by Amy Andrews
Too often in her marriage, she’d opened them in the dead of night to Todd’s hand around her throat, his penis being forced in her mouth. Three years of therapy hadn’t been able to dull the terror or the potent grip of those memories. But sleeping with the light on kept them at bay. In short, her bedside lamp was her best friend. The flashlight her backup buddy.
Della smiled, thinking about it as another kind of BOB.
She entered the living room and made a beeline straight for the television area. A flash of lightning chose that moment to illuminate everything inside the room, including the shape on the futon, the gauzy curtains at the windows no barrier to the intense white light.
Della pulled up short. She didn’t know where she’d expected Tucker to sleep—one of the recliners, maybe, or maybe she hadn’t expected he’d sleep at all—but not all stretched out on the futon, big and brawny. The room was plunged quickly back into black again, and it took her pupils a few seconds to adjust, but when they did, she was still looking at Tucker.
The throw blanket was all twisted up in his denim-clad legs, his arms were up above his head, and his chest was distractingly naked. Broad and smooth, hardly any hair apart from around his nipples. His belly was solid. Not ridged and puckered like the guys on Winona’s covers, but one giant block of muscle, and a trail of hair traveling south from his belly button cut off from full view by the low-rise waistband of his jeans.
Della’s breath actually stopped in her throat. Damn. He looked good—so good—and for long, crazy moments she let herself fantasize that she could overcome her demons and have a normal life that involved love and marriage and a family. That this could be her life. That Tucker could be hers and she could come home at night after working an afternoon shift and find him sleeping. That she could crawl in beside him, slide her hand across his chest, drop a kiss on his mouth.
Her sex clenched just thinking about that kind of freedom, and the urge to cross to him, to sit on the futon and reach out her hand and touch him, was almost overwhelming. But who was she kidding? She couldn’t have this. Her normal was haunted by hands coming out of the dark, and she wouldn’t wish that on any man, especially not Tucker.
Stop it, Della. It wasn’t a possibility, and all that she was doing right now was ogling a sleeping man. Get your batteries and get the hell back to your room.
Heading determinedly for the drawers underneath the low cabinet that held the television, she eased the bottom one open and delved inside for the batteries. Grabbing two of the large ones she knew fit the flashlight, she pushed the drawer shut quietly, straightened, and turned, her gaze snagging on Tucker once more.
She couldn’t help herself. Tucker Daniels was hotter than Arlo’s beef chili recipe. So distracted was she, a sudden clap of thunder scared the bejesus out of her, and the batteries slipped from her fingers, landing with a thud on the polished floorboards. In the quiet of the night, they were as loud as gunshots.
Tucker sat bolt upright. “Della?”
Had she not been mortified, Della would have truly appreciated the way his abs hardened.
“Are you okay?” he asked, shoving a hand through his hair.
Man…that hair shove was sexy, long fingers slicing into the shaggy locks. Jesus—she had this baaad.
He looked around as if he’d lost something. “What’s the time?”
“Two thirty,” she said, her throat suddenly parched as his muscles flexed for her enjoyment.
No. Not for her enjoyment. Get a grip, woman.
“Is it the storm? Is the thunder frightening you?”
Della remembered he’d said something earlier about Arlo telling him she was frightened of storms. It wasn’t true, but she suspected, with the power outages, Arlo had told Tucker that to cover for the truth because he knew she was embarrassed about needing a light on to sleep.
“No, it’s fine,” she assured. “I just…” Della sunk to the floor and picked up the batteries near her feet. “My flashlight needs batteries.”
“Oh.” He frowned, sliding his palms behind him and leaning back on his outstretched arms, his elbows locked. “Okay.”
He didn’t look convinced that she was awake at two thirty in the morning purely to scavenge for batteries. Right now, with his abs on full glorious display, she wasn’t, either. Swallowing nervously, she said, “Arlo texted a little while ago. He should be home in half an hour or so.”
“Good.”
She lifted her eyes to his, and even in the night she could feel the warm whiskey pull of them. Feel it in her thighs and her breasts. Feel it in the itch of her blood and the ache in her throat.
“Can you toss me my shirt? It should be dry by now.”
Some part of Della recognized that as a smart move—a move a guy with a keen sense of propriety would make—but mostly she thought it was a tragedy to cover up such perfection. Regardless, she responded automatically to his request, plucking up his Henley. She did not, however, toss it to him. That itch in her blood had her walking it over, stopping only when her legs met the frame of the futon, passing it directly.
“Thanks,” he muttered, taking it with just the tips of his fingers, as if he was worried their hands might somehow touch. He pulled it over his head, cutting off her view cold turkey.
They stared at each other for long, pregnant moments. “Okay, well,” he said eventually. “I’ll wait up for Arlo and then be off.”
He appeared to be dismissing her, and the itch doubled down. “I’ll wait up with you.”
“Oh no, it’s fine,” he said quickly. “No point in us both being awake. You might as well go back to sleep.”
“I don’t want to go to sleep.” She was a grown-ass woman. She got to decide whether she wanted to sleep or not.
He gave an exasperated sigh, eying her warily. “You shouldn’t be here like this. With me. At two in the morning. In your”—he gestured at her clothes—“pajamas.”
Della glanced down at her very functional sleepwear. She doubted they would inspire insatiable lust in even the most sex-starved man. “I have way more on now than earlier.”
A strangled kind of groan escaped his throat. “Please don’t remind me.”
The groan seemed to be dredged from his deepest, darkest corners, and it snaked along internal muscles, which contracted sexily in its wake. It was the kind of groan that spoke of things unspoken. That was rich with things that did not get uttered in polite company.
Tucker had told her ages ago that he didn’t feel like that about her. But then he’d told her she was sexy and had kissed her with a raw kind of passion that had sucked her breath away, and now he was doing his level best to push her away, to not be near her, even when that groan sounded like he wanted the exact opposite.
The man was giving her whiplash. Seriously, if he was so damn immune to her, why was he so desperate for her to leave?
He’d stopped being her wingman because of what had happened between them, which was fine because Della’s appetite for Tinder and dating was starting to wane. Dating other men, anyway. Right here in front of her was a guy she’d had a crush on for the longest time. A really nice, really great, really freaking sexy guy. Who, despite what he’d said about not liking her like that, had acted in a completely contradictory manner.
Maybe it was time for a new plan. One where she ditched Tinder and the idea of having fun and dating a bunch of different men and asked one man to give her those experiences she was craving. A man she knew and trusted. Who was aware of her baggage and would be mindful of it.
A man like Tucker.
Why mess around rolling the dice on a place like Tinder or any other dating site when she already had the perfect man right in front of her?
If he was amenable. If they established the boundaries right from the start—made it about sexual tutoring only, made it temporary.
Della understood there were a
lot of reasons why they shouldn’t. The last thing she wanted was to start something that could potentially make things awkward for them once he’d taught her all there was to know about the sexy times. And she certainly didn’t want to affect Arlo’s relationship with his best friend because things suddenly got weird between her and Tucker or people around town started to gossip and speculate and pressure them with a load of expectations.
But…it could work. If they both committed to it and it was done in secrecy, away from prying eyes. If nobody knew, then nobody could care, and the higher the chances things would get back to normal between her and Tucker when it was over.
Maybe it could even be wonderful?
It certainly felt right. Maybe it was just the night and the storm and his proximity, but it did. And maybe it was time for her to trust those instincts Selena had talked about and take a big, giant, flying leap of faith.
Rallying herself, Della sat on the edge of the futon, her ass very close to a solid, meaty thigh. Her pulse skipped a beat at both his nearness and the crazy thing she was about to suggest.
“Della?” He shifted his leg away slightly. “What are you doing?”
She took a steadying breath, the noise of the rain on the roof receding as her world shrank down to him and her and the words formulating in her brain. She needed to be calm and methodical and patient as she laid down her proposal. Her eyes sought his and locked. “Do you like me?”
He frowned impatiently. Dismissively. “Of course.”
“No.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean like me, like me. Not like me because I’m Arlo’s sister or because I’m someone who needed a friend or because I’m a valued customer or a fellow member of Credence society blah, blah, blah. I mean like me.”
He swallowed. “Della.”
Her gaze was drawn by the bob of that Adam’s apple, the funny little strangled hitch in his voice giving her hope. “Because I like you, like you.” Her own voice got a little strangled. “I’ve had a crush on you for a very long time now. And I think you might like me, too. I know that you don’t want to like me in that way, but I see the way you look at me sometimes. I remember how you told me I was sexy in that dress. Then there was the way you kissed me in Denver, which, by the way, I can’t stop thinking about. And the way you groaned just now? Tuck, I felt that all the way down there.”
Della pointed and whispered because she was being brave enough right now without saying vagina, too.
He shut his eyes briefly. “God…Della.” He opened them again. “Please just go back to bed.”
“No. I don’t care if I’m making a fool of myself.”
He shook his head. “You’re not… You’re being very sweet.”
Sweet? Sweet! God…the last thing she wanted was to come across as sweet. She wanted to be hot and irresistible and…sexy, damn it. She really needed new sleepwear.
“Fuck you, Tucker.” So much for calm and methodical. “Don’t patronize me.”
He blinked, obviously surprised at her profanity, but she didn’t care. She was about to propose something the polar opposite of sweet, and she resented how he tried to keep her in that box. “I’ve spent hours tonight test-driving three vibrators. I am not goddamn sweet.”
If she wasn’t very much mistaken, a dull kind of flush stained his cheeks. Okay, yeah, maybe she hadn’t exactly planned on saying that out loud, but she was tired of being polite, of playing the role of the poor, passive victim.
“What?” she demanded as silence swelled between them. “I have as much right as the next person to enjoy my body.” Thank you, Selena.
He shifted uncomfortably. “Of course.”
It occurred to her then that Tucker was the proverbial next person right now. “You do, I bet.”
Tucker looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, but he answered nonetheless. “Yes.” The admission rumbled out, thick and husky.
Della tried not to think about Tucker with his hand wrapped around his dick and failed, the image growing in her head as steadily as the silence grew between them. Was he doing the same? Thinking about her touching herself? Or did that violate this ridiculous notion of sweet he’d attached to her person.
Irritation flared again, the silence like fingers down a chalkboard now. “Say something,” she prompted. She’d said enough for one night.
“You should go back to bed.”
Except that. Anything but that. “Damn it, Tucker.” She glared at him. “I’m not going to bed. Try again.” Clearly she hadn’t said enough for one night.
“I’m…” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Very happy that you’re…exploring and discovering what works for you.”
God, it sounded like his awkward sex talk again, and it pushed her over the edge. “Do you know who I thought about as I came?”
“Della.”
She ignored the warning growl in his voice. She was done with being meek and mild. “I thought about you. I want you to be the guy to show me all the things I’ve missed out on. To show me how good it can be between a man and a woman.”
“Della.” He swallowed. “You told me you didn’t want to be in a relationship. That you just wanted to experiment and have some fun. That you weren’t after anything serious.”
“Yes. And I meant it.”
She wasn’t thinking about anything other than her own sexual education and physical pleasure. Maybe she should be paying more heed to the potential emotional ramifications down the track, but horniness really did make people stupid.
“I’m not trying to…get a ring out of you, Tucker.” Far from it. If that’s what was stopping him, she could put that worry to bed right now.
“I’m not interested in getting married and having babies with you. I’m not interested in that with any man. After years trapped in hell, I have a lot of making up to do, and I intend to spend the rest of my life doing just that, being footloose and fancy free. This is just my way of trying to…fast-track my experience so I’m more equipped to deal with the men who might be in my future.”
“I thought that was why you joined Tinder?”
“Yeah. It was. But if Tinder taught me anything, it’s how completely disingenuous people can be, whereas I already know you. I know what kind of guy you are. I know your intentions are good. That you’ll do what you say you’re going to do, that you’ll turn up when you say you’re going to turn up, that you won’t lie or ditch me for a better offer or send me phallic food pics. I trust you, Tuck. And I promise it’ll just be a temporary thing. Long enough for me to learn the ropes, to get comfortable with sex and being sexy, and then we’re done.”
“Just like that?” He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Just walk away?”
“Yes. Why not?” She could do that, damn it. “We’re already friends, and I don’t want to lose that. I’m just saying, why not enjoy some benefits for a little while?”
“Della…friends with benefits doesn’t work.”
“Says who?”
“Says everyone who’s ever thought they could get away with it.”
“And what if we’re the exceptions?”
“There aren’t any exceptions.”
Maybe if he didn’t seem so determined to shoot everything down, she’d have listened to his warnings, but right now it all just seemed like excuses. She sighed, knowing what was underpinning this reticence. “Would this be an easier choice if I wasn’t Arlo’s sister?”
That was pretty much the only thing she couldn’t fix.
He shook his head. “It’s not just that. It’s… What about your history? I think that’s going to come into play more than you give it credit for.”
Della was very aware that her baggage could choose to rear its ugly head at the worst possible moment. But she couldn’t think of a better, more understanding guy to be with than Tucker Daniels if something she couldn’t control happened.
She slid a tentative hand onto his forearm. The hard, warm muscle contracted beneath her touch, but he didn’t withdraw. He just went very, very still.
“Maybe. But you knowing I have history works to our advantage. I don’t have to tell you. I don’t have to explain. I know you don’t know the nitty-gritty, but you know enough to understand that there might be roadblocks and not to push if there are but to be patient and work around them. That’s why it has to be you, Tuck. Because you make me feel safe.”
“God…Della…”
He looked down at her hand dwarfed by the solid muscle of his forearm. He shut his eyes briefly, his expression grim, like he was in pain, and Della was terrified he was going to reject her.
“Look…I know I’m probably not the kind of woman you’re used to. I’m not…worldly or flirty. I don’t have a closet full of slinky dresses and stilettos. I don’t even own a negligee.”
She glanced down again at her pajamas and grimaced. Maybe it would have been easier to convince Tucker if she’d been in something silky and see-through.
“I don’t know the kind of things to say to a man to turn him on,” she continued, her gaze returning to his, “or make him want me. I don’t have any game. Any moves. I know squat about hair and makeup and all that stuff. But I think there’s an…attraction between us that could make this proposal doable.”
Della let out a shaky breath. She really was putting it all out there. If he rejected her after this, she wasn’t sure she’d recover. “Please, tell me I’m not imagining this, and you feel it, too.”
For long moments, he didn’t say anything. The muscle under her hand stayed rigid, his jaw locked tight. Then slowly, he exhaled, and bit by bit, his body relaxed, and the denial, the keep-out signs posted in his eyes, gave way to smoky heat furling around her, making it difficult to breathe.
