Doing It for Love (All About Love #1) (8 page)

My burps taste like smoked plums. And morning breath. Where are my Ice Breakers?

I feel around, hitting some foreign object on my nightstand. Something crashes, rattling my skull. Holy mother of all pain.

Someone inhales deep and long next to me, strong and lean body stretching against mine. An enormous hard something pushes against my butt cheek, and if it didn’t hurt so bad I’d laugh and accuse Landon of trying to cheat.

I groan at the time on the clock, cringe at the taste in my mouth, and croak out, “Water.”

Landon lazily points at the nightstand, and I just now realize I’m not at home. We’re not in our bed. And last night slowly filters in and out, making my headache ten times worse.

“Oh, balls,” I say to the unfamiliar sheets. A sleepy smile grows on Landon’s lips.

“You weren’t that bad,” he mumbles. “Pretty cute, actually.”

I sit up and push my face into my knees. “Does your family hate me?”

“You won over the most important members.” He shifts on the bed and pats at something at our feet. I peek up at Buster, who has sprawled himself across the sheets, head resting on my side. His pillow girlfriend is tucked under his front paws. I try to laugh, but it rattles my brain. So I just reach down and scratch the cute pup’s ears.

Landon tugs on my arm, coaxing me back to the pillows. He looks way too happy for this early.

“What?” I ask, wiping at my face. He traces a line over my cheek.

“You have pillow marks.”

“Sexy.”

“Actually…it is.”

I wrinkle my nose and then stretch out all the tense sleep-muscles. My boobs squish against his chest, and a low groan rolls through Landon’s throat. His arm wraps around my waist while I let mine fall around his neck.

“You were unbelievable last night,” he says, warm breath waving over my skin.

“Please tell me I didn’t dance on the table.”

“Better. You put my mom in her place.”

“Shit.”

“Not shit.” His lips press into the hollow of my throat. “
Hilarious.
My girl has a backbone.”

“I was drunk.”

“You were adorable.”

I silently chuckle as his kisses skate over my collarbone. “Really, drunk and lippy does it for you?”

“Drunk and lippy
Lizzie
does it for me.” His nose trails up my cheek, his lips hovering over mine. I want to clamp my mouth shut so he doesn’t smell my hangover breath, but the way he looks at me, no longer playful but intense and deep, has me breathing hot and heavy.

“To be honest, Liz,
you
do it for me.”

I’m about to make a joke. Tell him I know he’s going down on the bet. I have this in the bag. But I can’t. Gone are my quips. Gone are my thoughts. Gone is any and all control as his mouth finds mine. He’s soft as cotton candy at first, feathering and sweet, and has my heart pounding in my skull. His tongue slowly sweeps over the crease of my lips, and I open up for the soft caresses, so familiar but foreign all at once because he hasn’t kissed me like this in so long. Angel butterflies flutter in wave after wave, steadily making their way to my lower abdomen.

My back slides along the sheets, pulling me into a more comfortable position with Landon on top. Buster growls, and I feel Landon push at him with his feet. But the silly dog won’t budge.

“Buster,” Landon grunts. I press my lips together to hold back my laughter as I watch him struggle. “Buster,
move.
”

The pit bull shakes his head, making his ears flop and his collar jangle. He does this large yawn/growl/grunt thing and lies back down. Landon’s the one growling now.

“Stupid…hundred pound…cock-blocker…” he pants as he continues to push the pudgy pup toward the edge of the bed. I struggle to breathe as Landon’s weight shifts and thumps and bumps on top of me. Buster groans and slumps to the floor, and Landon brings his gaze back to me, letting his eyes drift up and down my body clad in his oversized shirt and a pair of boy shorts that I don’t remember getting into. He’s not a bit fazed by the clear mood-killer. And good. That bodes well for me.

His lips return to mine as if he didn’t just spend two minutes fighting the dog, still soft as a feather, teasing those butterflies out of hiding. His hairy legs rub against the smoothness of mine, tingling and tickling and causing my heart to explode right out of my chest. I love the contrast between us. Hard and soft, scruffy and smooth, tentative and impatient. I lock my hands in the sleeves of his shirt, forcing my fingers to behave themselves.

His hands have other ideas, though. Fingers dig into my hips, causing sharp gasps and moans to fly from my mouth into his. He presses his kiss harder, stronger, a long growl rolling off his tongue. I swallow it up, match it, press back, wanting so much to move my hands, feel what this is doing to him. My legs clench around his, hips needing to move but brain telling them to stop.

Think Bahamas. Sunshine and piña coladas. Warm sand and cool ocean. Fluffy towels and tanning oil.

Oil on Landon’s hands.

Down my back.

Over my legs.

Up my legs.

My stomach.

My breasts.

Oh, good golly almighty.

Landon’s fingers slide up my shirt, and out of instinct or habit, I sit up with him as he pulls me free of the fabric. I’m still wearing a bra, nothing special or sexy or lacy, just a generic white one I wear because of the supportive underwire. But he looks at it as if it’s the best one he’s seen on me. His mouth is slightly open as he breathes hard, gaze locked on my chest. Damn, he makes me feel so hot when he does that. I’m one sexy-ass beast.

His hands reach for my breasts, then pull back, then do it over and over again. He finally braces himself against the headboard, forcing me back to the pillows. He shuts his eyes tight and audibly counts breaths. I bite my smile and trace a nail around the waistband of his boxers. Lord Landon twitches, but I avoid contact with the fella.

“I like this,” I say, stroking the upper part of his V. I meant to get him to give in—
ravish
me, damn it
—but I’m finding the fault in my plan as my hand starts to travel south. No, no, no naughty hand. You tuck yourself against the sheets and don’t move.

Landon counts breath number fifteen and then opens his eyes. I smile at his lust-filled gaze, not-so-subtly inhale to force my breasts to a more prominent position, and then wait. He’s going to give in, I know it. The angel butterflies celebrate in my nethers.

He pushes off the headboard with a grunt, and his shirt flies from his body in the next second. A grin teases the corners of his lips and he makes his pecs dance. I laugh and smack his chest.

“You’re such a cheater!” He knows getting me in a playful mood will break
me
faster. Nothing is sexier than a funny Landon. I cover my eyes with the bedsheet, trying to talk myself into thinking I’m completely satisfied. Landon flops onto the mattress next to me, my body suddenly chilled with the space between us.

I drop my hands but keep my eyes on the ceiling. Think unsexy thoughts.

Dirty socks.

Landon’s dirty socks.

Landon’s dirty socks
always
on the floor.

In the living room.

Every day.

Bam. Take that, libido.

I turn to him, and he’s concentrating on the ceiling as well. My eyes skate down his body and I watch his hard drive morph into a floppy disk.

“Didn’t you say this was supposed to be fun?” he says after a minute.

“It’s not fun simply kissing me?” I tease, still trying to keep my breathing even. Oh, my plan is working. Our wedding night is going to be so hot and sweaty and double-fudge raspberry cheesecake that’s the size of the moon.

He growls, fists a pillow, and pushes it over his face. I lean up to tickle him, but when I look over Landon’s shoulder all I see is a big, wet puppy nose, and when Buster catches my gaze he barks and I fall off the bed.

I hear Landon’s muffled laughter from beneath the pillow over his head, and Buster’s collar jangles like crazy as he makes his way to me and tries to pick up where Landon left off. I hold on to my gag reflex as a giant, slobbery tongue heads right for my entire face.

“Buster, no,” I scold, but it’s no use. That tongue finds my skin, and I smash my lips together and close my eyes in a futile attempt to keep the disgusting level down.

“Hey,” I hear Landon from over my head. I want to yell at him for not helping me out here, but there’s no way I’m opening my mouth when I’m being tongued by a hundred-pound pit bull.

“When you’re done making out with the dog, I want to show you something,” he says, and I can damn near hear the laughter in his voice. I push my hand into Buster’s collar and yank him away before he starts getting a little too friendly with me.

“Shower first,” I tell him through squished lips, and I crawl to my feet.

“Down the hall. It’s the room with the toilet in it.”

“Thanks. I never would’ve figured that out.”

He stretches on the bed, and I take the opportunity to grab a pillow and toss it at his crotch. Then I bolt from the room before he tosses it back.

After my cold shower, I put on the least sexy thing I packed and keep Buster close. I need a cock-blocker if Landon can get me revved up while I’m completely hungover.

I was hoping to smell some sort of food as I make my way down to the kitchen, but it’s just the soap from the shower. I smooth my braid over my shoulder when I reach the landing and subtly fix my bra straps to make sure they aren’t showing. Last Night Lizzie didn’t make a very good impression. But by golly, Breakfast Lizzie will win over the in-laws. Hurdle number three, I will clear you.

Honk!

“The whole point to this weekend was to talk about the wedding. We haven’t even gone over anything.”

Landon’s voice filters through the living room, and I follow it to the front door.

“Your mother forgot about her doctor’s appointment,” Mr. Wangford says.

“On a Saturday?”

“It’s a weekend clinic.”

Honk!

I tentatively turn the corner to where Landon and his dad are. Mr. Wangford has his keys in his hand, hanging out on the porch while Landon hovers in the open doorway. All I can see of Landon is the back of his beet red neck, so I sidle up and lightly tug on his arms. He uncrosses them and takes my hand.

“Why would she schedule a doctor’s appointment
this
weekend? Meeting Liz was her idea.”

“I know…she just wasn’t expecting an engagement—”

HonkHonk!

My eyes swivel to Mrs. Wangford in the driveway, throwing her hands in the air at her husband. A guilty weight burrows deep into the pit of my stomach.

Mr. Wangford sighs, gaze drifting to me, then back to Landon. “You had to leave early anyway, right? Head back to work. And long trips probably aren’t good for the baby.”

Landon stiffens. “She’s not pregnant, Dad.” His hand shakes in mine, and I lean in to him, hoping that my proximity alone will help comfort him, because no way am I opening my mouth. That’s probably what made Mrs. Wangford slam her butt in the car in the first place.

“You can stay for a bit if you want.” Mr. Wangford forces a smile. “Show Elizabeth the house.”

“Right.”

Landon’s arm wraps around my waist, still keeping my hand tucked in his. I squeeze it twice and he squeezes back…but it takes him a minute.

HonkHonkHonk!

Mr. Wangford doesn’t turn. “We’ll see you at Christmas, ’kay, kid?”

Landon’s jaw flexes. “Got it.”

Mr. Wangford’s gaze goes to me, and his smile doesn’t look as forced. “Nice to meet you, Elizabeth Ann.”

Mustering up every ounce of courage I have, I reach out and hug my future father-in-law. “You too,” I say, hoping my voice sounds light and happy and also sorry for my drunken behavior. Mr. Wangford jerks a tiny bit with surprise, but gives me an awkward pat on the back. Then he gets in the driver’s seat and they take off to Mrs. Wangford’s “appointment.”

Landon drops my hand and slams the front door shut, knocking down an extra set of keys on the wall hook. He starts toward the stairs while I pick up the keys and put them back in place.

He’s not saying anything, but I’m assuming we’re going to pack our stuff and go. The house feels empty. Just us and Buster. Who knows where Elle is. I try to keep up, my guilt increasing with every step.

Why oh why did I drink last night? I could’ve sucked it up and dealt with the ex-girlfriend talk. Or maybe I overreacted. I mean, it’s natural for moms to talk about uncomfortable things, right? Oh hell, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, because I completely botched this meet and greet. I wonder if Landon will even talk to me on the way back.

Shit, this was my chance to prove I’m old enough to get married, that I’m excited about being a member of their family, that I’m cute and perfect for their son and not this lippy, bossy ditz who can’t hold her liquor.

I slam my butt down on the middle step of the second staircase. “Landon, I’m so sorry. I should’ve shoved that wine away. Or drank water. Or duct-taped my mouth shut. Or—”

“Wait, you think I’m mad at you?” Landon stops, turns around, and grins. “That’s damn cute.”

“You’re not?”

He sits on the step above me. “I’m mad at
them.”

“But I—”

“You’re here.” He kisses my cheek. “Even though they’ve treated you like hell, you’re still here.”

“I want them to like me.”

“I do, too.”

“I want to like them.”

“I don’t give a shit if you like them.”

“They’re your family.”

“Don’t remind me.” He sighs and rests his head on the railing. “It’s days like this I wish I could choose my family.”

“You chose me.” I offer up a cheesy grin. He laughs and kisses it away.

“I still want to show you something before we go.”

“Okay.”

He takes my hand, and I trip up a couple of stairs before I get my bearings. He’s laughing, and I’m scolding him for making fun of me, but at least he seems in a better mood.

Buster must’ve heard my very graceful promenade, because he barrels from the guest room and whacks us both with his bulky tail as Landon pulls me into a bedroom at the end of the hall. He better keep his distance, because I am not going to be his new hump pillow.