Frenched Series Bundle (63 page)

He shrugged. “Somewhere. I have to go see my granddad. Maybe we’ll go out.”

On the tip of my tongue was an invitation to come to my mother’s house, but I thought I better not. Family holidays were probably reserved for compatible people. “Well. Thanks for helping me,” I said, my breath frosting the air.

“You’re welcome.” Charlie pointed his nose at my car. “Go on, get in. It’s cold.”

Seriously? Not even a hug? Sheesh, he really
was
afraid of sending the wrong message. Taking a page from his book, I decided to mess with him a little. Rising on tiptoe, I threw my arms around him, tight, pressing my chest and stomach against his. “I mean it. I’m really grateful for what you did.”

He gave me a quick squeeze around the middle and let go, but I didn’t.

“Wow, you’re so warm,” I said, lifting my chin to whisper breathy words in his ear. His body stiffened, making me smile. “And so big and strong and handsome. And you give such good hugs—I can’t help myself. I’m totally attached to you. I can’t let go! Marry me, Charlie Dwyer! Tonight! I want to have your babies!” As my voice rose I got more dramatic, clinging to him, jumping up and down, dangling from his neck like a baby chimp.

“Very funny.”

Laughing, I straightened up and released him. “Scare you for a minute?”

“For a second, maybe.”

“Good. You deserved it. You can give me a hug, you know. I won’t expect a ring next Tuesday because of it.”

He held up his hands. “OK, OK. I confess, I tend to be uncomfortable with gestures of affection.”

“So for you, physical contact is sexual or nothing?”

“Pretty much.”

I shook my head. “Jesus, Charlie. You’re such an asshole.”

He tugged on my hair. “For a girl who doesn’t swear, you swear a lot.”

“Guess you bring out the devil in me.”

He laughed. “I’d say that’s mutual. So you better get in the car. You have my number, right?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Call if you need help laying the new floor.”

“OK. Night.”

“Night.”

Charlie waited until I pulled out to get into his car, which had been parked next to mine. Not a shiny black Lexus, but a nice enough silver Honda, which did not appear to have litter in the back seat (I checked).

As I drove home, I was torn between being glad we’d agreed on the no-more-sex thing, and feeling a little disappointed I wouldn’t experience the things that Charlie made me feel again. That sense of abandonment, feeling free to do or say wicked naughty things because someone else was prompting me. But that was silly—surely there were other men out there who’d bring out the devil in me, weren’t there? Men with less ego and more heart? Men who were interested in that kind of sex but also a relationship? There had to be. And if he drove a Lexus and took me to the opera and flew me to Paris to propose, all the better.

Yes, I’d say.

Yes, yes, yes.

Which is exactly what I said the following morning in bed, when I fantasized that Charlie came over to surprise me, found my door unlocked, and came upstairs to punish me for it.

Although after the real thing, even the Naughty Rabbit felt a little less impressive.

Damn him. What the hell was I supposed to do about that?

It snowed all day on Thanksgiving—the scattered flurries descending as I drove to the soup kitchen turned to a light fall by the time I left for my mom’s house, making the roads slippery. Cars slid through stop signs and swerved into curbs as drivers struggled to maintain control, as if they’d forgotten that brakes don’t work the same in winter weather. I saw quite a few near-accidents and the aftermath of two actual collisions, and both times I slowed down and craned my neck like a gawker to see if Charlie was one of the cops on the scene. Even though he’d told me last night he wasn’t a traffic cop, I still felt annoyingly disappointed that I didn’t see him. That I wouldn’t see him.

While we ate, the snow fell hard and steady, and by the time I was helping my mom do the dishes, a good three or four inches had fallen.

“It’s bad out there,” my mom fretted, peering out her kitchen window into the yard. “And it’s getting dark. I bet the roads are awful. You should just stay here tonight.”

“It’s beautiful out there, and I don’t need to stay here. I’m a careful driver.” I dried off a handful of silverware and put it back in the wooden case on the counter.

“Well, you better get going sooner rather than later. Want me to pack you some leftovers?”

“You’re busy. I can do it.”

As I piled food into plastic containers, I wondered what Charlie was doing right now. Had he eaten dinner with his grandfather? Was he alone tonight? An idea popped into my head—Charlie’s cell number was on his card. When I got home, I could call him and see if he wanted to come hang out after work tomorrow, watch a movie, eat leftovers with me. If he hadn’t gotten a home-cooked meal today, he might be craving one.

Happy with the plan, I took extra helpings of turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole (which I hated so I figured Charlie would love), mashed potatoes, acorn squash, and maple-glazed carrots. Cranberry sauce and gravy went into separate little jars, and I packed everything into one big cardboard box.

“Good Lord, Erin, you’re going to be eating Thanksgiving dinner for a week.” My mother brushed her short, wavy hair out of her eyes with her forearm since her hands were sudsy.

“I’m taking some for a friend.” I disappeared into the back hall to grab my coat, hoping she wouldn’t ask who the friend was.

But she’s a mom. Of course she asked.

“What friend?”

For some reason, I felt strange admitting it was Charlie. “One of the teachers at the studio. Her family lives far away, and she needed to stick around here and study for midterms anyway.”

“You should have invited her, silly. We had plenty of room.”

I freed my hair from the collar of my coat and buttoned it up, eyes downcast. “I know. Next time.”

I said my goodbyes, shuffled through the snow on the driveway, and set the leftovers on the back seat. I was planning to drive slow, so I figured they’d be safe enough there. After starting the car, I dug the scraper-brush from underneath the seat and cleared the windshield and windows. My hands were numb by the time I finished—I’d forgotten my gloves in the house.

But I was too anxious to get home and call Charlie to go back and get them.

#

Once I was standing in the kitchen, though, cell phone in one hand, Charlie’s card in the other, I had second thoughts. What if it was too soon to call? What if he saw this as a sign I was attached? That I was clingy? Emotionally needy?

Oh, relax. If he doesn’t want to come over, he can say no.

And if Charlie and I were going to legitimately be friends, I had to get over feeling like he’d be analyzing every move I made to make sure I wasn’t getting carried away. His hang-ups were not my problem—I was returning a favor that was all. If he took it the wrong way, screw him.

I punched his number into my phone, but before I could hit send, someone knocked softly at the back door.

Immediately my pulse picked up. I glanced at my alarm command center, a little screen set up on my kitchen counter. Armed—Night, it said.

I breathed a little easier. I could peek out and see who it was, plus I had my cell in my hand. I cleared Charlie’s number and hit nine-one-one so that all I’d have to do was press send. As I did this, the person knocked again, a little more forcefully this time.

I moved toward the door and looked out.

My heart rate kicked right back up again.

It was Charlie.

On the wall keypad, I pressed Disarm and typed my security code. Then I opened the door and drank in the sight of him against a backdrop of white snow and black sky. He had snowflakes in his hair.

“Hi,” I said, my insides tense with excitement.

“Hi.”

“Are you the burglar?”

His lips tipped up on one side. “No.”

“Are you the big bad wolf?”

The grin deepened. “Yes.”

Snow blew into my kitchen on an icy gust of wind. I backed into the kitchen, setting my phone on the counter. “Rough night to be out hunting, Mr. Wolf.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” Kicking the door closed, he rushed toward me and took my head in his hands, his warm mouth slanting over mine. Tentatively, I put my palms on his damp wool coat, his kiss drawing me in. He looped his arms around my back, lifting me right off my feet.

My God, what was this? What was he doing to me? Had he changed his mind about being just friends or was this just another anomaly we’d dismiss later tonight as Lonely Holiday Sex? Between all those questions, three words beat a sweet little rhythm through my head—
our first kiss, our first kiss, our first kiss.

Charlie’s tongue stroked mine, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, linking my ankles behind him. Hitching me higher on his body, he set me up on the island and shed his coat and sweater, dropping them to the floor. I wrested my cardigan from my arms and had my fingers at the bottom of my blouse, ready to whip it over my head, when common sense kicked in.

“Wait a minute.” I shoved Charlie in the chest, and even though it was like a ladybug trying to budge a giant sequoia, he was gentlemanly enough to take a step back. “No.”

His eyebrows raised. “No?”

I hopped off the island. “No. You said last night we were just going to be friends.” I struggled to breathe—it was like he’d knocked the wind out of me.

“We
are
friends.”

“Then what is this?” I gestured to the clothing on my kitchen floor.

“You don’t want this?”

“I didn’t say that.”

A pause. And since he wasn’t
that
much of a gentleman, I knew what I had to do.

I took off running.

He chased me through the dining room and front room to the bottom of the staircase, where he finally snared me with an arm around my waist. I did my best to try to scramble up the steps, but it was like spinning tires in the snow. Charlie easily overpowered me, subduing me with his strength, his will, his size. He spun me around to face him and set me down on the stairs, looming over me, one hand braced on a step above my head. I’d left one little light on in the front hall, a wall sconce that burned low, leaving half his face in shadow.

I glared up at him, breathing hard. Then I grabbed his head and pulled his lips to mine, thrusting my tongue into his mouth. My heart thumped with alternating beats of anger and arousal. How dare he show up like this? How dare he tell me he couldn’t stop thinking about me? How dare he chase me and throw me down like I was his plaything?

Confession: I loved it. Loved the antagonism between us, the hunt, the capture, the game. Loved that the spark between us hadn’t died. In a twisted way, I even loved the contention in my own head, my conscience arguing with my id.

This is wrong.

Please. Can you not?

You need to stop.

No fucking way. This is happening.

Tell him to leave.

I can’t talk right now.

Tell him you don’t want this. You’re not like this.

But I do. I am.

He’s using you.

Fuck off. We’re using each other.

This isn’t one of your fantasies, Erin. It’s real.

That’s why it’s so good.

But someone will get hurt. It’s inevitable.

I let go of his head and opened my mouth, words of defiance on my tongue. He placed a hand on my breast, squeezing it hard, claiming it, daring me to refuse him. It felt so good, I hesitated. Closed my eyes. Arched my back.

He put his finger over my lips, and I understood without being told, without even looking at him, what he was saying.
Don’t speak. Just let me.

Oh God, I wanted to let him. I wanted to let myself. There were so many reasons to put a stop to this, and only one reason to keep going.

But it was a really, really good reason.

I opened my eyes, staying perfectly still except for my chest, which rose and fell with each arduous breath. Then I opened my knees.

Charlie took his finger off my lips and placed his hand between my legs, rubbing me through the denim. My panties grew damp. He lowered his head between my thighs and put his mouth on me over my jeans, giving me just enough heat and pressure to make me want to yank his hair out and scream. I tilted my hips, spread my knees wider, anything to increase the contact. Finally, he lifted his head and reached for the button.

I was wearing my skinniest jeans, and usually it takes me a minute to peel them off, but Charlie tore them from my legs in seconds, taking my panties with them. Spreading my thighs apart with his hands, he teased me by licking up one side of my pussy, then the other, avoiding the one spot I was desperate for him to touch. My legs trembled with the ache, my hands itched with the urge to grab his head and pull it tight to my body. I gripped the edge of the stair beneath my hips. Biting my lip to keep from cursing, I watched him turn his face into one pale upper thigh. Kiss, kiss,
bite
.

I cried out at the pain but he simply switched to the other thigh—this time I was ready. Kiss, kiss—I held my breath, bracing myself for the sting of his teeth closing over soft flesh—kiss.

Exhaling in relief, I nearly shed tears when he finally licked up through my center, circling the tip of his tongue around my clit before closing his lips over it. He nibbled and sucked, swirled and flicked.

Then he slid two fingers into my hot, wet center, pressing upward toward a place that made my insides tighten instinctively around his hand and my thigh muscles twitch.

Jesus, he was so good, too good to last. The tightness spiraled inward at my core, gathering strength, a vortex pulling tighter and tighter. I grabbed one banister post and flattened my palm on the opposite wall as the pressure grew unbearable, a high-pitched cry escaping me when it burst into pleasure. When the tremors ceased, Charlie withdrew his fingers from my body and brought them to my mouth, smearing the silky wetness over my lips.

“Charlie,” I panted.

“You want something from me?” he asked darkly. “You have to ask for it.”

Anger pierced my desire—he’d come here wanting this, and I’d said no. Now he wanted me to ask for it? But part of me loved it, loved the control he took, loved the way he tested my limits and made me want to test his.

His fingers brushed my lips again, and I captured them between my teeth. Snarling, he hooked them over my lower jaw. “Ask for it.”

I relaxed my mouth, and he took back his hand, coming up one step further so he stretched over me, his body grazing mine, driving me crazy with the need to feel its weight. He placed his lips at my ear. “Ask for it, sweet thing.”

I reached low between us, running my hand over the bulge in his jeans. He unbuttoned and unzipped them, and I slid my hand inside, wrapping my fingers around his cock. It was thick and hot and hard and fuck, I wanted it pounding into me. I wanted it enough to ask for it. “Fuck me,” I breathed, lifting my hips toward his. “Now.”

“I said
ask
.” He grabbed my wrist and stared me down. “And say please, like a good girl should.”

For a second I was torn between
Will you please fuck off
and
Will you please fuck me
, but I’d never wanted anyone more in my entire life. “Charlie. Will you please fuck me?”

He whipped his t-shirt over his head before pulling a condom from his back pocket. While he put it on, I ran my hands over his hot, tight stomach. Jesus Christ, you could serve a meal on his abs they were so hard.

And speaking of hard.

Charlie looped an arm around my back and pulled me down onto his cock. I was drenched and ready for it, but with that first deep thrust I realized I was still tender from last night. Knowing the pleasure would eclipse the pain, I clung to his neck, wrapping my legs around him to keep my lower back from slamming into the edge of the step. Relentlessly, he drove into me, and I buried my face in his shoulder, focusing on the lingering hum his tongue had left between my legs, letting it fray the edges of the pain. Soon I was moaning softly, digging my nails into his back, our bodies tangled and twisted as we struggled to stay on the stairs and not slide down. Finally, Charlie’s feet hit the ground, and he angled deeper, grabbing my ass with one hand. I gasped and bit down on his collarbone.