Melt Into You

Didn’t realize he couldn’t even concentrate when she was near.

He flopped onto his back with a strangled sigh. He would never fall asleep at this rate. Not with his brain on an endless loop and his body staging the boner from hell. Resigned, he let his hand track down his abdomen and below the waistband of his shorts, imagining that it was her delicate, purple-polished fingers wrapping around his cock instead of his large hand.

He groaned as he stroked up the length and ran a thumb over the tip. God, how many times in the last few months had he thought of her this way? He couldn’t ever remember aching for someone like this. Sex was sex. Girls were girls. Both had always come easy to him. Neither was something to get all knotted up about. Why was she so different?

Her name whispered off his lips as he brought himself closer to release, and the windows rattled with the next roll of thunder. Jace almost missed the faint tap tap tap sound mixed in with it. The noise came again. He tilted his head, listened. Another knock and then his door cracked open a sliver, a beam of light peeking through. “Jace?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He pulled his hand from his shorts and squinted in the glare of the flashlight. “Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”

“Can I come in?” she asked, her voice swallowed by another rumble outside.

Hell no! He sat up on his elbows, making sure he had enough blankets over him to cover what was beneath the sheets. “You okay?”

She stepped fully into the room and clicked off the flashlight. “Do you have any matches or a lighter? I . . . I know it’s stupid, but the dark still freaks me out and I want to light a few candles.”

He frowned. “No, sorry, I don’t. I could go look downstairs. There may be some in the kitchen.”

“No, don’t get up.” She took another step toward him, the flashing from the windows lighting her in strobe effect, each blink giving his eyes something new to torture himself with. Bare legs. Short gym shorts. Damp hair. A tank top so thin he could see the shadow of dusky pink nipples beneath it.

But where he lost it was when his eyes locked with hers. The longing he felt in his own chest reflected in her pale blue stare. He tried to clear the knot that lodged in his throat. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“I don’t want to go back to my room, Jace,” she said, something very different from fear lacing her words.

His tongue grew thick in his mouth. “Well, you can’t stay in here.”

Another step closer, now within arm’s reach of him. “Why not? No one will be home until tomorrow.”

He groaned and raked a hand through his now sweat-dampened hair. “Because . . . Jesus, you know why.”

“Because you think I’m pretty.” The corner of her mouth lifted despite the obvious nervous edge tracking through her tone.

“Don’t do this,” he said, not sure if the words were directed at her or himself.

“Come on, I want to know.”

“Yes, because I think you’re pretty.” He looked toward the windows, breathed. “Because I damn near lose my mind every time I’m near you lately.”

Her breath escaped in a sharp little puff, and the thunder rolled between them, electrifying the air.

He hardened his tone, hoping she’d run for the door. “Go back to your room. We’re playing a dangerous game and doing the right thing has never been my strong suit.”

“That’s what I love about you,” she said, sitting down on the bed, ignoring his warning. The curve of her hip brushed against the back of his hand. “You’re the only one in this family that seems to live in the moment, to take risks.”

Yeah, and his family hated him for it. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the vision of her, but her scent wrapped around him just the same, awakening every nerve in his body.

Soft skin slid across his palm as she gripped his hand. “Take a risk on me, Jace. Please. I need . . .” She paused and he opened his eyes to find hers going shiny. “I need you.”

The stark ache in her voice sank down into his bones, eclipsing even the sexual attraction he had for her and fueling something deeper, some longing to connect with her. Hold her. Soothe whatever made her so sad beneath that tough girl façade. To be that guy to fight off her demons.

To be what she needed.

So he squeezed her hand and pulled her down against him, taking her lips in a slow, savoring kiss and letting himself fall to the desire that had choked him these last few months. Her body melted along his, her hands exploring his bare chest, threading though his hair, touching and testing. Both brave and timid.

Jace held back his need to run his hands over each inch of her, afraid he’d overtake her with his own wants and urge her farther than she wanted to go. He settled for laying gentle kisses along the curve of her neck, tasting the sweet salt of her skin and breathing in her heady scent. He could spend all night relishing every nuance of her. Each flavor. Each texture. Each breathy sigh.

Her fingers traced down over his hip, pausing when they brushed the waistband of his boxers. Tentative.

He eased back from kissing her neck and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Hey, we can just kiss. This doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”

She bit her lip and looked down at her hands. “But what if I want it to be?”

The sweet plea in her tone undid him. Completely and totally decimated the last of his resistance. He put a knuckle beneath her chin and lifted her face to him. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

The lightning flashed outside, revealing the color staining her cheeks. “I want everything with you, but . . . can you take the lead?”

He eased her off him and onto her back, kissing the corner of a mouth that smirked too often and stared into eyes that had seen too much. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”

And he did.

Tasting her, touching her. Loving her.

Breaking every rule he’d set for himself and breaking the goddamned law.

But in the beautiful perfection that filled the next few thousand breaths, he didn’t care.

Because sometimes doing the wrong thing was the only thing that felt right.

ONE (#ua2025c48-69cb-58d3-9896-ba187ad1a3a3)

Evan Kennedy swigged the last of the tequila from the mini-bottle as her fiancé’s moans of pleasure drifted through the wall behind her. She set the bottle down and sank back onto the bed, curling her pillow around her ears. This was torture—absolute Geneva Convention–worthy stuff. Next time they stayed in a hotel, she would make sure the suite had two bedrooms that didn’t share a wall.

How was she supposed to sleep with that kind of erotic soundtrack in the background? Especially when the only company she had in her room was the hotel’s mini-bar and a subpar selection of cable stations.

The heavy thudding of a headboard banging against the wall started up, rattling the three empty bottles on her bedside table. Oh, the guys were on their game tonight—obviously celebrating the good news they’d all gotten earlier in the evening. No telling how long their show would go on. With a heavy sigh, she threw the comforter off her legs and climbed out of the bed, happy to find she only wavered slightly.

She needed air. Or at least some place where two happy lovers weren’t sharing passionate, wall-rattling sex while she lay in bed alone.

She yanked on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then tucked the last mini-bottle of tequila into her pocket. The bars downstairs would be closed by now, and although she rarely drank, tonight she had the urge to get comfortably numb. She just had to make sure not to run into any of the people here for her and Daniel’s couples’ seminar. That certainly wouldn’t reflect well on the company. And the last thing she felt like doing was getting into a row with Daniel about “professional image.”

After running a brush through her hair, she stepped out of her bedroom and threw one last glance at Daniel’s closed door. The moans had turned to dueling male grunts. Clearly both parties were having a good time. An unexpected pang of sadness hit her in the gut, and her eyes burned as if tears were going to flow.

What in the world? Her hand went to her cheek, but of course no actual tears were there. She never cried. But that burning was the first sign she’d had in years that she was still physically capable of tears.

She shook her head. Maybe it was the tequila.

And the close quarters.

A walk would help.