite the department’s code of conduct, the National Anthem, the last names of all the officers on the night shift—fucking anything to keep my mind from replaying my earlier fantasy about this very thing.
She glides over to me, nibbling on her bottom lip before turning to offer me her back. My eyes practically eat her up before I step in a little closer, breathing her in. She smells like pure temptation and every desire I’ve ever had come to life. I exhale roughly against where her neck and shoulder meet—the very same place I imagined kissing less than an hour ago. Her skin pebbles into gooseflesh, and she teeters in her heels. I grasp her shoulders to steady her, and we both freeze at the contact. It’s hardly intimate, yet it feels like the most intense foreplay of my life.
The way Jenny trembles beneath my innocent touch tells me she feels the same. God help us both.
I keep my right hand planted firmly on her shoulder while gently dragging my left along the edge of her dress, over her bare skin until I meet the closure. It’s got some microscopic hook above the zipper, but I have it popped open in no time. We both tense when I grip the small metal pull. Lifetimes pass as I slide it down, my knuckles dragging over her smooth skin. I stop breathing when I realize she’s not wearing any kind of bra. Lust pools in my gut when I make it to the end of the track, only to see her panties are nothing more than a lacy wisp of fabric.
“Fuck, Jenny,” I rasp out, fighting like hell not to spin her around and close the gap between us.
