Down and Dirty

He rose up higher onto his knees and pushed her back into the cushions, slanting his torso over hers, taking control of the kiss, hot and demanding. He ran his tongue over the tender inside of her bottom lip, then sucked, sending a shiver of need through her. Her nipples stiffened and she plunged her fingers into his hair, wanting more, needing more.

Their harsh breathing was as sexy as any soundtrack she’d ever heard, and the rise and fall of his chest against her breasts slowly drove her insane. The skillful fingers that had been tracing circles on her thighs tightened, and he growled against her mouth. “I want you so bad,” he gasped, pulling away to trail kisses over her jaw, along the length of her collarbone, heading for her breasts, which strained against her T-shirt, aching for his touch.

She froze, breath suspended, as he paused and then closed his teeth gently over her hard nipple through the thin cloth. She jerked forward as the touch blazed a path from her breast to her core. Moisture flooded between her thighs and she swallowed a cry.

Music sounded in the distance, and they both froze. He sent her a pained expression. “ABBA?”

It was. “Fernando,” to be exact. Ever since Lacey had seen Mamma Mia on Broadway, she’d obsessed. Saved by the ringtone. “Yeah. That’s Lacey calling. If I don’t call her back, she’ll be worried about me.” Her heart was pounding so loud, it was a wonder she’d heard the phone at all, but thank God she had. She’d almost repeated the same foolish mistake.

He held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Yeah.” A muscle worked in his throat, but he released her instantly and stood. “And sorry about that. I shouldn’t have let you kiss me. You’re obviously having a rough day. Probably best if we forget it happened.”

Forget it? Not bloody likely, but nice to know that he wanted to. Wait… “I kissed you? You kissed me.” Even as she said it, the memory of his face inches in front of her before she dove at him like a seagull on a french fry ran through her mind. Jesus, she had kissed him.

He’d already grabbed his coat from the closet doorknob by the time she’d gathered her wits enough to respond, but he beat her to the punch.

“Sure. At least I was awake this time, right?” He pulled the coat over his broad shoulders and gave her a wink. “Take two ibuprofen before you go to sleep. You might be a little sore tomorrow.” With that, he turned and walked out.

Son of a bitch. She stared at the closed door, baffled. How did she keep getting herself into these situations with him?

She snatched up her phone to whip off a text to Lacey, letting her know that she was home and exhausted, and that she would call her tomorrow. Then she put it on silent mode. She just didn’t have the energy to talk about this shit right now.

With a sigh, she uncapped the pill bottle Shane had set on the table and tapped two orange tablets into her palm. He’d given her the perfect excuse to cancel their appointment tomorrow. She could be sore and it would be so easy to take that lifeline, but then what? Avoiding him altogether was out of the question now that he’d be home for good soon. Not to mention she’d never backed out on a bet.

Hell, who was she kidding? There was way more at stake here than either of those things. After their near miss, it had become crystal clear—if she didn’t get Shane settled down with a nice girl soon, she might not be able to resist the temptation to fill the slot herself. Not okay, since “settled down” and “nice girl” were so not on her bucket list.

Decision made, she popped the pills into her mouth, washing them down with a gulp of ice-cold water. Time to break those newly forming ties to Shane before she was bound and tied forever.

Chapter Six

The doorbell rang and Shane crossed the room to answer it. Cat stood on the porch wrapped in a long, wool coat. There was no reason to think she’d be naked underneath, but his dick was clearly more optimistic. He had to cut the big guy some slack, though. It had been a restless night for both of them, and he’d been tortured by the most erotic dreams he’d ever had after his kiss with Cat. He’d been so right about that. Now that he’d tasted those lips again, they were all he could think about.

He pulled himself together quickly and opened his mouth to greet her, but she cut in before he had the chance.

“Are your mom and dad home?” she asked, her breath forming a puffy cloud in the air.

“No, they just left. I forgot, they play canasta on Tuesday evenings.” He stepped back to let her in, but she paused in the doorway. “Is that a problem?”

“Uh-uh, I just thought they’d be here.”

Judging by her expression, that had been more of a hope than a thought.

“They’ll be back later. Mom left stew for us, though. She thinks it’s a great idea, by the way. The whole dating service. She’s been angling for more grandkids. Hard to believe the Reign of Terror hasn’t cured her of that.”

“It hasn’t cured you of wanting kids, has it?”

He cocked his head and took a second before answering, in case the question was more than just a casual curiosity. “No, I don’t think so. It’s definitely made me reevaluate how soon I want to have them, though.”

She slipped in past him and beelined for the stairs. “Did you pack any dress clothes?”

“Not really, but my bedroom closet is still full of stuff that I never got around to clearing out when I moved.”

“We’ll see if any of that will work.”

“How’s your leg?” He trailed behind her up the steps, taking in the sway of her curvy hips under the heavy material. When she reached the top she hung a left, heading for his bedroom.

“Better, thanks. No bleeding, I changed the bandage this morning, and so far so good.”

“Glad to hear it.” She’d stopped in the center of the room and was aggressively ignoring the bed, her gaze taking in everything but. “Want me to take your coat?”

Their eyes met and held for a moment, and she wet her lips. “Sure.” She slipped the coat from her shoulders and handed it him. He took in her appearance and held back a growl of appreciation. Black boots hugged her trim calves, and fitted gray jeans clung to her thighs, the outline of the bandage on her injured leg the only indication of yesterday’s mishap. The short, red, off-the-shoulder sweater that capped off the look should have totally clashed with her hair. But it didn’t. She looked bold and beautiful.

“You look great.”

She glanced down at her clothes and smiled. “Thanks. The sweater is part of my winter collection. I’d planned to do it in cashmere, but then fell in love with the way this mohair gave it such an interesting textural quality.”

The pleasure she took in her work lit up her face, and he found himself wishing he knew more about clothes. Then maybe he could keep her talking. Unfortunately, he’d reached the bottom of the conversational well on fashion.

“Anyway, as you were saying, I do look pretty great. And that makes one of us.” She wrinkled her nose, sweeping an assessing gaze over him from head to toe. “First we’ve got to lose the T-shirts. You’ve got a good body under there, and they definitely showcase that, but we can do better. Flaunt the goods but still let people know that you have some taste and more than eleven dollars in the bank to boot.”

He glanced down at his shirt and frowned. “I don’t get what the big deal is. It’s just a T-shirt.”

“Exactly,” she said triumphantly, wagging a finger at him. “We can do better. Do you have any suits in here?” She turned to riffle through the tiny closet. Every so often, amid the scoffs and snorts, she handed him an item of clothing, most of which he hadn’t worn in years. No surprise there. His parents had modernized some of the house since he’d left home, but his room was like one giant time capsule. The walls were still the same New York Giants blue that they’d been since his junior year of high school, and were riddled with pennants, posters, and foam fingers. Football and basketball trophies lined the shelves that ran the perimeter of the back the room. He was only glad he’d had the foresight to take down his framed Eagle Scout patch before she’d come over. No reason to give her more ammunition to support her theory about him.

She snapped her fingers a few feet in front of his face and called his name. “Hello? Anyone there?”

“I’m here. I was just thinking how ludicrous it was that you imagined I might get all decked out in a suit for coffee or a drink. It’s not the eighteen hundreds. People go on dates in jeans all the time. I don’t know what you think it is that I’ve been doing the last nine years, but I’m not a shut-in, Cat. I can dress myself.”

She ignored him and held a brown sports coat up to his chest, sizing him up with a practiced eye. “This is perfect. Casual enough to seem like you don’t care that much, for the girl who likes them aloof, but dressy enough to show you care, for the girl who likes a guy to put a little effort in.” She pushed by him and tossed the jacket onto the bed. “You want to keep the T-shirt, I’ll work with you. Wear it under this with those jeans.” She gestured to the ones he had on. “You get dressed—I’m going to raid the bathroom for hair product and see what we can do.”

She whirled away and he stared after her. “Hair product? You mean like gel or something? Do I really need that?”

She didn’t bother to answer, the opening and closing of his bathroom cabinets answer enough.

Fine. None of this shit mattered anyway. The point was to keep her close, and he was definitely succeeding. He tugged off his T-shirt, then pulled a clean one out of his top drawer.

“I found some…” Cat stood in the doorway of the bathroom, can of mousse in her hand. Her gaze was glued to his naked chest and sent a sizzle straight to his cock.

“I thought you were wearing that T-shirt under the jacket.”

Her voice sounded froggy and he bit back a grin. “I’ve been wearing it all day. I figured I’d get a clean one.” He should’ve pulled the shirt over his head then, but if she was enjoying the show, who was he to stop her? He fisted the cotton, leaving his hand hanging by his side and her view unobstructed.

“What,” she cleared her throat and tucked a strand of fiery hair behind one ear, “what does the tattoo represent?”

He was about to answer, then stalled. If he told her, it would derail her current fascination with his body, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for her to stop looking at him like he was food.

He opened his mouth to tell her the same thing he’d told the last couple women he’d been with when they’d asked. Some lame bullshit about liking the pattern. But he found the words stuck in his craw. Instead he lifted his free hand to the symbol and held her electric-green eyes as he spoke. “Taken literally, it represents hope when things seem hopeless.” He let his fingers drift to the next black character, tracing the still slightly raised flesh with his thumb.

He waited, wondering if she would press further…hoping she would. Hoping she wanted to know more about him, his life and what he’d been doing these past bunch of years.

She bit her lip, the indecision plain on her face. Then, she turned away.

Ouch.

“Cool. Finish getting dressed and we’ll do your intro video. Then I have some ideas for still shots we can take. Do you have an ax?”

He nodded, yanking the T-shirt over his head. “Yeah.”

Felt like one was lodged in his gut.

…

Cat set the video camera on the oak dining room table and peered at the screen. “Okay, sit up straight because you’re slouching a little.”

Shane straightened and frowned. “Is it even rolling yet?”

“No, but I want to make sure you fit in the frame when you’re sitting right.”

Shane didn’t say anything, but that was nothing new. For the past twenty minutes, since their emotionally charged exchange in the bedroom, he’d been even quieter than normal. But in spite of her every effort not to, she couldn’t stop thinking about his tattoo and the meaning behind it. Was it something to do with his job? Or about a woman?