Red Hot Obsessions (130 page)

Mmm, later…
“How much later?”

To that, he laughed, a deep, rich timbre that has goose bumps popping up all over her bare skin. “At least let me feed you before you ravage me.”

She grinned and gave a sarcastic sigh. “If you must.”

Still chuckling, he closed the space between them and slid his hands around her waist. One dipped low over her ass and the other glided up into her hair to hold her in place as he kissed her. The slow and consuming assault left her breathless and desperate for more. She whimpered her disappointment when he abruptly broke the connection and stepped away.

“Patience, babe. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” He winked before turning his attention back to their dinner. “Would you mind getting the plates out while I take these off? We can dish up inside and then come back out here if you’d like.”

She nodded and, despite preferring
him
for dinner, went inside. He followed behind a minute later and they readied their plates before getting comfortable again at the patio table. For several moments, they ate in companionable silence.

“This cream sauce is fabulous,” she complimented him, truly impressed with the finesse that appeared to be involved. “Peppercorn and…mmm, what’s the woodsy flavor?”

“Cognac. It’s my mom’s recipe,” he said modestly. “Or at least I think it is anyway. She never made it at home that I can recall, but it was on a sticky note in the old cookbook she gave me when I first moved out on my own.”

A warm adoration spread throughout Carissa’s chest. The second time that evening she’d felt such an awakening in that part of her body. Strange. Probably dangerous. “I have one of those cookbooks, too. I think it has more loose papers and recipe cards in it than it has actual pages. All of my mom’s best culinary creations. The pot pie last night? Her Sunday specialty.”

“I bet. I could have eaten the entire pan.” He slid the last bite of steak into his mouth, chewed for a moment, and then sighed as he set aside his plate. “I know you were close with your mom. Did the two of you cook together a lot?”

She nodded. “Mostly baking. Don’t tell anyone, but in Fantasyland, I’m a cupcake connoisseur. Complete with the cute, pink and white bakery and matching apron.”

Josh narrowed his eyes and leaned forward slightly, his voice gritty. “Are you wearing your hair up in this fantasy? In one of those prim buns?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. Why?”

“That’s hot. I might have to find you a pink and white apron.”

“My God, you can make anything dirty, can’t you?” She tossed her paper napkin across the table, nailing him square in the face.

He held up his hands. “Hey, your fantasy, babe. Besides, who was all hot and bothered a half hour ago, hmm?”

She stuck out her tongue and rested back in the chair to ease her full stomach. “Let’s try to have a conversation that doesn’t involve getting sidetracked with sex talk, shall we?”

He dipped his chin. “If you think it’s possible, then sure. Let’s give it a whirl.”

Ha. He made it sound like having an above the skirt discussion was some kind of challenge to overcome. Surely, they were capable. Weren’t they?

Pulling in a deep breath, she gave it her best shot. “Back to your question then…yes, my mom and I spent a lot of time together in the kitchen. And also in the garden. Cade and I also had
a thing
—the super exciting adventure of collecting rocks. I still have some of them. None are anything special. Yet they are, you know?”

The shine in Josh’s eyes matched his smile. “I do.”

She held his gaze and realized, with no small amount of trepidation, that he really did get it. Got
her
. As messed up as she was.

“When you stopped in at the flip today, I was texting Cade. First time in…too long.”

“Yeah? Why is that?” He extended his hand across the distance between them and covered her fingers with his. A small, but comforting and tender gesture.

Carissa gulped back against the sudden thickness in her throat. “We haven’t always seen eye to eye. There might have been some hard feelings. Some bitter words.”

Again, he nodded. So accepting of what she was willing to offer. Recognizing that it was a subject she had tremendous difficulty sharing. The quiet acquiescence told her he wouldn’t ever judge her or her decisions, whether they were right or wrong. He’d done it with her relationship with Reed, and now he was doing it again. The pressure in her throat and chest slid around her heart and squeezed.

“He may be at Maddie’s wedding,” she added quietly, half-tempted to tell him about Clay’s invitation as well. But she was tired and Josh was tired and any discussion about her father would require more time and energy than either of them were probably up for tonight.

“How do you feel about that?” He shifted his hand so it was under hers and so they were palm to palm, their fingers tangled.

How
did
she feel about it? “Excited?” she squeaked, hardly believing it herself. “Maybe a little scared, too?”

With that, Josh pushed his chair back and pulled her up and over to his lap. “Come here.”

She did, immediately curling into him, her head resting on his shoulder, her face buried in his neck. For several long moments, he just held her, one hand coursing lightly up and down her arm while the other remained intertwined with hers.

He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be there to support you. You know that, right?”

She bit at her bottom lip and reminded him, “A lot could happen between now and then.”

The rough scrape of his stubble against her forehead as he swallowed made her suspect it wasn’t something he wanted to think about either. “It could. But nothing will change our friendship.”

Twisting around to see his face, she met his gaze and took a moment to appreciate the sincerity in his eyes. So intense, so unyielding. She desperately wanted to tell him that she hoped nothing changed at all. That she’d begun to trust him in ways she hadn’t trusted anyone before. But she couldn’t let herself be so vulnerable, so naïve. Because this couldn’t last. They might remain friends, but the intimacy would fade. They’d both move on. It was inevitable.

“Can I ravage you now?” he asked, probably sensing the tension that had begun to hum between them.

She smiled. “I thought I got to do the ravaging tonight.”

“Does it matter as long as we’re both naked?”

“Not really,” she laughed. “But first, tell me about your day. I don’t want you to think I’m only here for sex.”

“Isn’t that exactly why you’re here? For my hot bod?”

With a giggle, she leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “Keep it on the down-low, but I actually kinda like you.
Shh
.”

A low groan rumbled in his chest, vibrating through her body too. “I like that you keep sharing these secrets with me,” he said, his hand cupping and then squeezing her ass. “It’s sexy.”

Leaning back again, she pursed her lips into a contemplative smile. “You’re trying to get out of telling me about your day. Does that mean your meeting at the county went bad?”

He chuckled and sighed at her resistance. “My meeting went great. And there was no more vandalism over the weekend.”

“So what is it that you don’t want to talk about then?” She knew it had nothing to do with them or he wouldn’t have asked her over. “Is it your discharge?”

A flare of something conflicted took over his eyes for a moment, but then he shook his head. “Nah. I mean, I’m not sure how I feel about it, but I really haven’t been thinking about it much.” He lifted a shoulder, then rolled it, stretching. She heard a pop somewhere in the vicinity of his neck.

“Why don’t we go inside, get comfy and I’ll rub your back. While you talk. We’ve failed miserably at keeping sex out of this conversation anyhow. We need to start over.”

He made a wry sound. “Seems to me there’s a reason that keeps happening, babe. But no way am I passing up a back rub.”

Chapter Sixteen

Josh walked through
the house, turning out all of the lights and locking the doors, before he wordlessly took Carissa’s hand in his own and led her down the hall to his bedroom. The living room was probably better suited for a back massage and conversation, but he suspected it wouldn’t take long for them to start losing clothing and he wanted her in his bed at least once before this affair was over.

Anxious, he adjusted the lights on the ceiling fan so they cast a dim glow around the room, then tipped his head toward the bed.

“I thought we were talking first.” She glanced up at him, smiling suspiciously, her pretty eyes like rich, melted caramel. Her soft, sexy expression belied her true emotions however, as she wrung her hands together in front of her, her knuckles white even in the low lighting.

He understood why she might be nervous—this was, after all, the scene of their original crime. Not that what they’d done then was wrong. And, honestly, he couldn’t convince himself that what they were doing now was wrong either.

In fact, seeing her standing inside his personal space with her dark hair falling in gorgeous, silky waves around her shoulders, her raspberry colored toes curling coyly into the hardwood floor, and with her sweet perfume tickling at his nose, a million different adjectives came to mind. And one stood out like a beacon among them all:
right
.

Every last thing about her felt right. Then
and
now. The middle was where it had all gone haywire, but it seemed like the more time they spent together, the less all that in-between shit mattered to him. She was with him now and that’s what counted.

He tugged on her hand and his ego swelled when she came to him and slid both of her arms around his waist, as if seeking comfort.
Damn right she’s with me
.

“I’m not gonna pounce on you, babe. I just thought it might be easier to relax in here. If you’re gonna make me talk, I at least want to get the most out of this back rub you’re baiting me with.”

She arched an eyebrow. “For the record, I wouldn’t mind the pouncing. I’m just having flashbacks. This room holds a lot of memories for me, you know?”

He did. Though she’d only spent one night with him three years ago, it had been memorable for him too. And, like she must be feeling now, there were still things in the room that reminded him of the things they’d done. The headboard, for one. And the mirror by the dresser, where he’d bent her over and they’d watched.

Hell, he’d had to stop bringing other women home because he couldn’t quit comparing them to that solitary night with her. Truth was, after Carissa, he’d gotten bored with meaningless one-offs. Sure, he still partook from time to time, because he was, after all, a man. But somewhere along the way he’d stopped viewing sex as a selfish, physical indulgence and had begun to realize the intimacy it could create between two people.

Except the only real intimacy he’d ever experienced had been with Carissa. And every woman he’d had in between paled in comparison.

“Yeah. I know,” he finally said. “If it’s too weird, we can go back out—”

“No.” She shook her head and squeezed her arms around him. “It’s not weird at all. It’s just…it doesn’t feel like it’s been three years.”

It does when you’ve had to wake up here alone every morning.
He kissed the top of her head, then grabbed the hem of his shirt and whipped it off. He’d done enough dwelling on the past—time to live in the here and now. “Should I sit or lay?”

She grinned as she eyed his bare skin like it was a feast laid out before her. “Lay, please.”

“You’re going to enjoy this as much as I am, aren’t you?” he asked, putting a knee on the bed and launching himself diagonally across the middle with a thud.

“Absolutely.” A second later, he felt the bed dip and then her warm hands were on him, smoothing up and over every inch of his back. “So, your day,” she reminded him. “Tell me what
didn’t
go well.”

He folded his arms in front of him and rested his forehead down on his hands. “It’s not a big deal. I just ran into my old man. He gave me shit like he always does. Pissed me off. Like he always does.”

“What’d he say?” Her hands honed in on his shoulders, kneading his muscles and turning him to mush.

“That I bid too low on the courthouse project and that I’m making bad business decisions. Oh, and apparently I’m not selfish enough.”

“Hmm.” Her hand swept down his sides and back up again. “Mind if I sit on your butt? I’ll be able to do both shoulders at once then.”

He snorted. “Admit it—you just wanna straddle me.”

“No sex talk!” She slapped his back playfully. “Ugh, we’re horrible at this normal conversation stuff, aren’t we?”

Not in the least. He was able to talk to her better than most people. But he couldn’t deny that, yes, their words did inevitably become actions of the sexual variety.

“I think we communicate just fine, babe.” He shrugged and she giggled as she climbed onto him.

The warm, silken slide of her thigh against the side of his stomach had him praying for the strength to simply enjoy her hands on him and not let his cock run the show, because it would hurt to get hard with his junk pressing down into the mattress like it was.

“So Jack doesn’t think you’re selfish enough? When did being selfish become a good thing?”

He lifted both shoulders again, moving her hands closer to his neck. “Hell if I know. If I’d tried to make a killing on the courthouse deal, A, I wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting the job and, B, I’d screw over the taxpayers. I don’t roll like that. And I don’t need a big ass payout on this. I can get it elsewhere.”

She gave a bark of laughter. “You’re surely not getting it from my flip.”

“That’s different. I’m not in that to make money.”

She made a soft, appreciative sound. “Thank you for that, by the way.”

He simply nodded, letting himself succumb to her hands. Her fingers slipped up into his hair and he shivered as she massaged his scalp. The soft pressure and sensual slide of her hands over the fine hairs at the back of his neck had goose bumps erupting on his skin. A heated rush of blood followed behind, coursing through his veins, headed straight to his groin. So much for keeping his dick out of this.

He held his breath when her thumb traced over the scar that lay midway between his hairline and his trapezius muscles.

“Where’d this come from?” she asked, her tone quietly curios. “I’ve felt it a time or two over the past few days and I’m fairly certain it wasn’t there before.”

“Beer bottle,” he admitted with a grunt. “My big, bad battle wound, courtesy of some drunken asshole who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.” Some guys came home from war with shrapnel embedded beneath their skin and he returned with a gash from a bottle of Budweiser. Straight up, American fucking hero, right there.

He felt her move again and then suddenly her lips were hot against the back of his neck, her tongue running along the raised, two-inch line that, despite his nonchalance about it, had been deep enough to connect with his vertebra. He’d narrowly missed needing spinal surgery.

“You might not be speaking words, but I’m pretty sure this qualifies as sex talk,” he muttered, carefully pulling one of his knees up to give his stiffening cock some room. Another wave of goose bumps prickled in the wake of her lingual adoration.

The curve of her lips against the side of his neck and then his ear was apparent—she was definitely enjoying herself. She proved her point by lifting her hips and reverse grinding on him and, as she slid forward, the rasp of her hot panties against the bare skin at his lower back had him gritting his teeth.

“Let me guess,” he growled. “You have a tattoo
and
a scar fetish.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she mewled before she moved off of him, lining herself up along his side, her knee sliding up the back of his thigh. Her warm fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his shorts and her hips pressed against him in a primal calling he’d be an idiot not to recognize. “I might’ve offered the back rub so I could get a closer look.”

His ass flexed as her hand dipped in lower, touching all of him and, from her quick intake of breath, apparently working herself up well and good just by fondling his backside and tonguing his neck.

In a flash, he pushed up to his knees and had her flat on her back beneath him, her pupils dilated and needy. Her white dress stood out against her sun-kissed skin and his black comforter, and though he liked her naked, he also liked how sweet and innocent she looked in that cotton and eyelet lace. In his bed, no less.

He skated his hands up her legs, from her knees to her hips, dragging the dress along so it bunched at her waist and revealed a tiny, sheer scrap of material that was far too indecent to be panties. The delicate, pouty lips of her sex were barely covered and, without touching, he could tell how wet she was for him. How engorged her pretty pink clit was, poking through her folds and begging for attention.

Skipping all other pleasantries—because how the fuck could he not with her looking that goddamn beautiful?—he bowed his head and buried his face in her sweetness. She bucked against him, gasping as his tongue laved over her, teasing what he could of her through the transparent fabric. And when he pulled it aside and put his mouth on her without any barriers, she cried out loud, her head thrown back in reckless abandon.

He loved how she tasted. Loved the satiny smoothness of her flesh beneath his lips. The feel of her hands in his hair, tugging and demanding, as he lapped up every drop of her arousal. He’d gladly indulge her in this sensual act every day of his life if she let him, because making her come with his mouth was almost as good for him as he made it for her.

He didn’t consider himself a hero, but when she locked her eyes on his and begged him,
begged him
, to take her over the edge, like he alone held the power to make that happen for her, he felt every bit the hero his military credentials said he was. And he’d go to the ends of the goddamn earth if it meant seeing that sweet adulation on her face over and over again.

Sliding one, then two, fingers into her hot, wet passage gave them both exactly that, and before she’d stopped shaking, he’d rid her of her panties, rolled on a condom and was buried inside. Reveling in the pulsing aftershocks of her orgasm and the carnal way her body clenched around his shaft, he was helpless to move. Thought he might come right then and there if he let himself.

But he didn’t, because he wanted her screaming his name again.

He pulled out, shifted her to her side and slid up behind her, lifting her leg and penetrating her in one smooth motion. Her harsh intake of breath morphed into a long, sultry moan as he began to glide his cock in and out, slow and steady. With his face pressed against the crook of her neck, his own breath sharp and shallow, he knew he wouldn’t last long.

She smelled amazing, so familiar and delicious and perfect. And her body knew just how to move with his, how to make the most of every slide and every thrust, giving them both the most exotic, torturous pleasure.

He didn’t want it to end. Ever. He wanted this, wanted
her
, over and over again, in his bed, every goddamn day.

The realization made him lightheaded, even as it made his cock throb and, when he reached down and strummed his fingers across her clit, she came for him, his name a breathless cry on her lips.

Music to his friggin’ ears.

He buried himself to the hilt, as her tight little body contracted around him, and then he let go, spilling himself deep inside of her.

Pressing a kiss to her shoulder, he closed his eyes and reluctantly broke their intimate connection, falling back against the bed, an arm above his head while he caught his breath. She turned and nuzzled close, and the gentle pressure of her leg gliding over his, her foot sliding along the inside of his calf, had the dizziness moving in again.

He was in unchartered waters here, not sure which direction was the right way to go and feeling tempted by all of them.

The soft press of her lips against his chest had his eyes snapping open, wonderment seeping into his soul. How could this woman make him feel so many different things all at once? Fear, excitement, terror, adoration… He knew he shouldn’t care for her as much as he did, because in the end, it’d hurt all the more to let her go. But he couldn’t just put up a wall to protect himself—to protect
her
—when nothing in the world felt as good as being wrapped up close to her like this.

Maybe inviting her over was a bad idea. The emptiness he’d feel when she left tonight—and permanently—would be bittersweet. Too reminiscent of how he’d felt without her there three years ago and then when he’d returned from the war. How he’d felt coming home at night those first few months, knowing that, when she laid down her head at night, she did so with his best friend beside her.

Knowing what was to come should have had him getting dressed and seeing her to the door, but instead he slid back into bed after taking care of the condom and pulling the blanket from the footboard over both of them. He gathered her tight against his chest and kissed her temple. Right now, he’d savor every precious second. Later, he’d deal with the fallout.

“You’re so warm.” She balled herself up even closer to him and rested her face right over his heart. Her hands were light and feathery against his stomach, a sensation that made him jumpy, but also felt damn good. Comforting. Right.

“You cold? You want to get beneath the comforter too?”

She shook her head and, when she sighed, he held her even tighter. She was already thinking about leaving. Damn.

“Thank you for tonight. This week’s already shaking out better than last week.”

She made a small agreeable sound. “You think the vandal’s moved on? Gotten bored maybe?”

It’d be easier to gauge if he had even the slightest clue who the creep might be. “Who knows? Doesn’t really matter as long as he steers clear of my sites.”

She hummed her understanding. “Any clues? Something from the prints?”