Chapter Six
His hands were shaking.
Once more, she’d done this to him.
Damn it, this was out of hand.
He’d dropped one of the eggs on the counter. He’d almost cut his finger off with the damned butcher knife and his hands were shaking as he went to flip the bacon.
Upstairs he could hear the pulse of the water and if he closed his eyes, he could just picture her standing under the spray. Water gliding over all those lush pale curves, her deep red hair hanging in wet ropes along her spine.
It wasn’t a new fantasy. He didn’t have new fantasies about Abby. He’d dreamed everything imaginable about her, but somehow, seeing her in that ridiculously thin, skimpy little top that she’d slept in and a pair of pale pink panties, it hit him square in the gut.
No. Actually it was lower and all he wanted to do was close the distance between them and go to his knees. Beg her to see what was right in front of her . . . who was right in front of her.
He wanted to press his lips to the soft swell of her belly. Along the lush curves of her hips. He wanted to palm those amazing round breasts in his hands and taste her . . . see just what color her nipples where. He’d caught a glimpse of the dark shadows through the top she’d been wearing, but what color were they? Pink? A soft, warm rose brown?
“Man, you’ve got to stop this or you’ll end up crippling yourself.”
He could still hear the water.
And it was so very, very easy to imagine himself climbing those stairs. Stripping his clothes away and joining her.
“Ow!” Hot grease splattered his hand and he jerked back as the small flame flared. Jerking his head back on track, he went to grab a small hand towel and caught the handle of the skillet.
“F*ck!”
* * *
With her back leaning against the warm, smooth walls of her shower, Abigale closed her eyes. Her breath came in harsh, broken little pants as the showerhead pulsed and warm water beat against her.
In her mind, she was back in that dream.
That heady, erotic dream.
Bringing herself to climax had become habit, but it had never been so painfully necessary until now and she was all but ready to cry. Her muscles tightened, locking up on her as she started to rock her hips, desperately empty inside.
The heat of the water pounding against her * felt so damned good, but it wasn’t enough . . .
“Zach . . .”
Focusing on his face, she imagined he was there. Coming to her through the cloud of steam and heat. Stepping between her thighs. Or maybe kneeling . . .
And just that thought did it. Pushed her right over the edge.
With a sob, she climaxed, biting her lip so the man downstairs wouldn’t hear her as she cried out.
* * *
A few minutes later, a little embarrassed but feeling more relaxed, she tugged her robe back on and stood in front of the mirror drying her hair.
A muffled shout came from downstairs and she paused, then frowned.
Reaching for the doorknob, she cocked her head.
Then Zach’s pained shout echoed through the house and she took off running.
Stumbling to a halt in the doorway of her bright, open kitchen, she stared. She didn’t see any blood. There was a big butcher knife on the island, so no blood was a good sign. There was a skillet on the stove, smoking—too hot. Grimacing, she headed over to it and then saw the mess. The island had been blocking it.
Bacon and grease splattered all over the floor . . . and Zach was at the sink with the water running. Groaning, she turned off the stove and then edged around the mess.
“Let me see your hand.”
He shot her a dark look. “I got it.”
“Zach, let me see your hand right now, or I’m going to call your damned mother,” she warned.
He curled his lip at her. “That’s such teenaged shit, Abs.”
“And it works.” She reached for his forearm—everything looked fine there and he didn’t seem to be trying to get it under the water, so she figured it was safe. “Come on, Zach. Let me look,” she said, softer this time.
Leaning in, she sighed as she saw the leather bracelet he had on. “You’re probably ruining that,” she said quietly, gently unsnapping it. It was harder to make out anything on his wrist and lower forearm, thanks to the vibrant colors of his tattoos, but the back of his hand, spreading down across his fingers was a vibrant, angry red. “You burned it good.”
“That’s why I’m putting it under cold water,” he said, his voice grouchy.
She shot a glance up at him, smiling a little. “Cranky.”
“It hurts,” he snapped.
“Yeah, I bet it does.” She put the stopper in the sink and filled it up, getting the water as cold as it would go.
“I was going to ice it—”
“No. Ice is bad for burns. Can affect circulation.” She guided his hand back into the water and held it there as the water started to fill up, slowly rising over his wrist and forearm. Once it was up a few inches over the burned areas, she shut it off. “There. You need to keep it in there for twenty minutes or so. We’ll keep letting the water out as it warms up and adding in more cold.”
“I need to finish the food,” he muttered, staring down into the sink.
She rose onto her toes and kissed his cheek. “I’ll do it. It’s the thought that counts and all.”
“I was supposed to be doing the breakfast for you . . . not having you cook for me. You always cook for me.”
“I don’t mind.” She went to glance at him. Such a mistake. That dream, that torrid, wicked dream continued to dance through her mind and when their gazes locked, the heat in his dark blue eyes was enough to leave her feeling like she had been scalded. Only there was no pain.
Just burning, burning heat.
The breath whooshed down out of her lungs and for a moment, she could picture herself doing exactly what she’d done in that dream. Reaching up, framing his face with her hands, and holding him as she pressed her mouth to his.
Have a torrid affair with a hot guy.
Such a simple thing, it seemed.
And if this was anybody but her best friend . . .
Sucking in a breath, she eased away from him just as he opened his mouth. Nerves punched through her, hard and vicious, and she caught the bright edge of them dancing in her voice as she said, “So, what do you want in your omelet? Do you want to be able to taste anything afterward or do you just want it your normal level of spicy?”
* * *
The pain in his hand seemed to pale in comparison to the sudden, vicious ache in his dick. Zach brooded. Staring at the back of her head, he had to swallow twice and clear his throat before he could manage anything more than a rasp to answer. “Just do what you want,” he said. “I’m not picky.”
Then as she knelt down on the floor, the robe she’d pulled on riding high on her thighs, he had to swallow back a groan. “Abs, I’ll clean that up. Why don’t you go get dressed?” Please? For the sake of my sanity? “I didn’t mean to drag you out of your shower.”
When she glanced at him, he nodded toward the stove and said, “It’s not like anything is going to burn.”
“You need to keep soaking your hand and I’d rather get this cleaned up before it becomes a bigger mess.” She shrugged and went back to the task at hand.
He went back to fighting the urge to stare at the creamy slope of her breast, which he could see all too easily from where he was standing. And f*ck . . . now he knew the answer. Her nipples were a deep, dark rose. Feeling like a f*cking Peeping Tom, he dragged his eyes away from her and focused back on his hand. “Sorry about the mess, Abs,” he said.
“It’s no big deal. I’m just glad you didn’t do anything worse to your hand. Grease burns can be nasty.”
Staring down at the red splotch spreading across his skin, he grimaced. This was going to be a bitch to deal with for a few days—he could only imagine how much fun it was going to be trying to work. And it served him right. Down here, mentally jacking off while she was in the shower, blissfully unaware of what was going on in his screwed-up head. Yeah, he was lucky it wasn’t a lot worse.
He shot another glance over at her and wondered if maybe he just shouldn’t scrap his entire plan. He’d come over here because he’d thought about trying to work up to telling her that he’d seen her journal. Or getting her to tell him what was in the journal.
Then what? he thought sourly. He’d done such a bang-up job so far this morning. Making a mess in her pretty little kitchen. Burning the f*ck out of his hand. He ought to just—
“You look pissed.”
Startled, he looked up as she moved to come stand next to him. “Huh?”
“You heard me.” She smiled at him, her dimple flashing. She checked the water. “I’m going to let some of the water out and add in some more cold water real quick.”
As she leaned in, the robe she wore gaped and he had another glimpse of smooth, soft breasts. Stop it, Zach.
He swallowed and doggedly stared out the back window at the rock garden and pond she had set up. There was a sitting area, too, with an outdoor fireplace. They’d spent many a night out there. Nights where he’d tormented himself and watched how firelight danced over that soft, ivory skin—
“How does it feel?”
Don’t ask. Mentally, he swore and then looked down at his hand. It was still red. It still hurt. And he had a feeling it was going to blister, too. “It hurts like a bitch,” he said honestly. “Ah, why don’t you go get dressed? You can turn the bacon down, or off, for a few minutes. And I’ll just stand here and not mess with anything since I seem to be screwing everything up today.”
A faint blush crept up her cheeks, dusting her skin with a soft pink. “Yeah. Probably not a bad idea to grab some clothes. I’ll be back in a few.”
“Take your time.” He flexed his hand and wiggled his fingers. “I’m at your mercy right now. If I try to cook with my head where it is, I’m going to burn the place down.”
As it was, he was going to walk with a permanent limp or something if he couldn’t get his thoughts on a safer track. Priority number one was seeing Abby in something other than that short, thin robe.
* * *
“It’s going to blister,” Abigale said, nibbling on her lip as she pulled Zach’s hand out of the water. They’d soaked it a good thirty minutes while she finished up breakfast, but it was still red. His palm felt rough against hers and his fingers were long. She had to suppress a shiver at the memory of the feel of them on her skin as she studied the burn. Help . . . you’re supposed to be helping. Not lusting.
Except she was still thinking about number five on her list. Right?
“Serves me right,” Zach said, tugging his hand away. “I was distracted and that’s never a good idea with hot grease splattering around, right? Come on. I’m hungry.”
“Go sit at the breakfast nook. I’ll bring the food.”
“I can get the food. Why don’t you get us something to drink?” He flexed his hand and added, “I suspect I should stay away from the coffeepot.”
She laughed. “I don’t think you’re a hazard in the kitchen all of a sudden, Zach.”
He grumbled something under his breath that she couldn’t quite make out, but as he grabbed the plates, she didn’t see the point in arguing with him. She already had one cup of coffee but she refilled his. He was going on his third cup.
“You have a bad night last night?” she asked as she put his coffee down.
He shot her a sidelong look and shrugged. “Didn’t sleep well.”
They lapsed into silence for a few minutes as they ate although Abigale had to force herself to do more than pick at the food. It was like chewing on sawdust. How in the hell was she going to be able to follow through on number five when lately all she could think about was Zach?
“You done anything else with this infamous new plan of yours?” he asked, bumping her with his shoulder.
In the process of slipping a bite of the omelet into her mouth, she froze. She lowered the fork to the plate and sat there as she chewed, stalled a minute by taking a sip of the juice she’d poured for them both. She should have made screwdrivers, damn it.
“So far, no,” she said honestly. “There’s just the . . .” She glanced over her shoulder at the hip closest to him and then shrugged. “That.”
He grinned. “It’s called a tattoo. How is it looking?”
“How would I know?” She made a face at him. “I’ve never had one and I can’t exactly see it all that well. But I’m doing what you told me to do. So . . .”
“I’ll take a look.”
As he slid off the stool, her breath froze in her lungs. “Ah, is it really that big a deal?”
Long, warm fingers brushed against her skin, nudging her forward. “If it’s not healing well, yeah. You want it looking good, don’t you?”
Her breath hitched a little as he tugged the waistband of the wraparound skirt she wore out of the way, easing it lower. “It’s looking fine,” he said after a minute.
Face flaming, she focused on the plate in front of her, keeping her head bowed as he settled back on the stool. “So why haven’t you done anything else? The Roger thing really needs to happen, by the way.”
“Oh, I know.” She tried to get rid of some of the tension trapped inside, but instead of subsiding, it was mounting. Her skin felt hot and her heart was racing. Faster and faster. Still, as she took another sip of her juice, she was damned proud to see that her hand was steady. “I was planning on doing it this week, but it’s like everything known to man has gone wrong. A couple of my employees were sick so I was working shorthanded. Then I had to cover for Grace . . .”
She trailed off and shrugged. “It’s been one thing after another. Endlessly.”
A sly grin curled his lips as he looked at her. “You could call him now.”
“You just want to hear me tell him off,” she said, laughing a little. She’d always suspected Zach hadn’t exactly loved the guy, but she hadn’t realized just how deep his dislike had run. He’d kept it hidden pretty damn well, because she’d never seen it, and she should have.
“Maybe I do.” He shrugged a little and shifted around on the stool, lifting one leg to brace his foot on her stool, while stretching his other out behind her. She could feel the heat of him, he was so close. She felt almost surrounded by him now. “How’s the not worrying thing going?”
A faint smile curled her lips and she shot a look at him. Immediately, her heart flipped over a little in her chest and she had to remind herself just what she was supposed to be doing. Saying . . . he’d asked something . . . oh, yeah. She remembered now. “That’s actually going a little easier. I’m not all keyed up to get to every single thing on the list right away, which is good. There are a few things I wanted to do right away, but I’m not letting it twist me up.”
“Was Roger one of them?”
“Yeah.” She reached for her juice but instead of drinking it, she just braced it between her hands and spun it back and forth, staring down into the glass. “I know what I want to say to him. I have it all jotted down . . .”
“Jotted down.” He started to laugh. “Abby, did you go and make a damned script or something?”
She glared at him.
He just laughed harder.
She shot out a hand and poked him in the ribs. It was like jabbing a hand into a rock wall. “You jackass,” she muttered as he kept on laughing. She shoved a hand against his shoulder and he caught her hand around the wrist. “It wasn’t a script. I just . . . hell. I made notes.”
“Notes . . .” He stroked his thumb over her wrist. “So you made notes. Why haven’t you called him?”
She tugged on her wrist but he didn’t let go. Sighing, she shrugged. “It just hasn’t happened yet. You know . . . Never mind.” She went to slide off the stool, but before she could, the hand on her wrist slid up to her arm.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His thumb stroked against the inside of her arm and the dark blue of his eyes bored into hers, like he could see clear into her soul. “That look on your face isn’t nothing, Abs,” Zach said, his voice a low, soft rumble. “Something’s bothering you.”
She swallowed and stared off past his shoulder. “It’s Roger . . .”
The grip on her arm tightened for just a second and then he tugged her off the stool, into the vee of his legs. Her heart, already racing, jumped up into a gallop that just couldn’t be healthy. That scent of his, all soap and male skin and the detergent he used on his clothes, shot straight to her head. Her mouth started to water and instead of looking up at him, she rested her head on his shoulder. “You can’t keep letting that dickhead twist you up, Abby,” he said, stroking a hand up her back to curve it over the back of her neck.
She wanted to whimper. Instead, she forced herself to talk. “It’s not that. Not exactly.” The last thing she wanted him thinking was that she was still all terribly upset over what had happened with Roger. Logically, she should be but she just wasn’t. “It’s what he said . . . about not being true to myself. I know I don’t want that life back. He’s out of his mind, and I know it. But I keep hearing him say that, You’re not being true to yourself, and it’s echoing in my mind. Now I’m wondering if maybe there’s something else that is missing from my life that I just can’t see. Does that make sense? Something that I do want, but I can’t see it?”
He sighed. She felt the motion of it, felt his chest rise and fall against hers and she had to bite back a whimper. Then he pressed a kiss to her temple. “You’ve spent so much of your life trying to control everything you could, Abby. There are probably a lot of things you want that you can’t see. Just . . . hell, just try not to worry. Let your life happen for a while.” Then his voice took on a teasing slant as he added, “After all, she who shall not be named can’t exactly come back into your life and take things over again, right?”
She laughed a little and lifted her head to look at him. “That’s true,” she murmured.
The breath caught in her lungs as their gazes locked.
Things that she wanted that she couldn’t see . . . Right now the problem was that she knew exactly what . . . no . . . she knew who she wanted. But it wasn’t a good idea . . .
He reached up and tugged on her hair. “So what’s the other thing you planned on doing, Abby?”
You.
The word almost jumped out of her. She had to fight to keep it locked inside and not just because it sounded trashier than hell. She wasn’t exactly planning on doing a man. She’d planned to have an affair. A torrid affair. With a hot guy.
Yet the only guy she could even imagine doing this with right now was Zach.
“Ah . . .”
That familiar smile of his, a little devious, a little wicked, curled his lips as he wound one of her curls around his finger. “What is it, Abby? You weren’t planning something really bad, were you? Going to rob a bank? Get a part-time job as a stripper?”
She snorted and eased back away from him, reminding herself that she needed to breathe. She needed to think. That was what she needed to do. “Sure, Zach. I’m going to become the Stripper Bank Robber. I’ll wear a mask and a G-string and pasties.”
“Can I be your getaway driver? I’d love to see this,” he teased, his voice husky.
And the look in his eyes was . . .
Whoa. Her mouth went dry and again, her skin felt all hot and tight. She couldn’t seem to suck in enough oxygen. “Well, you’ll just have to picture it your dreams. Stripping and bank robbing weren’t on the list.”
“I dunno . . .” A wicked light glinted in his eyes and he leaned in closer. “You look awful guilty, sugar. Just what else is on the list?”
Get up. Walk away. You need to think—
That voice, the voice of reason, the voice of sense, the voice she’d listened to her entire adult life, seemed to shriek at her, blaring a warning loud and long as she stared at him.
Another voice, sly and seductive, whispered, you said you’d stop worrying. You wanted to live . . .
* * *
The dark brown of her eyes seemed to burn as she stared at him.
Zach was torn between just closing the distance between them and just calling this whole idea off. More than seventeen f*cking years, damn it. That’s how long he’d loved her and she’d never known.
But you’ve never told her.
Yeah, because she’d never seemed to—
Abby slid her off her stool.
Mentally, he sighed. Shoving a hand through his hair, he glanced away from her, tried to find something else to look at, focus on, think about. He’d been teasing her and pushing her as far as he figured he could go without saying outright, “I read the damn journal. If you have to have an affair, why not me?” But she wasn’t exactly following and—
Her hand touched his shoulder.
Zach looked back her. His heart seemed to jump up into his throat as she closed the distance between them.
Everything in the world faded away as she pushed up onto her toes.
And then, as she leaned in and pressed her lips to his, Zach realized this was what it was like to have a dream actually come true. As her mouth parted under his, he was almost certain he was dying. Maybe he’d already died. Yeah. He’d been eating something and choked, died, and now he was in heaven.
Except he figured there was no way he would end up there.
So maybe Abby really was kissing him. Groaning, he reached for her and hauled her closer, pulling her to stand between his legs. With one arm wrapped around her waist, he slid his free hand up her back and tangled it in the crazy, soft curls of her hair. Soft as silk, just like he remembered.
And her mouth was sweet, every bit as sweet as he remembered, but there was no director, no crew, no brilliant stage lights shining down and this kiss wasn’t choreographed or scripted.
Abby wasn’t kissing him because she had to, wasn’t kissing him because it was in some f*cking script, and she wasn’t going to pull away and make some stupid joke to break the tension.
Abby was kissing him, damn it.
It was real.
Real, and he was going to make the most of it.
Using his grip on her hair to tug her head back, he tasted and teased the curve of her lower lip and dipped inside her mouth to stroke her tongue with his own.
She whimpered and arched closer.
Closer, so that through the thin silk of the tank she’d pulled on, he could feel the soft weight of her breasts, the lush curves of her body and it wasn’t enough. He wanted, no, he needed more, but . . .
Tearing his mouth away, he buried his face against her neck.
Her body vibrated against his.
“Abby . . .” he whispered, all too aware of how ragged his voice sounded. All too aware of the fact that his hands were probably shaking and the muscles in his body were bunched, tensed, ready to take.
But what in the hell was going on?
Her hands stroked up his arms, one curving around his neck while the other slid into his hair.
Her lips brushed against his cheek as she turned her head. “I could tell you one of the other steps, Zach, but you’d either think I was crazy or you’d worry about me.”
Lifting his head, he stared at her with a narrow gaze. Her face was flushed and her eyes were a little glassy. But she didn’t look away. Long seconds ticked by and then she tried to ease back from him.
No, damn it. She wasn’t pulling back now.
Glancing around, he studied their surroundings and then he grabbed his stool with one hand, keeping his right arm banded around her waist. He managed to drag the damn thing a foot or two down the length of the breakfast nook to the bar and then he sat down.
Abby yelped as he lifted her up onto his lap and the skin on his burned hand screamed at him. He ignored both. Her skirt tangled around her legs and that was a bit of a hindrance, but he tugged and pulled until she was sitting astride him with the skirt tucked up around the sweet swell of her hips.
Rushing it, man. Pushing too far, a calm, rational voice said. But how the hell could he be rushing it? He’d loved her for most of his life and his problem was that he’d never made a move. Now she had and damn it, he wasn’t letting her walk away just like that.
“The only thing that worries me about your life is the fact that you never really live it,” he said, hooking his arm around her shoulders and staring at her.
Her face was flushed and her eyes were overbright. Her gaze bounced around like she couldn’t look at him and she kept squirming around—considering her position, that made things very interesting. “Abby . . . be still, damn it.”
She wiggled even more. “Put me down, Zach.”
“Why?”
“Because . . .” She stopped and then lifted her eyes to stare at him. Her tongue came out to wet her lips and because he just couldn’t stop himself, he pushed his hand into her hair, tangled it around his fingers, and took her mouth.
The way he’d always dreamed about.
It was a moment made for dreams, it seemed.
Every time he’d thought about doing this, he’d been certain he’d get any reaction other than this. Anything but her hunger. Anything but her meeting him ragged breath for ragged breath, hungry touch for hungry touch. Desperate kiss for desperate kiss.
A soft, startled gasp escaped her and he swallowed it down. Yet another dream came true as he felt her wiggle closer and wrap her legs around his hips and arch closer. Abby . . . he had Abby on his lap and she had those lush, wonderful legs wrapped around him.
Fisting one hand in the tangle of her skirt, he dragged it higher, forcing the layers of material up out of the way until he could rest his palm on bare skin. The fabric brushed against the back of his burnt hand and pain slashed through him, but it faded in comparison to everything else.
Her arms wrapped around his neck as he slid his hand back behind her hips, nudging her closer. Closer . . .
F*ck . . . right there—
A broken moan escaped her as she tore her mouth away, her head falling forward to slump on his shoulder. Her nails bit into his shoulders, tension rocketing through her body as she started to rock against him and through her panties, through his jeans, he felt the heat of her.
Using his grip on her curls, he tugged her head back and pressed his lips to the hollow at the base of her neck. At the same time, he held her hips steady and started to move her, battling back the urge to come up off the damn stool and spread her out on the bar next to him.
No. Not the bar. Not enough room there.
The floor . . . nah. The table. Room there. Lots of it. He could undo the tie on her skirt, like he was unwrapping a present. Strip away her tank . . .
He settled for guiding her hips back and forth across the painfully hard ridge of his cock, listening to her broken gasps. When he heard her whisper his name, her voice a little dazed, he almost lost it. Damn near came in his jeans like a teenager.
Her hands came up, dipping into his hair as he used his chin to nudge the strap of her tank out of the way, nuzzling and nibbling his way down the smooth, pale flesh. The swell of her breasts was right there . . . so f*cking close.
Maybe he could—
Her body tightened.
Her knees tightened around his hips and she arched, her body a lovely, sweet bow. “Zach . . . ?”
Turning his head, he caught the lobe of her ear between his teeth and bit down. “Come for me, damn it.” Too many years spent wanting her and now, everything he wanted, everything he needed was right here. “Come for me, Abby . . .”
* * *
Those husky words sent her flying higher than she’d ever been.
Unable to breathe, unable to see, caught in the circle of his arms and the heat of his body, Abby experienced a climax that all but devastated her. The oxygen seemed to disappear from the world. And it took the light with it. For long, long minutes, she was blind, deaf to anything and everything.
And then, as rational thought started to intrude, she forced her eyes to open.
They were moving.
Or rather, Zach was.
The hot rush of blood leaped to her cheeks as those stupid rational thoughts started to intrude, but she couldn’t very well spring away from him and get herself under control because he was carrying her.
“If you try to jump away from me, you’re going to hurt us,” Zach said quietly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Walking up the stairs and having panic attacks aren’t very good combinations.”
Her tongue seemed to glue itself to the roof of her mouth, but she managed to get the words out. “Why . . .” Okay. She got one word out. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Why are we going upstairs?”
“Because I want to sit down and hold you for a little while without you taking off and locking yourself in your room. I figured I’d just lock myself in there with you.”
Her brain shut down.
Locked in her room.
With Zach.
That sounded so very appealing.
And it felt even better, she had to admit a few minutes later as he laid her down and tucked himself up behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist, his palm flat against her belly. The heat of him spread through her body, lulling her, calming her, seducing her.
Too perfect for words, she decided.
She could handle this, she thought. As long as she didn’t think. As long as she didn’t—
Watch out, her brain warned her. You’re starting to think.
Desperately, she closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. Focus on him. Just him. He feels nice, right?
Oh, yes. He felt better than nice. Better than anything she’d ever felt, really.
But what in the hell is going on? You were going to think things through and now—
Stop it. The calm, rational part of her mind got a little louder. But it just wasn’t enough and before she even realized it, she blurted out, “What in the hell just happened?”
Zach’s lips touched the back of her neck. “Well, I’m no expert, but I think you kissed me,” he said, his voice teasing. “And I’m pretty sure we both enjoyed it. But maybe we should try again.”
And then she found herself on her back, staring up into a pair of dark blue eyes that she knew very, very well. They’d always seemed to glint with mischief, or trouble . . . but she’d never realized just how much they glinted with that kind of trouble.
Not until now.
As his mouth came down on hers again, Abby barely had time to catch her breath. Then she was wondering why she’d even bothered. He stole the oxygen right out of her with his kiss. His tongue stroked along hers, moving into her mouth with an easy assurance that belied his words.
I’m no expert.
Oh, yes. Yes, he was.
She whimpered as he took the kiss deeper.
The hand on her belly caught the material of her skirt, dragging it upward and although panic crowded inside her head, there was nothing in her that could make herself pull away. Nothing that would make her say stop.
He’d do it. There was no doubt in her mind.
The problem was she didn’t want him to stop.
As his fingers flirted with the waistband of her panties, Zach lifted his mouth from hers and whispered, his breath dancing over her swollen, sensitive lips, “Abby . . . ?”
She knew what he was asking. He was giving her a chance to call a halt to this. A halt to this crazy, insane . . . what was this thing?
Swallowing, she forced herself to open her eyes and stare at him. “What’s going on, Zach?”
He sighed and instead of slipping his hand inside her panties, he smoothed a palm over her thigh. He lowered his head, resting it on her breasts. “That’s the twenty-thousand-dollar question, I guess, isn’t it?”
She felt the puff of air against her sensitive skin and groaned as her nipples responded, tightening as though he’d been nibbling on them instead of just talking to her. This was insane.
Completely insane.
She’d just had the climax of her life . . . with Zach. And both of them were still fully clothed. They hadn’t had sex. They’d only barely been making out and she’d come harder than she could ever remember coming in her life.
Insane.
And all she wanted to do was strip herself naked, make him do the same so they could see just how far they could ride this insanity.
“We should stop.” Her body shrieked at the very idea of it. So did just about every other part of her. Hell, even her mind wasn’t getting on board with the idea of stopping. She closed her eyes. “Shouldn’t we?”
He rubbed his cheek against her skin. “Is that what you want?”
No. Terror locked the word in her throat. Yes, she’d been the one to kiss him and yes, she wanted more, so much more. Lately, the things she seemed to want from Zach terrified her. But he was her best friend. There was nobody she loved more than him, nobody who meant more. He was . . . everything.
What if she lost that?
The weight of his head left her breast and she opened her eyes to find him watching her, with his measured, steady gaze. “Abs . . .” He stroked a hand along her cheek, cupped her face in his palm.
Licking her lips, she nudged him back. “Let me up a minute.”
Something flashed through his eyes. It might have been disappointment, she thought. But she was afraid to think about it too long.
As he eased away, she shifted away from him and climbed off the bed to pace. “I’d say something like this is crazy. Except I kissed you so it’s not like this came out of nowhere.” She shoved her hair back from her face.
“Are you trying to tell me you wish you hadn’t kissed me?”
She shot him a look and then wished she hadn’t.
Wow.
How in the hell hadn’t she noticed this before . . .
He sat with his back pressed against her headboard. The walls of her bedroom were pale green and the headboard was white. The boards were reclaimed wood and the overall feel of her room was a shabby chic look, feminine without being too fussy. Zach should have looked incredibly out of place on her bed, with his beat-up jeans and black t-shirt. But he didn’t.
He looked like he belonged there. In her room. With her, with that faint smile on his face and that intimate, watchful look in his eyes. The vivid color of his tattoos wound around his arms and she found herself wanting to pull his shirt off and learn the detail of those tattoos in ways she’d never done before.
He was too beautiful for words.
Logically, she knew that. She’d appreciated the sheer beauty of him before. But knowing it and having it hit her like this were two very different things. Her belly, all hot and tight, twisted with need as she stood there staring at him and it took her a few more seconds to remember that he’d asked her something. A question. Oh, yeah.
“No,” she said. She didn’t regret kissing him at all. “I just . . .” She shook her head and shifted her gaze to somewhere other than him.
“Why did you kiss me?”
Blood rushed to her face and she turned away, focusing her attention on the sprawling window that stared out over the desert. At night, she could stare out at the spread of the sky and feel lost in the beauty of it. During the day, she could stare at the desert and find some peace in the chaos of her day.
But right now, it wasn’t working.
Hearing a faint movement behind her, she turned around as he came to a stop just inches away. “No answer?” he murmured, reaching out to tug on a lock of her hair.
She jerked her chin up and fell back on the attitude that had gotten her through things when little else could. “Hey, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I could always ask you why you kissed me back,” she shot off.
A hot grin appeared on his face and he dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “But I can give you an answer for that. Are you really sure you want to hear it?”
Abigale rolled her eyes and tried to back away from him. But he followed her. Step-by-step, until she stood with her back braced against the wall just by the window, the heat of the sun already warming her skin. “I probably already know what it is,” she said, curling her lip at him. “You’re a man, right?”
“Well . . . there is that.” He closed his hands around her hips, holding her steady as he leaned against her. She felt the heat of him, the length of his cock like a brand against her belly and her breath caught in her lungs, lodged there as he started to rock, slow and steady.
Each movement sent flickers of heat flying through her, turning her brain into absolute mush.
“But there’s the real reason.” He rubbed his lips against hers. “You see . . . I’ve only been waiting for you to kiss me for a good long while now. I can’t be held responsible for liking it when you finally do it.”
As he took her mouth again, a hot wave of delight flooded her.
* * *
That skirt of hers was going to be the end of him, Zach decided as he gathered the flowing material back up in his hands, dragging it up over the length of her legs. Once he could palm the curve of her ass, he nipped her lower lip and then lifted his head and stared down at her. “I wanted you to kiss me. I wanted to kiss you . . . and I wanted to do this . . . feel you, just like this. And a hell of a lot more, Abby.”
She blinked up at him, her eyes wide and dazed, fogged with heat, with surprise. Her tongue slid out to wet her lips and he followed the path it had taken with his eyes, ready to devour her, completely.
But he needed to slow this down.
She was already nervous as hell and he wasn’t about to blow this.
“Do you want to know what else I’ve wanted to do?” he whispered, shifting until he could push one thigh between her legs.
Her lashes fluttered down and he watched her head fall back, exposing the elegant line of her neck. Sweeping his head down, he raked his teeth along the delicate curve and then muttered against her ear, “Do you want to know?”
Long seconds ticked away, broken only by the ragged sounds of their breathing. But then, finally, she said, “Yes.”
Easing back, he caught her hands and guided them down until she was the one holding her skirt up. A bright pink blush settled on her cheeks but she held his gaze as he lifted his eyes to look at her. “This skirt is going to drive me out of my f*cking mind,” he said conversationally. “Just like that and you’re naked, you know that?”
A grin danced around her lips. “Well, that’s the thing about clothes. If you wear them, you’re clothed. If not, you’re naked.”
“This skirt ain’t much different.” It covered everything, but it was just a dream, really. One tug and it would fall away. But he didn’t want that. Not yet. Stepping back, he studied her, her skirt hiked up, baring the blush-colored fabric of her panties, the lush curve of her thighs and hips. Placing his hand on her belly, he continued to watch her as he eased his way down . . . down . . . down.
Her breath hitched in her chest, causing her breasts to rise and fall. He used one hand to nudge the straps of her tank down her shoulders. The pretty, lacy straps of her bra remained and he dipped his head, pressing his lips to the lace. “I want you naked, Abby.”
“Zach . . .”
He heard the hesitancy in her voice and he murmured, “Shhh . . . not yet. Not yet.”
He wasn’t rushing this. No way in hell.
Besides, he had just slid his hand inside Abby’s damned panties and he could feel the silky curls against his fingers and hot damn, he thought he just might come from that alone. “I’ve wanted this,” he muttered against her skin. Leaning in closer, he braced his free arm on the wall over her head and listened to her ragged sigh as he circled his index finger over the tight little bud of her *oris.
She cried out, the sound of it bouncing off the walls around him. “Like that?” he murmured, giving her another slow stroke. Then he moved in a quicker, firmer rhythm and felt her buck against him. “Or like that?”
“Zach . . . please!”
She was hot as the desert sun under his touch, but slick and wet as rain, and so perfect. He wanted to go to his knees before her, taste her, worship her, love her . . . instead, he stayed where he was, forgetting about the rest of the world as he stroked his fingers over her sweet, swollen flesh.
Her nails bit into his sides, her hips rocking forward, fast, hungry. “Damn it, Zach,” she groaned.
“Do you want more?”
“Yes!”
“Push your panties down, then.” He kept his free arm on the wall. He wasn’t making love to her today, damn it. He’d finally gotten her to see him and this wasn’t going to be a onetime thing.
But he couldn’t listen to that hungry, desperate plea in her voice, either.
Her hands were shaking as she reached for the waistband of her panties, stretched tight around his hand. He held still as she pushed them down but then they caught around her knees and she swayed as she shimmied her way out of them. Feeling the soft, warm weight of her body as he braced himself against her was almost his undoing.
Almost.
He held on through will alone. Teeth gritted, eyes closed, he kept his face buried against her neck until he thought he could continue without losing what little control he maintained.
“Spread your legs, sugar.”
He felt her weight shift and then he lifted his head, stared into her eyes. Soon, damn it, he told himself as he eased his finger down and started to circle her entrance. Soon he’d be preparing her to take him inside . . . not just his finger, but him. All of him.
And please, please . . . let her want to keep him. Forever.
Because he couldn’t think about that and keep her from seeing more than he was ready to show her, he shoved it all aside and focused just on this. The slick, clenched feel of her sex as he pushed one finger inside. She tightened around him and the feel of it was sheer bliss, glory . . . perfection. He wanted more. Needed it, but he settled for burying his finger inside her and then slowly retreating. Then again . . . again . . . as she started to rock against him, he added a second finger and started to rotate his wrist, screwing them in and out of the sweet, slick well and listening as she cried out.
“That’s it, sugar,” he muttered, watching her face, watching as her eyes took on that dazed, lost look, watching as a flush spread up her neck, across her breasts. “Come again. I want to see it, I want to feel it . . .”
She gave him all of that and more. And when she sagged against him as it ended, she wrapped her arms around him and let him carry her back to the bed.