by Lindsey Hart
Wade: I’ll let you know if I ever get it. Here’s to hoping it’s lost forever.
Rob: Someone probably stole it. Perverts. It might be highly desirable to some.
Wade: I think if it shows up, I’ll just burn it on the spot.
Rob: Don’t do it.
I set my phone face down on the table and stare at the wrapped-up pie. I want to see Lu-Anne again, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Actually, I’m sure it’s a horrible idea. But my dick thinks it’s a great idea, and it’s back to stealing blood from my brain. It’s amazing that I can even process any sort of thoughts. All of a sudden, I have a plan. The pie pan. I’ll bring the pie pan and towel back over tomorrow evening. Maybe take a few beers or a bottle of wine over, which would involve actually going out and getting some, but maybe I can handle it.
Not for another kiss. I’m not going over there to try and force her into something she doesn’t want. That’s not my style. Maybe I am going crazy here. Maybe I’m seriously lonely. Whatever the reason, I feel this strange force pulling me over there. And no, I don’t think it’s anything dark or demonic. More likely, it’s my dick acting like a metal detector.
That kiss was amazing. I’m happy without a repeat and just being neighborly, but if Lu-Anne wanted a repeat and told me she did, I know all sorts of radars would be going off, and I wouldn’t be able to say no.
It’s as good a reason as any to stay away, but I already know that come tomorrow evening, I’ll be knocking on her door, a bottle of something alcoholic and her empty pie plate in hand.
CHAPTER 14
Lu-Anne
I am still freaking out the next afternoon, nearly twenty-four hours after the kisstrastrophe meltdown I had. I have shown up on the guy’s doorstep in the middle of the night raving about a spider, stolen his mail, broken into his house, falsely accused him of being a mobster, and ran away after the best kiss I ever received. Wade must think I’m crazy. Even I am starting to think I am becoming a little unhinged after the past few weeks.
What I need is my best friend. Unfortunately, Leanne has a hot date, so I have to settle for texting her.
Lu-Anne: So. Hot date with your history professor? Did you finally just come straight out and tell him you’ve been crushing on him like a psycho for a ridiculously long time now?
Leanne: Ummm, no. It’s not with the history professor.
Well. I assumed hot dates meant it was with the object of passionate lusting. Did she find someone else? I thought she’d been way too busy with school. But honestly, I’ve also been way too busy with—well—stalking Mr. Mob. I mean, Wade. Yes. Wade. He has a name.
Lu-Anne: What’s his name? What’s he like? Why have I not heard about him? Why are you leaving me all alone here to rot? Please! I need a lifeline! Come over! Bring wine!
Leanne: I wish I could, but I’m drowning in papers, research, and books.
Lu-Anne: But you still have time for a hot date?!
Leanne: Sorry. I should have rephrased that. I have a hot date with a guy from my class at the library to do research.
Lu-Anne: Can that still be considered a hot date then? Is it a real date? Are you going to his place after? Or back to yours?
Leanne: (laughing emoji, laughing tears emoji, books emoji, frog emoji) Let’s meet on Saturday. That’s only a few days away. And you can tell me everything about your hot neighbor. Deal?
I don’t know what the frog is supposed to mean. Unless she’s talking about kissing toads, in which case, I’m not sure if she means her or me. I didn’t tell her about the kiss. I want to, but she’s MIA. Or rather, “studying” or “writing” at the library with some unknown hot dude that she’s purposefully vague about. I need someone to talk to. I need to debrief. I need advice. I need my best friend. Text isn’t going to cut it. I could tell Leanne about the kiss, but I’m pretty sure it would come out all wrong over the phone. I’m not even sure it would come out right in person. At least not until we’ve each had a few glasses of wine.
My fingers are hovering over the phone—ready to try and spill everything about said kiss despite my better judgment—when the doorbell rings.
I nearly fall off the couch at the sound. My grandma was always jumpy, and I think I’m even worse. I jump up with my phone still clutched in my hand. I can tell it’s not Leanne playing a joke on me and actually coming over because I still have the cameras set up, and the one pointing at the front door is clearly displaying a very masculine form.
A very pleasing, gorgeous, smoldering, ultra-chiseled, faded jeans, tight t-shirt kind of form.
“Shit,” I mutter. I stand there frozen, staring at the camera. Even in black and white, the guy is insanely beautiful. My lips start tingling just by thinking about the kiss, and my body does this strange trick of getting hot and shivery all at once.
Wade has something in his hand. A case of something. Beer, I realize, when I inch closer to the camera.
He glances around, looks behind him, and looks back at the door. He seems uncomfortable, and then he shakes his head and turns to go.
I didn’t realize my feet could move so fast, but suddenly, I’m flying like I have one of those big fan boats strapped to my back. I reach the door in about a quarter of a second and fling it open.
Wade is on the first step, but he turns. He looks a little confused at first, then hesitant, but the sparkle returns to his eyes. His perfect lips—lips I’ve freaking tasted and know for a fact are like a freaking twenty out of ten on the perfection/hotness scale—curl into a cautious sort of smile.
“Hi.” He shifts, holding out the case of beer in one hand. In the other, which I didn’t notice before, is my pie pan and tea towel. “I wanted to bring these back. And—uh—see if you maybe wanted to sit outside and have a beer. Seeing as it still hasn’t cooled off at all.”
“You thought I’d be parched? Because it’s hot?”
“Something like that.”
I have to reach out and grip the door frame. Should I let him in? What will happen if I do? Will he try and kiss me again? Was he serious when he said we could pretend like it never happened? How can we pretend like it never happened? That kiss was the most amazing, incredible, and awesome thing I’ve experienced. In just about forever. Okay, maybe ever. At least when it comes to kisses.
“Uh—the back deck? We could sit out there.”
“That would be great. I don’t have a deck. I think I’ll build one, though. Might help the house sell faster when I’m ready to list it.”
That little reminder is like a slap in the face with a cold, wet noodle. It’s a reminder that this isn’t permanent. Wade is temporary. He’s only here to fix up his house, and then he’ll be gone. Right. So, this is just a beer. A beer with a guy who happens to kiss like it’s going out of freaking style but is going to vanish into thin air before I know it. He might not be a mobster, but there’s still plenty of good reasons for me to keep my guard up.
It shouldn’t involve me taking my pie pan and tea towel before showing Wade through the house to the patio door off the kitchen and onto the deck.
It shouldn’t involve me letting him sit down in one of the patio chairs I have out there, and secretly admiring how good he looks doing even the simplest of things.
It shouldn’t involve me sitting down next to him in my other patio chair and taking one of those chilled beers he’s offering, even though I don’t really like beer.
I crank it open anyway and take a sip. The heat is still oppressive even in the late part of the afternoon when it should be tapering off and giving way to the cooler evening part of the day. It’s like a smothering blanket, and even my tank top and shorts combo feels like I’m wearing a full-on snowsuit.
“This heatwave is a killer,” Wade says, after cracking his beer and taking a sip. He set the box down at his feet. Did he chill the whole box in the fridge?
“It is.” I can practically see the heat waves shimmering in the air between us.
Wade’s eyes shift around t
he backyard, taking in my planter beds with the struggling plants. I’ve been watering like crazy, but the heat really is a killer. Everything looks totally droopy and withered right now.
“I’m impressed. The planters are great.”
“Oh. I didn’t build them. My dad and brother did all the work. I’m useless with power tools. I—well—if anything actually survives the heat, I can give you some if you like. Tomatoes and carrots and beans or whatever.”
Wade takes a sip of his beer and grins. I keep staring at the can because it’s the safest place to look but watching the beads of condensation form on the can and roll over Wade’s strong fingers somehow seems… sexual. My skin feels tight and hot, and I’m pretty sure it’s not the sweltering heat causing the discomfort.
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
We lapse back into silence. Wade keeps sipping his beer, and I keep sipping mine. I realize I’m actually quite parched, and before I know it, I’ve finished the can, and Wade silently passes me another. I don’t refuse. I haven’t eaten much all day since I was in a constant state of upheaval about the kiss yesterday. I didn’t sleep well either last night. I was haunted by dreams of a certain someone who may or may not be sitting pretty dang close to me at the moment.
I’m starting to think Wade might be more dangerous than the spider that is still at large.
I finish the second beer and start in on a third. I don’t know whether I’m gulping it back because I’m overheating or thirsty or nervous or all of those things.
After the third, I figure it’s enough, and even though I don’t know why I’m standing, I suddenly realize I am. The sudden movement makes my head spin a little. Three beers may not be much, but it’s quite a bit for me.
Apparently, beer does quick work of inhibitions because, all of a sudden, I’m reaching forward and stepping towards Wade. All of a sudden, he’s standing too. And all of a sudden, our hot, sticky skins are pressing together, our limbs are tangling, and our lips and tongues are clashing again.
Okay, so I don’t think either of us forgot about the kiss from yesterday.
I kind of wish I hadn’t left. Okay, so I really wished, especially after the dreams that I had all night, I hadn’t left his house so soon. This kiss might be dangerous, but it’s also irresistible. I can’t believe that just a few minutes ago I was sitting in my house telling myself that my hot neighbor was off-limits no matter how freaking good of a kisser he is because he’s destined to leave, and I really don’t want to get involved with someone who is just going to come in and take a freaking bulldozer to my heart, but the next second, we’re sucking on each other’s mouths again. Our hands are roving all over each other, and we’re stumbling through the patio doors into the house.
The door slams shut, and all of a sudden, I’m pressed up against the wall. I’m tugging Wade’s face back to mine and claiming his mouth like there’s a meteor streaking straight towards earth. We keep kissing and frantically clawing at each other until Wade’s shirt disappears. I take a second to drink in the delicious sight of his naked chest. I remember the day I saw him—uh—pretty much in his natural state after he jumped out of the shower to defend his house and found me in his kitchen instead.
The sight of his naked chest is seared into my brain for life, and the second glimpse is just as delicious.
“Upstairs,” I pant. “My bedroom is upstairs.”
Wade grips my hips and lifts me easily. I wrap my legs around his strong waist, noting how our skin, which is still clammy from the heat outdoors, sticks together. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. Oh my god, it really is.
“Are you sure you want to—”
“Yes,” I rasp near his ear before I sensually lick the hell out of it and nibble on his earlobe. “Yes, I’m sure.” And I am. Even if it’s going to hurt later when Wade leaves, I need this. I need him. It’s not rational, and I know it’s not the beer, because I’m just nicely buzzed, not even drunk, and no, it’s not the heat. I don’t know what it is. I just need him. I want him. And it seems like he wants me too, and for tonight, that’s enough.
“There.” I point in the general direction, past the kitchen, around the corner to the living room, where the stairs start. I might as well be pointing at the ceiling, but Wade gets it. He moves. He moves fast.
He clears the stairs in a few big strides, which is crazy because I’m clinging to him like a spider monkey. He stops at what is obviously my bedroom and walks in. He doesn’t hesitate to drop me onto the bed and basically fall right on top of me. He catches himself easily to keep from crushing me, and I keep my legs locked tightly around his waist.
We go at each other’s mouths again until I’m nearly ready to jump out of my skin. With all my rubbing and shifting and moaning, Wade gets the message. He leans off me enough that I can attack my own top. I rip my tank top over my head—rip being the keyword because I’m pretty sure it didn’t survive the onslaught—and quickly unhook my bra.
Wade’s delicious warm mouth descends to my breast. He cups it with one hand while his tongue and teeth do wicked things to my nipple. I arch up against him, wishing like hell that I didn’t have the rest of my clothes on. I wish he didn’t have his clothes on either.
He continues to tease and torture me with his mouth while his insanely coordinated hands remove his jeans. One second he has them on, and the next, it’s like they’ve vanished. He shifts away and stands over me in his boxers.
“Get these off.” I gesture at my shorts, and Wade reads my mind. He reaches for them and pulls them away, right along with my panties.
The cool air of the room hits my overheated skin, and I gasp before he even curls his arms around my legs and pulls me towards the edge of the bed. It’s still light out. The whole room is illuminated, but for once, I’m not shy about the lights. This is hot. This is so hot. Wade is so hot. And right now, it’s actually kind of nice that I get to see him push my legs open gently and bend his head. He lowers his mouth to me, and I have to stop watching because my back arches up, pushing my head back into the mattress, sheets, and quilt. My hands desperately scrabble for something—anything—to hold on to.
Wade’s mouth is amazing. It’s cool and warm all at once. He’s so gentle that I nearly scream with frustration and joy. His tongue moves over my clit, dancing away from the sensitive spot. He explores me, taking his time. He groans as he kisses and licks my clit, and then his finger is there, doing something wicked to me. I realize I’m soaking wet and so turned on that it will probably be all of two seconds before I come. I’m not sure if he wants me to come all over his face. Maybe that’s not hot. Maybe I’m too wet. Maybe…
“You’re getting tense,” Wade hums against me. “Just relax. You’re perfect. Delicious. So delicious. You put that blueberry pie to shame, and it was good.”
I flail my hands out, reaching down and digging them into his soft hair. God, it’s so soft. How can anything be so soft? “That’s—you make that sound—so dirty…” I pant.
“It’s not dirty. Unless dirty is good, then you can take it as dirty as you want.”
His tongue swirls over my clit while his finger dances near my entrance. My hips move all on their own, and before long, I’m grinding against his face.
“Maybe I’m not doing this right.” Wade takes my clit into his mouth and suckles gently. “Maybe I need some instruction from you.”
“No—no, you’re doing it right…” My fingers dig into his scalp as emphasis.
Wade’s hand brushes over me, but then disappears, to be replaced by his mouth. He lets his tongue do the exploring—wicked exploring. It sends heat waves arcing through me and makes my skin break out in goosebumps at the same time. His tongue darts inside of me, and I throw my head back, making some inhuman noises I didn’t even know I was capable of.
And then, right when I’m on the verge of an orgasm that I’m sure will not only blow my mind and rock my world, but change my life forever, I see it.
There. On the ceiling. Ri
ght above me and a few inches to the left. In all its terrible hairiness and eight-legged glory.
The spider.
CHAPTER 15
Wade
When Lu-Anne starts screaming, I’m totally mystified. I think it’s a little premature, but heck, maybe I don’t know a thing about orgasms after all. When her knees clamp around my head like a vise, and the screams escalate, I’m a little proud. I mean, I had no idea my skills were up to that level, but apparently, she’s pleased. Suddenly, the leg lock eases up, and Lu-Anne is trying to get away, which confuses me because I thought she was enjoying herself. It starts to sink in that I’ve done something seriously wrong when her knees drop away, and her legs start thrashing. I dodge, but not fast enough to avoid getting nailed in the jaw with an errant flying foot.
I fall back to protect myself, more stunned than anything.
“Oh my god. Oh, no! Oh—oh shit! Are you okay?” Lu-Anne scrambles backward as I look up, more than a little stunned.
I rub my jaw, testing to make sure I didn’t bite my tongue off. My mouth tastes a little metallic, but it mostly still tastes like her, which is a turn on even after that swift kick should have knocked some sense into me.
“If you didn’t like it, you could have just said so. I’m not that kind of guy—”
“No!” Lu-Anne’s eyes go wide with horror. “No! I liked it. I’m so sorry. I—it’s just—it’s there!” She points up, completely terrified.
I crane my neck back to follow her shaking finger. I finally understand why she reacted the way she did. It wasn’t me at all. Not my so-called skills or lack thereof. I let out a sigh of relief when I spot the spider. It’s flat-looking with some serious leg action going on. This spider is like the supermodel of spiders. Those legs are so long. And it’s big; I’ll give her that. If a person is scared of spiders, I can see how this one would be intimidating.
