Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters #2)

For a lot of reasons.

One, he was unavailable. I’m not in the relationship race and I never will be. After he’d made that statement, he’d backed it up by trying to help her win another man. Never mind that she’d kissed him at that party because she couldn’t seem to help it. She’d wanted to. Nothing to do with Sergei at all. But he’d made it clear he’d just been helping her out.

Right?

Another reason she shouldn’t be considering throwing open the guest-room door? They were friends. She liked him. A lot. If she let him in and something happened, things would get awkward. Fox would probably regret hooking up with a houseguest immediately, because there would be no easy exit.

That brought her to the third reason she absolutely should not open the door.

The gut feeling that Fox had intentionally tried to put her off-balance this morning with his innate sexuality. That he’d wielded it like a weapon for some purpose she wasn’t fully grasping.

So there she was, armed with her three reasons and gingery lube, when the knob of the bedroom turned, an inch of space appearing between the door and the jamb. And then another. Another. Until she was stepping back to allow it to swing open completely, her tummy muscles seizing at the sight of Fox outlined in the entrance to her room. Shirtless, filthy, rugged, and sweaty.

Uh-oh.

His gaze traveled down to the black triangle of her thong, a muscle popping in his jaw. “Don’t move.”

Frozen in place, she watched through the doorway as Fox crossed to the kitchen sink and washed his hands, drying them on a rag and tossing it away. And then he was prowling back in her direction through the unlit apartment, entering the room once more, and closing the door behind him. “Get over here, Hannah.”

The rasped order almost made her moan. Did Fox washing his hands mean what she thought it did? That he was planning on . . . touching her? It was such a practical action. Like he was getting down to business. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea if you need to come.” She took a step forward, and he caught her wrist, pulling her close, closer, until they were about to collide, then he moved at the last second and let her come up softly against the door, facing away from him. His fingers sunk into Hannah’s hair, angling her head to the left, his breath fanning her neck, her vision doubling when he settled his hands on her waist and squeezed, his palms scraping slowly to the center of her belly, waking up a bunch of Jane Doe hormones, never before encountered and therefore never named. “Goddamn, Hannah. You are such a sexy little thing.”

“Fox . . .”

“Uh-huh. Let’s talk this out for a second,” he said thickly against her neck, just grazing her skin with his teeth, his knuckles scrubbing side to side over her belly button. “You left the set like it was on fire to come over here and touch yourself.”

She made an unintelligible noise that might have passed for a yes. Were they really discussing this out loud? Was this actually happening?

“I know it wasn’t the director that made you need this.” Ever so slightly, his fingertips brushed the waistband of her panties, the tip of his middle digit sneaking under, teasing right and left. “Maybe you’ll go to him for stimulating conversation, but I’m where you come for the down and dirty.”

What?

With an effort, Hannah tried to make sense of that. Not just the words coming out of his mouth, but the rebellion they provoked inside her. Think. Not so easy when slowly, so slowly, he crowded her closer to the door, and there . . . his erection met her bottom, his hips rolling as if he was doling out a treat. “Do you want my fingers between your legs?”

Yes.

Honestly, she almost screamed it.

There was something wrong with this picture, though. If her libido would stop wailing like a baby for a second, she’d be able to piece it together. “Fox . . .”

“This is what I do, Hannah. Let me do it.” His tongue journeyed up the side of her neck with such blatant, animal sexuality, her eyes crossed. “It can just be a secret between friends in the dark.”

Friends.

That word got through to her.

And then: This is what I do. A brag . . . but not. Because there was an edge just under the surface of his tone that didn’t belong in a scenario like this. All day long, there had been a nettle under her skin regarding his behavior that morning, and now she understood what was happening. The why was still a mystery, but at least she had a starting point. “Fox, no.”

His hands stilled immediately, lifted, and laid flat on the door. “No?”

It was painfully obvious he’d never heard that word before. Not from a woman. Hannah couldn’t blame a single one of them, either. There was something about the way he spoke so frankly, touched with an aim toward arousing, moved so fluidly, that made inhibitions and insecurities seem irrelevant. They were only two people scratching an itch, and there was nothing wrong with that, right? He was a walking invitation to let loose.

But she wasn’t falling for it.

Hannah didn’t have a game plan. Couldn’t formulate one when her brain and her vagina were at total odds. So she spoke honestly, without second-guessing herself.

“Okay . . .” She licked her lips, whispering into the dark. “Fine. You made me this way. You made me need to . . . do this. Talking about blowing off steam and . . . and the shirtlessness. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes,” he growled beside her ear. “Let me finish you.”

“No.”

His hands curled into fists on the door, a humorless laugh pushing the hair at her temple around. “What are you worried about, Hannah? Making things weird between us? It won’t. You know what is weird? The fact that I haven’t fucked you. It’s as easy as breathing for me.”

“No, it’s not.”

As soon as she said it, the belief turned solid as concrete.

That was the edge she heard in his voice. That was why he’d seemed to almost be performing this morning. Acting. Overcompensating.

A pause ensued. “What?”

“It’s not easy for you. Is it?” She turned between Fox and the door, looking up into his guarded expression, a heavy object tumbling end over end in her stomach. “Sex is what you do? Maybe. But it’s not all you do. Stop trying to push that garbage on me. You did it this morning and you’re doing it now.”

His straight line of white teeth flashed in the darkness as he puffed a laugh. “Jesus, Hannah. Here we go with the psychology bullshit.”

“Call it whatever you want.”

All at once, his demeanor turned casually seductive. He dropped his mouth down, leaving it a millimeter away from hers. “You know,” he rasped, his lips ghosting over hers. “I could talk you into it.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

Okay, she really shouldn’t have said that.

His ensuing smirk spelled disaster.

“Drop the oil, wet girl,” he said. “We both know you don’t need it.”

God, that was such a cocky—and annoyingly true—statement. The line should have irked her. Not pushed her back toward that pinnacle of need, right where she’d been before she’d glimpsed the potential demons inside this man.

Her breath accelerated, heat licking at her buzzing nerve endings. She’d already admitted to Fox that he’d been the one to turn her on. But she needed to check the boxes of her own desire here. It couldn’t be him that did it for her.

There was no denying that she wanted to share something with him, however. She’d called him out on using sex as a weapon, called his bluff on intimacy being so easy for him. His wall had come down briefly, unnerving him, and now Hannah wanted to be vulnerable in front of him. To give Fox a piece of herself in return.

An apology, maybe. Or an invitation to watch her be defenseless, as she’d seen him a few moments ago.

Exposure for exposure.

Hannah dropped the oil.