Okay, maybe that was overdoing it a bit. But, holy shit, she blamed him because he was the one who had somehow set her inner slut free.
Sitting up, she slid off the bed and padded over to the dresser. Sliding open one drawer, she pulled out a pair of boxer briefs. Laney walked over to his closet door and upon opening it, nearly laughed aloud.
Of course this man would have a color coordinated wardrobe. Viewing the contents, she saw that it began with whites and ended in browns and reds. Running her hands over the hanging clothes, she came to a soft, black cotton T-shirt and pulled it off the hanger. After tugging it over herself, she smoothed it down over her body.
Quietly exiting the bedroom to head down the hallway to the kitchen, she found him, yet again, standing over the stove. His pajama pants hung low on his hips and she caught the movement of the defined muscles of his shoulders and back. She walked over to stand beside him.
“Where are your coffee cups?”
“Your cup’s already set up by the coffee pot,” he answered without meeting her gaze.
Right. Okay, so he wasn’t going to make this easy for her.
Moving to the freshly brewed pot of coffee, and grabbing the nearby cup, she noticed it already had sugar in it. By the looks of it, specifically three spoons full of sugar. Just as she was about to ask him for milk or creamer, a container of almond milk slid in front of her. Glancing over at him, he merely shrugged, his focus still on the pan in front of him, and mumbled, “I’m allergic to regular milk.”
How had she not known that? And, more importantly, how was it that he knew exactly how she took her coffee when his was—she peeked over at the cup near the stove—plain black?
Huh
.
She leaned against the counter, sipping her coffee thoughtfully, watching him as he worked his omelet magic. This was actually kind of nice. They were having coffee and were going to eat—
Laney’s hand froze, coffee cup mid-way to her mouth, as she noticed what was sitting on the counter beside where Zach was working at the stove. There was only one plate set out.
One. Single. Plate.
Her eyes darted back up to him, now noticing the stiffness in his posture along his quiet demeanor. Well, then. This obviously changed things a bit.
Eyeing him, she spoke carefully, “So. You’re making yourself an omelet, huh?”
“Yep.”
“And you’re just planning on eating it in front of me?”
Flipping the finished omelet onto his plate after turning off the burner on the stove, he withdrew a fork from a drawer.
“Didn’t really expect you to stick around,” came the curt answer. Zach still hadn’t made eye contact. She watched him set the plate and fork on the kitchen table before coming back to retrieve his coffee cup and place it on the table, as well.
He slid into the chair, laying a napkin on his lap, and paused with his hand on the fork. “You don’t have to worry about staying. You thanked me plenty last night for the Christmas gift.” Then, he picked up his fork to begin eating.
She recognized the insulting insinuation that the sex last night was viewed as a “thank you” for the gift.
He was going to play like that, was he?
And he was ignoring her as if it were no big deal that she was still standing there, naked beneath his clothes, in his kitchen.
After one more sip of coffee, she sat the cup down with a hard thunk, her lips forming a slow, dangerous smile.
Game. On
.
* * *
Zach could feel her eyes as if they were staring a hole in the back of his head. To say this was not going as smoothly as he had expected was an understatement.
Please, just go
, he begged silently.
But, you don’t really want her to go
, an inner voice argued.
He concentrated on the food before him, turning his fork to the side, cutting a piece of his omelet. So centered on the task, he didn’t register the sound of clothes softly dropping to the floor. Zach simply chewed an omelet he wasn’t even really tasting and stared blankly at the wall in front of him.
Just as he was about to bring the fork to his mouth for another bite, a hand wrapped around his wrist. Startled, he turned his head, mouth opening in what would have been a scathing remark. However, the words never came out. Because, as his gaze traveled from the hand holding his wrist, he saw nothing but an utterly naked Laney standing beside him.
She plucked the fork out of his hand, set it on his plate, sliding it farther back on the table, the coffee cup following suit. Sliding one leg over his lap, she straddled him, and Zach could feel the heat from her core penetrating through his thin pajama pants, right over his cock.
Of course, the damn thing was a traitor and responded to Laney even as he internally begged it not to. He steeled himself to meet her gaze, his deep, gray eyes meeting her golden, hazel ones.
“You’re in my way.”
She smiled innocently. “Oh? Am I?” She brought her hands to rest just beneath her breasts, before sliding up over top her nipples, running the pads of her index fingers back and forth over them. They hardened and he watched as her eyes darkened with arousal.
“I thought maybe you were hungry for more than just an omelet.” One hand glided down over his chest and firm ridges of his abs, sliding a finger just barely beneath the waistband of the cotton pants, grazing over the tip of his cock.
“What do you want, Laney?” he bit out. The harshness in his tone threw her off and he watched as she appeared to choose her words carefully.
“I want you. Again. And maybe again after that.”
“So you just want to fuck? Is that it?” There was no mistaking the taunting in his voice.
Something flashed in her eyes. “You can’t deny that we’re good together. We have some serious chemistry.”
Zach didn’t miss that she avoided answering his question.
“You mean we’re good together. In the bedroom.”
The little wrinkle between her brows popped up. “Yes.” She spoke the word slowly, cautiously.
“And that’s all we would do. Have sex. Nothing more.” He didn’t even say the words as a question because he already knew the answer.
Laney watched him closely. “We don’t even like each other outside of the bedroom, Zach. And I’m not looking for a relationship,” she answered before placing his left hand over top her breast, pushing into it, letting him feel the softness of the skin contrasting with her erect nipple. He stared down at his hand, trying to get his thoughts and emotions under control, willing himself not to lead with his dick.
“We don’t even like each other outside of the bedroom, Zach.”
Damn it, those words stung. Because nothing could be farther from the truth, at least on his end. And to hear her say she wasn’t looking for a relationship, wanted only sex? It made him wonder if this could be his “in”. That, maybe—
maybe
—if he agreed to have “just sex” with Laney, he could make her see him, see that they could have more than sex. So much more.
He met her gaze. “When do we start?” He ran the pad of his thumb back and forth over her nipple.
On a gasp, she answered him, “Right now.”
Before she managed to get out the last word, Zach had shoved the plate and coffee farther down the table, with no regards to the coffee sloshing over onto the hardwood floor. He laid Laney back onto the kitchen table and placed the heels of her feet at the table’s edge.
Omelet forgotten, Zach sat there staring at her—her sleek, long legs wide open to him—and he knew two things were certain: He was going to do everything in his power to change Laney’s mind about him, about them.
And that she would be a far better breakfast than his omelet had been.
C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN
“I
DIDN’T REALIZE WE WERE
expecting three more people for Christmas Eve dinner,” Laney mentioned to her mother as she set the table with the fancy place settings used for special occasions and holidays.
Her mother shook her head. “You know that poor Miller was going to be alone tonight? And he wasn’t going to even mention it to anyone until I told him it would hurt my feelings if he didn’t come over.” Her mother winked. “I may have also mentioned that he shouldn’t make an old woman cry on the holidays, either.”
Laney clicked her tongue. “Ma! That poor guy!”
“Oh, hush. You know I can’t let anyone be alone on the holidays.” Turning to head back into the kitchen to get the stemware, she continued, “Just like I couldn’t let Zachariah be around that wretched woman who calls herself his mother.”
Laney swore she heard the sound of a needle scratching across a record.
Wait, what?
Staring after her mother, she waited for her to return with the glasses before speaking.
“What’s this about Zach? He’s coming tonight?” That was a first. Yes, he came to their designated Sunday dinners, as all her friends did. But holidays? Never.
Sharply, her mother said, “Now, Laney, you’d better behave yourself. I know that you don’t get along with him, but that boy doesn’t have a family like ours. He needs to be around a loving group of people, especially at the holidays.” She reached to cup her hands around Laney’s face, eyes alit with love. “Please be kind to him. For me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh! I almost forgot. I think your brother might be bringing someone, too, so put out another place setting, just in case.” The older woman darted into the kitchen, again.
“Oh, no,” Laney groaned as she resumed setting the table.
“Now, remember Lawson’s joining us since his parent’s flight back from their trip got delayed,” her mother called from the kitchen. “I just wish Tate hadn’t flown home to spend this Christmas with her aunt and uncle and that awful cousin of hers. Those three don’t sound very welcoming.”
The fact that Foster planned on bringing his latest conquest with him to Christmas Eve dinner, or that her best friend was probably spending a tortuous time back in Ohio with her relatives, suddenly paled to the fact that Zach hadn’t mentioned he’d intended to come to dinner that evening. They had been together earlier that morning when she had tried to head home and he’d ‘convinced’ her to stay a bit longer—once in bed and then in the shower—before she had finally left his house.
Why hadn’t he told her he would see her later on that evening?
Because it’s just sex, Laney. Just like you wanted. Nothing more
.
Then why did that suddenly bother her so much?
* * *
“Hey, Mrs. Clause! Want to sit on my lap and tell me if you’ve been a good girl?” Lawson called out to Laney as they entered Momma K.’s house.
Zach lightly punched his friend in the arm. “Watch your mouth, man.”
Lawson frowned at him, rubbing his arm. “Ease up on the ’roids, dude.” Then, turning to head into the kitchen, he yelled out, “I’m looking for a hot, older woman to be my Christmas gift! Know anyone, Momma K.?”
Zach could hear the older woman cackle. “Oh, Lawson. You’re on the naughty list, no doubt about it.”
“That’s why you love me so much, Momma K.” In a loud whisper, he added, “More than the others, right? It’s totally between us. Promise.”
Zach shook his head with a chuckle, hearing the older woman laugh. Holding the covered dish he had to place in Momma K.’s refrigerator, he slowed as he came to stand before Laney.
“Hey.” The secret smile she gave him made him smile in return.
“Hey.”
Wow. If this conversation became any more elaborate, he wasn’t sure he could take it.
“I’ve, uh, got to put this in the fridge.” He gestured to the dish he held.
Laney’s eyes flickered to the container before widening in surprise. “You … made that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he told her proudly. He had slaved over it, wanting to make Momma K. proud and not regret sharing her secret recipe with him. “I need to get it in there.”
“O-kay,” she answered slowly, watching him as if in a daze as he turned toward the kitchen.
Huh. Maybe Momma K. had really been on to something with the whole ‘Women love a man who know their way around a kitchen’ thing after all.
* * *
“My favorite story is when your dad’s zipper pull kept getting stuck at the bottom of his khaki shorts.” Foster broke off in laughter at the memory of it. Lawson had been telling them stories about his mother. She was the sweetest woman but definitely a little … okay, a lot ditzy. She loved Lawson’s stories about his parents. They were the typical ‘opposites attract’ couple and were always fun to be around.
Everyone was sitting around the table, after it had been cleared of their dishes, trading stories and chatting. It was one of Laney’s favorite things about dinner nights at her mother’s.
Lawson threw his head back, laughing. “Yeah, man. That was terrible.” He turned to Miller, who hadn’t been around to hear the story when it had originally happened. “So, my mom gets this brilliant idea of somehow attaching this key chain—one that has a round, yellow ball with a smiley face on it—to my Dad’s zipper pull. You know, so that he would always be able to pull it up.
“Once she says she’d fixed his shorts, my dad goes to try them on, and pulls them up to fasten them … with this big, smiley face ball hanging from his zipper.” Lawson broke off in laughter, the rest of them joining him.
“I could totally see her doing that,” Laney giggled.
Miller shook his head, eyes tearing up with laughter. “Oh, man. I can only imagine how well that went down.”
“Exactly. He was like, ‘Sharon! There’s no way in hell I’m going out in public with a smiley face ball dangling from my junk!’” Lawson had deepened his voice, imitating his father before changing over to a high-pitched and wispy voice, like his mother. “And she goes, ‘Oh, Paul, they’ll just think you’re really happy!’”
Her mother chuckled. “Lawson, your parents would kill you if they knew you were sharing that story with us, again.” She turned to Foster with a pointed look. “Speaking of sharing, I thought you were going to share a special woman with us this evening.”
“Sharing is caring, bro,” Lawson said.
“Word,” Zach agreed and the two bumped fists.