Armie Jacobson, hedonist extraordinaire—celibate. For weeks?
Yep, that certainly gave her a lot to think about.
* * *
AFTER A LONG, steamy shower, where he lingered for far too long, Armie pulled on boxers, fixed a drink and crashed on the couch. He turned on the TV but didn’t really focus on anything. His internal battle kept him too wired.
A few drinks later, more than a little tipsy, he still couldn’t stop thinking about Merissa home alone, maybe upset. She hadn’t wanted to call him. That had been as plain as the bruise on her jaw.
She might anyway.
She probably wouldn’t.
She had Cannon to comfort her.
But did she want Armie?
On and on it went, circling in his brain, making him nuts, and no amount of liquor would blunt the torment. For the tenth time he checked his cell. Had he reminded her to use the emergency cell? He couldn’t remember. Maybe he should text her and let her know...
No.
What he should do is leave her alone, stop lusting after her.
Stop needing her.
He dropped his head back and closed his eyes. His temples throbbed and his back ached. He couldn’t believe he’d let that putz catch him twice. Luckily no one wielded metal posts in cage fights.
Also, he didn’t have an innocent audience, guns or Merissa Colter in danger during cage fights.
He flexed a shoulder and looked toward the dark window. It was—what? Nine-thirty? Still early. Maybe he needed to get back in the saddle and ride. He wanted to snicker at his own wit, but even for a drunk guy that was a shitty analogy.
If only he had even the smallest interest—
The knock on his door had him bolting upright. He stared toward it as his heartbeat ratcheted up and desire kick-started a slow burn in his gut.
Standing, he set aside his drink and, still wearing only boxers, went to the door and opened it. Disappointment hurt worse than that metal post had. “Shit.”
“Well, hello to you, too.” She winced at the damage to his face. “What happened to you?”
Armie stared at the brunette he’d brushed off at the bar the other night. “Just a misunderstanding.” To discourage her from trying to come in, he stepped out and pulled the door partially closed behind him. “C’mon, Cass. You know better than to show up without an invite.”
“I called your cell but you didn’t answer.” Her hungry gaze went over him, caught on his crotch and stayed there. He recognized that particular smile curling her lush lips.
“My cell got broken,” he explained. “But seriously, hon, you didn’t get the message at Rowdy’s?”
“No one treats me like you do, Armie.”
“I’m an asshole and I know it. You should steer clear.”
She put a hand to his abs and started teasing her fingers downward. “I didn’t mean that weird rudeness at the bar. I meant in bed.”
He caught her wrist. “Not happening.”
She seemed to puff up with determination. “I’m getting married in a month.”
“Yeah?” He put her hand back at her side. “Congrats.”
“I love him.”
“Glad to hear it.”
This time her smile looked genuine. “He’s a great guy, Armie. Smart, sweet, but macho enough that even you’d like him.”
With no idea where she was going with that, Armie just cocked a brow.
“But in bed...” She sighed. “He’s not you.”
Armie laughed, turned it into a groan and rubbed his face. “Let me guess. You haven’t told him what you like?”
Now sounding desperate, she asked, “How can I? He’s so nice and he’s not like you and me.”
He stepped away from the door and, feeling indulgent, said, “Hon, I’m not like you. But between what you told me and how you reacted to stuff, I figured it out. Most guys like hot sex. It’s hotter when the chick is into it. So just tell him what you want. Trust me on this, he’ll be into it.”
“But what if he’s not?” Uncertainty shadowed her eyes. “What if he thinks I’m...weird or something?”
“You’re healthy, not weird. And if he doesn’t dig it, then do you really want to be married to him for the long haul?”
“I don’t know.”
“A lifetime of mediocre sex? I’d vote no.”
Her heavily made-up eyes studied him. “You don’t like the stuff we do?”
She looked vulnerable, and because of that, Armie kept his tone gentle and reassuring. “If you have to ask that, then you weren’t paying attention.”
“But you just said—”
“It’s your thing, honey, not mine. But I’m always happy to oblige.”
She leaned closer, and her voice went lower. “Now?”
Half smiling, he said, “Except for now.” Her pout was cute, but had no real effect on him. “If you’re getting married, you should be saving all those looks for him.”
“Like you’d ever be faithful.”
“If I got married, damn right I would. Now go.” He turned her, swatted her on the ass and said, “All things considered, you shouldn’t contact me again.”
Face flushed and eyes dreamy, she rubbed her tush. “I guess.”
“And you’ll talk to the fiancé?”
“Yes.” She bit her lip. “I’ll tell him. But if you’re wrong, I will come back here just to smack you.”
Armie grinned. “You can try.”
As soon as she headed down the steps, he went in and shut the door, strode to the couch and fell facedown onto the cushions.
Did Merissa have any fetishes?
God, he’d love to find out.
Turning his head to the side, he checked his cell phone one more time, and there it was. A text message that read, Rissy was here.
* * *
SITTING ON THE STEP, smothering in indecision, Merissa avoided looking at the brunette who went past her with a polite nod. The woman was smiling, happy and on her way out.
Merissa wasn’t a natural-born eavesdropper, but when she’d gotten to the top of the stairs and heard Armie speaking to the woman, she’d frozen.
Once she caught the conversation she couldn’t have moved even if she’d wanted to. Her feet had turned to lead blocks and her ears had been attuned to every single word they shared.
Sure enough, Armie had turned the woman down.
But the things they’d discussed... What did the woman like?
Merissa held her phone, waiting, hoping, and the text message dinged an alert.
Licking her lips, she read: You okay? Need to talk?
Yup. Yup, she did. She texted back, Busy?
No.
Wow, that was fast. She twisted to look up at the landing, saw the still-closed door, and turned back to her phone. He was so close. In person?
Seconds ticked by. She compressed her mouth, held her breath, tapped her foot rapidly on the step.
Finally the message appeared: You shouldn’t drive.
Merissa thumbed in the reply, hesitated, hesitated some more, then hit Send. Already have.
* * *
ARMIE STARED AT the message. Already have. What did that mean? Was she out tooling around?
Bad idea.
He typed in: Where are you? If he needed to, he’d go get her. Somehow. But hell, he was drunk and he knew it.