He softly cleared his throat, and her gaze flew up to see him cock his head, one eyebrow arched as he stared back at her, his stunning green eyes more than a bit knowing. His hair fell over his forehead, as though he’d towel-dried it then combed it with only his fingers.
“Good morning,” she replied. Her traitorous voice sounded even lower than usual.
He grinned a little as he took the coffee cup she thrust toward him. “How’d you know that’s what I wanted?”
She turned away to pour herself another cup, glad he couldn’t see the blush staining her heated cheeks. Brain-wiping, heart-thumping lust had a name. It was Chase Manning without his shirt, smelling of soap and talking about what he
wanted
. She knew what
she
wanted. It was hot and it was dark and it wasn’t coffee. And, damn him, he knew it and was teasing her, tempting her . . .
daring
her to deny it.
She took her time opening a packet of sweetener, willing her hands steady as she stirred it into her cup. It didn’t help that he didn’t budge from where he’d invaded her personal space, less than a full step behind her. The longer she stalled, the longer he stood there, his body heat seeming to reach across the space between them and soak into her back. Apparently, he wasn’t going anywhere.
She picked up her cup and turned, planning to slip by him with her head down and her gaze averted, but he shifted almost imperceptibly to block her. She raised her head in surprise, starting to ask him what the hell he was doing, but the question died on her lips when he reached out and stroked the back of his hand over her cheek.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asked.
She caught the inside of her bottom lip between her teeth as the cheek he’d so tenderly caressed heated, as did other places that should have been well sated after last night. “I slept like a rock.”
He smiled, eyes soft as new grass, but he said nothing.
She would have stepped back if she’d had anywhere to go. As it was, she was pressed so hard against the counter that its edge dug into her back. What was it with him always trying to trap her? She needed a distraction. “So how’s this going to work today?” she asked.
His gaze shifted from her eyes down to her mouth. The tip of his tongue edged along his lower lip before he glanced back up again. “What do you mean?”
God, what was he doing? The man had “I want to fuck you” written all over him. She probably did by now, too. Hadn’t he learned by now that no matter how hard they tried, how good they fit together, they were doomed?
She swallowed hard, resisted the urge to clear her throat again. “I mean, you’ve got work to do,” she said, pleased at the steadiness of her voice. Set the ball up and serve. Clean, easy, just right. “I’ve also got work to do on the tennis center plans. I’m smart enough to know that your hero complex is so massive that you’re not going to let me go about my day as if nothing is off. So am I stuck here for the duration or what?”
His full lips, still moist from the stroke of his tongue, quirked. “Hero complex, huh?”
“Isn’t that a cop thing?”
“In my case, it’s a you thing.”
She narrowed her eyes, thrown. He threw her even more by setting aside his coffee cup then taking hers and doing the same, before bracing his hands on either side of her.
Fully trapped, her hard-won control took a header. She pressed her wrists to her sides to keep her hands from doing the natural thing and resting against the smooth, bare skin of his chest. “What are you doing?”
“I’m cornering you.” He smiled slowly, his arched brow asking her, “What’re you going to do about it?”
She knew what she wanted to do. Shove him back and flee into the living room, or better yet, to the next continent.
“You hate being cornered,” he said, leaning in briefly so that his nose hovered a hair’s breadth from where the curve of her neck met her shoulder. His breath, warm and moist, fluttered against her skin, making her shiver. But instead of touching her with his lips, the way she anticipated being touched, he drew back and met her eyes again. “In fact,” he drawled, “you hate it more than most people. And you know what happens?”
“You’re going to tell me,” she said, unable to block the weariness from her tone, “so why don’t you just get it over with?”
“I’ve thought long and hard about this, Ky. Studied all the angles, trying to find the thing that we’ve all been doing wrong, the thing that’s keeping us all from reconnecting with you in a meaningful way. And you know what? I think I’ve nailed it.”
She lifted her chin a notch. He thought he had her all figured out. Like she was some kind of defective puzzle he could take apart, shake up the pieces and put back together the way it was supposed to be, fixed. Like it was easy. “Just say what you mean and get it over with.”
“No one challenges you, Ky. You say, ‘Back off,’ and that’s what we do. You say, ‘Leave me alone,’ and that’s what we do. Everyone has done it. Quinn, Jane, Lara, your father, me. So what happens?”
She would have crossed her arms over her chest, but he was standing so close that she didn’t dare move. Standing there facing him while he deconstructed her was hard enough without risking contact.
“What happens?” he prodded. “We all do what you want, and then what?”
She didn’t respond, didn’t want to continue this. It could only lead to disaster.
“What, Ky? Tell me what happens when we do what you want.”
“Everybody’s happy,” she said softly, her lips barely moving.
“Wrong.
Nobody’s
happy. You’re not sparing us. You’re just making us worry about you all the more.”
“There’s no reason to worry. I’m fine.”
“Right. After ten years of holding yourself in firm check, you’re fine. Eventually, you’re going to snap.”
Snap? Hell, no. She’d made it through ten years without snapping. Three months in Kendall Falls would
not
undo everything she’d worked so hard to overcome. She was
fine
. Just because Chase didn’t think so didn’t mean she wasn’t. So she kept her eyes level on his, defiant and challenging. He wasn’t in control here.
She
was.
Chase leaned in so that he was nose to nose with her, so that his chest with its hard, firm muscles pressed against her palms. “Go ahead, Ky.
Snap
.”
His nearness, the expectant intensity of his eyes shifted something inside her. What if he was right? What if all it took to lift this elephant-like weight off her chest was letting go?
No.
No
. She was letting him get to her, letting him make her doubt everything. She knew herself, knew what worked. It had worked for
ten years
. So she dug for the strength she’d drawn on when fighting for the winning point in a long, tiring rally and decided she had to shift the direction of this conversation, turn it back on him in some way. But how?
He nodded, his smile almost feral. “That’s it. Figure all the angles.”
The smug tone jerked her out of the uncertain spiral, and she realized she was overthinking this. She’d already mastered the strategy that drove him nuts.
Looking up at him, meeting his gaze without blinking, she let the muscles in her face relax.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Chase growled and yanked her forward.
He buried his mouth against hers, and she suppressed a shocked gasp when his hands skimmed down to cup her buttocks and pressed her forward against the hard ridge of his erection. Oh, God, that felt good.
He
felt good.
But she couldn’t do this. She needed distance.
She put a hand on his chest, to push him back, acutely conscious of his heart thundering under her palm. She started to say, “Don’t,” but his mouth stole the word and her air, and then he was lifting her against him, turning with her in his arms.
She didn’t want this.
She couldn’t want this.
Oh, God, she wanted this.
With a broken moan, she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his head and lowered her mouth to his. His tongue met hers, eager and welcoming, and she closed her eyes, losing herself in his kiss. He tasted like heaven, like hot, rich coffee, melting chocolate, thick, sensuous caramel.
He suddenly tipped forward, and they fell together. Her back hit the softness of a bed—when had he carried her to the bedroom?—and he landed on top of her, nestled firmly between her legs. She arched against his heat, sucking in a harsh breath when his hardness ground against her center. It wouldn’t take much to send her flying off the edge, and oh, God, she couldn’t wait.
Some small, coherent part of her mind whispered protests, but she ignored them as she slid her hands down over his hips, wanting to caress him through his jeans, eager to take in that hot, silken part of him. She wanted his fullness to fill the void inside her, to drive out the emptiness like he had last night.
But he shifted, angling his hips to the side, away from the juncture of her thighs, and trailed his lips over her throat, his tongue doing a teasing dance against her skin while he unbuttoned her blouse and laid it open. Next, he undid the clasp of her bra, spread the cups aside and skimmed his hand down between her breasts and over her flat, quivering stomach.
“So soft,” he murmured, surprising her as he lazily cupped her right breast in his warm hand, gently kneading, caressing his thumb over the nipple. “So pretty.”
Her heart kicked at the reverence in his voice, in his eyes. And she started thinking again. She needed to make him stop, needed to push him away. No, she needed
this
. But, God, he wanted more from her than she could give.
When he lowered his head to suck the nipple into his mouth, all thoughts flew out of her head, and her eyes drifted closed in pure pleasure. She sank her fingers into his hair, grasped his head between her hands, fighting the conflicting needs to make him stop and urge him on. But, God, he felt so good, so right.
While he sucked and laved, nipping with his teeth, a different kind of tension began to mount inside her. This was too . . . intimate. It was never just sex with him, but this time he seemed especially focused on forging a connection she would be too weak to break.
“Relax,” he whispered as he moved to her other breast and rolled the nipple between his tongue and upper lip. “Just relax and let me love you.”
He left her breasts, their tips hard and wet, and trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down the valley between her ribs, his hands stroking, soothing, before his fingers worked open the button on her jeans and eased down the zipper.
She released an involuntary moan, her heart racing now, her breath starting to hitch. Stop, please, stop. But the words refused to come out.
“You smell so good,” he said, burying his nose against the skin of her lower abdomen and breathing in deeply. “Like the sun.” He caught the lacy edge of her underwear in his teeth and let it go with a small snap before dipping his tongue underneath.
She arched, and he chuckled darkly as he skimmed his hands inside her jeans and began to draw them down her legs. “You’re going to come for me, Ky.”
She closed her eyes tight, trying to calm the uneven, gasping breaths rasping out of her throat. Don’t lose control. Eye on the ball. Focus. Don’t lose . . . don’t lose . . .
“You’re not going to just come,” he murmured as he discarded her jeans and panties then moved over her, above her. “You’re going to come
for me
and
only
me.”
Her pulse stumbled. “No,” she moaned. “No, stop.” She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t let him in, couldn’t let him shatter her control . . .
His hands, gentle as they slipped between her thighs, urged her to relax her tensed legs. “Come on, Ky, open for me.”
She resisted, biting into her bottom lip as she fought against what her body so desperately wanted. “Stop.”
Shifting, he slid his hands up her ribs to her breasts, where he massaged and kneaded, his thumbs stroking repeatedly over aching, ultrasensitive nipples. “Stop this?” he asked, then lowered his head and sucked one between his lips, his tongue pressing it against his teeth then letting it go with a small, back-bowing pop. “Stop this?”
His mouth settled on hers again, his tongue gentle but insistent as his fingers danced over her ribs and belly, caressing and wearing down her resistance, clouding her mind with a need so intense she couldn’t remember why she tried to defy it. This was good. This was
Chase
.
Her legs drifted open, and in the next instant, his hand was there, touching her, worshipping her with his fingers. She arched into the spear of sensation, a small cry escaping before she could suppress it.
“That’s it,” he murmured, firming his caress. “That’s it. Just let me in.”
His teeth nipped at her earlobe, then the muscles that corded along the side of her neck. The whole time, his fingers stroked, caressed, probed.
At the first involuntary buck of her hips, he withdrew his fingers, and she thought, yes, yes, ready for the next part, always ready for that. But instead of stripping off his jeans, he began kissing his way down, over her breasts, down her flat belly, until his mouth hovered above the aching, throbbing part of her that wept for him. He used his hands to nudge her legs farther apart, blew gently against her sensitized flesh. As she arched her head back against the pillow, surrendering to him with a helpless moan, he lowered his mouth. And became merciless.
She dug her fingers into the sheets, biting her lip to try to stop the whimpers catching in her throat as she strained against the stroke and dart of his tongue, the caress of his lips, the gentle bite of his teeth, while the building passion tensed her muscles to the point of pain. Her breathing grew harsh and ragged, and he sank his fingers into her hips, lifted them to still her restless movements. Oh, God, right there, right
there
.
Her body snapped taut as pleasure burst inside her, waves and waves of it rolling through her like convulsions. Then he braced over her on one hand, kissing her again, using his tongue on her mouth the way he had between her thighs moments before, his free hand caressing her breasts until pleasure spun through her all over again.