Come On Closer (3 page)

“Of course I like you. Only people I like get to ride in the van.”

Shane moved closer, until there were only inches
between them. Larkin stayed very still, giving none of her thoughts away. There was only that watchful waiting. She wet her lips, and it nearly undid him. The woman didn't seem to have any idea how sexy she was—which only enhanced the effect.

Her eyes dropped, long blond lashes hiding them from him. Shyness wasn't something he was used to from her, and her relative silence was so uncharacteristic that he prodded her a little, just to fill the empty space between them. It was an old habit, one he'd never managed to break. Silence had never brought him anything good.

“You know . . . you've got frosting on your nose,” he said, drawing her gaze back up to his. Her smile was like the sun emerging from behind the clouds on a stormy day. She laughed, the sound soft and breathless.

“Oh God. Still?”

“You've been wearing it all day, haven't you?” he asked. A moment's hesitation, then he lifted a hand to run his finger down the bridge of her nose. The frosting stayed put. So did Larkin. It was a shock to find his heart kicking into a rhythm usually reserved for exercise and close football games. He usually had nerves of steel. This was stupid. It was just a kiss. Well, maybe. And it was just Larkin.

Not that there was anything “just” about that.

“I. Um.” Her eyes had gone slightly hazy. “What?”
Now or never,
he thought. Shane lowered his head, and her breath fanned his face when he rubbed his nose against hers, a startled little exhalation. Still, she didn't move. Instead, she turned her face up to his, which was all the invitation he needed. His lips curved up, just a little.
Finally.

Shane kissed her lower lip, pulling it gently between his own, and found it as sweet as he'd imagined. No wonder he'd been craving her so long. There was a light touch of her hands on his arms, and then he felt them slide up the front of his chest beneath his open coat, the fabric of his shirt bunching under her fingers. He shivered at the contact, and all the longing he'd managed to hold at bay welled up, threatening to crash over him and remove any lingering inhibitions. His hands shook with the effort to be gentle as he skimmed them down to her hips. With only a hint of pressure from his fingers Larkin melted against him with a ragged sound that left him with no doubts—she'd been thinking about this, too, maybe for as long as he
had.

S
he fit perfectly against him, soft curve to hard angle, creating a heat that enveloped them and banished the cold instantly. Shane went rock hard against her when she moved against him. All he wanted was to be with her, inside her, someplace dark where they could be together for as long as they wanted.

Outside against a van wouldn't cut it for long, but he'd make do for now.

More.
The word filled his mind as his shallow breaths mingled with hers and rose, steamy, above them in the cold air. Shane angled his mouth over hers, teasing her upper lip, then flicked out his tongue to taste—

“Damn it.” Dimly, he heard her speak in a tone that was somewhere between a moan and a growl. The hands against his chest went from gentle caress to rough shove in the blink of an eye. The pressure caught him off guard, and he stumbled a couple of steps back,
every hot, sweet point of contact between them severed instantly. It took him a long moment to get his bearings. Need and confusion had tangled together to make coherent thought as difficult as possible.

His only consolation was that Larkin wasn't exactly collected herself.

She leaned against the side of the van, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her skin was flushed, and her eyes seemed preternaturally bright in the dishwater gray light of the day.

“What's wrong?” The two words took intense effort, and as he watched her, Larkin shook her head slowly back and forth.

“We can't. This is a bad idea. I'm sorry.”

Her words landed like a series of well-placed punches. “Don't be. I'm not.” He knew he sounded defensive and didn't much care. The last thing he wanted from her was an apology. He wanted her back in his arms, and barring that, at least an explanation. He might have plenty of experience with rejection, but none of it had been from women who seemed to want to get his clothes off just as badly as he wanted them out of theirs.

“I know you're not.” She didn't look happy about it, at least. Not that it helped him make any more sense of her objection. Months of pent-up frustration sizzled beneath his skin like the sparks from a live wire.

“Then why are you? What about that felt like a bad idea?” he demanded.

“Nothing. Everything. Damn it, Shane.” Larkin leaned her head back against the van and heaved a sigh. He waited impatiently while she got her thoughts together, biting his tongue because he wanted to understand. He wasn't into self-denial, and he sure as hell
couldn't figure out why Larkin would be. She seemed to have her life together, probably better than he did. The only explanation he could come up with was the obvious one, and it didn't just sting—it sliced him right open.

“It's me, right? The whole ‘don't get involved with Shane' thing. Conventional wisdom around here. You've heard all the stories and you think I'm just messing around.”

She didn't have to confirm it. The way her eyes dropped was confirmation enough. Shane cursed softly, unsure of what to say. He hadn't bothered to defend himself in years. Why would he? It was a given that he was widely considered a lousy relationship prospect, which meant getting a date had become almost impossible. That sucked, but he figured he'd beat it by either taking over his father's practice one day—his father was a big deal around the Cove and wealthy to boot . . . money made up for a multitude of sins—or by sucking it up and getting out of town the way he'd always imagined.

He hadn't figured on meeting someone like Larkin while he was just treading water and waiting for one thing or the other to happen.

Her voice, more quiet and thoughtful than he'd ever heard it, pulled him back into the moment. “Maybe that's some of it. Not all of it, though. Look, it's better for both of us if we stay friends. Everything is just going to get screwed up if we get involved.”

“You don't know that.”

“I
do
know that. We'd never work,” she said. Shane could hear the stubbornness in her tone and knew she was dead serious. Leave it to him to find somebody as mulish as himself to get fixated on.

“We could totally work. It doesn't have to be
complicated.” That she'd apparently put some thought into this well before today surprised him. It also meant she'd had plenty of time to decide why hooking up with him was a terrible idea.

Larkin's eyes flashed, and he knew he'd said something wrong—one of his special talents. Shane watched her tense, her long, feline form going rigid, and knew that he had royally screwed himself out of any enjoyment he might have gotten out of the afternoon.
No Larkin. No fries. Nice job, Sullivan.

“See, that's exactly why this isn't happening,” Larkin said, using her hands to punctuate her frustration. “Nothing is ever complicated for you. Friends, lovers, whatever—everything is easy. Casual. Except not everybody's life works that way.
My
life doesn't work that way.”

“If you think this is easy, Larkin, you're having a different conversation than I am.” He glowered at her, but he had no good counterargument to make, no relationship to point to that would be any kind of exception to what had been his rule: short, hot, and as simple as he could manage until the inevitable breakup. He'd always been that way. It seemed to be the way he was wired when it came to romance. Why would anyone, himself included, expect a change?

“Look,” she said, and her expression turned so uncharacteristically serious that he might as well have been standing in front of a stranger. “I know everybody thinks I'm all fun all the time, but that's not . . . I just think you've got the wrong idea about me.”

He found it an odd thing for her to say. He didn't think he had the wrong idea so much as an incomplete picture all of a sudden. Which he'd like to fill in, if she
weren't being so damn stubborn. “It's not like that,” he growled, and yet he knew the response wouldn't be good enough for her. Larkin's glare as she crossed her arms over her chest just confirmed it.

“Oh? How is it, then? This uncomplicated thing you'd like us to be?”

Shane shoved his hand through his hair and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Flustered, sexually frustrated, and annoyed was not a good combo for him. “I don't
know
,” he finally managed. “It's dating, not rocket science. What the hell's wrong with taking it one step at a time and seeing where things go?”

She lowered her chin to look at him, and as she did, her expression softened a little. Not enough to give him any hope, though, since she seemed less swayed than sad. That was just what he needed—to be a disappointment to somebody new. Helpless frustration formed a knot in the pit of his stomach.

“Shane. I like you. I just . . .” She looked away, as uncomfortable as he'd ever seen her. He hadn't known it was possible for Larkin to be anything less than completely at ease in her own skin. Maybe this would be easier if he understood why she was so determined to keep things platonic between them.

Probably not, though, since understanding it still wouldn't make him like it.

“Look, forget it,” he said, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but here. “You don't have to explain. Let's just go.”

“No,
really
,” she rushed out, gaze flying back to his. “I
do
like you. You're fun. You're . . .” She trailed off, seeming at a loss for words, and he saw such a mix of sadness and longing in her eyes that he almost pulled
her back into his arms despite whatever list of drawbacks she'd come up with. As though she realized what he could see, she looked away again and sighed heavily. “Yeah. Maybe we should just go. We're not even coming at this from the same planet. That's the biggest thing . . . we're just way too different.”

Shane had to tamp down a flash of anger before he responded. Larkin had no way of knowing how much he hated being told what he was, or wasn't, or ought to be. It was one of the reasons he'd always preferred playing characters onstage to wading through litigation. All that weight of expectation and obligation vanished when you simply became someone else.

“I don't think you know enough about me to say that.”

Larkin seemed to consider that, but ultimately, he knew it wouldn't make a difference. “Maybe not,” she replied. “But I know
me
. Which, and you'll have to trust me on this, is more than enough.”

Trust me.
He'd used that line enough times to know what a crock it usually was, but what choice did he have here? Shane exhaled loudly through his nose, looked around at the quiet, snow-covered neighborhood, and then back at Larkin. She was beautiful, a bright, colorful contrast to the wintry landscape around them. It occurred to him that he'd been thinking of her as his for a while now. Like it was only a matter of time.

Apparently not. Maybe she was just being honest: She
liked
him. In the way of people who did not hook up, ever.

Shane wasn't used to women keeping him around solely for his charming company, and right now he
couldn't manage to find it flattering. Mostly it just felt like a kick in the ass.

“You could have just said you didn't like the kiss,” he finally said. He could hear the sullen note creeping into his voice and knew it would do him no favors. She'd just think he felt entitled to her, the picture of the obnoxious jerk he knew he was widely considered to be. That wasn't it, but it hardly mattered. The end result was the same.

“No. I knew I'd like it.” Larkin sighed, her shoulders drooping a little. “That's why I shouldn't have let it happen in the first place.”

It was enough to make him want to bang his head against a tree until this all started making sense, but it was time to back off before he completely broke what was already damaged. Pushing harder was only going to mean losing her permanently, and not even his stinging pride was going to convince him that that was an acceptable outcome. So he straightened, took a deep breath, and tried to be a gentleman about the whole thing.

It was about as pleasant as he imagined gargling razor blades would be.

“Okay. If that's how you feel about it.”

“Okay,” she echoed him with a nod. “Good. So.” Larkin closed her eyes for a moment, looking surprisingly vulnerable. He guessed he could try to be flattered that she was unhappy about shooting him down. The urge to wrap his arms around her was still intense, almost to the point of painful, but he stayed put. This, he reminded himself, was why it was a bad idea to like people. Most people just turned around and used it against you. It was always better to hold enough back
to keep the upper hand. So far, with Larkin, he was failing miserably.

Shane felt the beginnings of a headache from the tension and knew his day was shot. Larkin was right—he did like things simple. What she didn't know was that he was already acutely aware that nothing ever was.

“I need to get back to work,” Larkin said, and the gentleness in her voice landed like a blow. It reminded him of why he'd always been the dumper and never the dumpee. “Let's do fries a different day, okay?”

“Sure,” Shane said. He was ready to go lick his wounds anywhere but here. He climbed into the van, then watched as an uncharacteristically silent Larkin got behind the wheel. At least she didn't look any happier than he felt. Whoever had said that misery loved company was spot-on. A new and unpleasant tension filled up all the empty space in the van until Shane wanted to crawl out of his skin. He'd wanted things to change between them, and now they had, pushing him deep into unfamiliar territory.

One of these days I'll learn to be careful what I wish for.

He slid a glance over to look at Larkin's elegant profile, the soft curve of her lips, the frosting still on the gently rounded tip of her nose. And he sighed, resigned to the truth.

But not yet.