Come On Closer (8 page)

“Oh, all levels. A musician who was a controlling man-child. A producer's son who I'm still not sure knew what my name was, despite five months of dating. The guy with the wife and kid who lived on the other side of the country, which meant, apparently, that he didn't have to mention they existed. The high-functioning alcoholic. Oh, and the slimy jerkbag I followed to Boston a few years back. He might have been a raging narcissist, but he did introduce me to a state I ended up loving. So there's that.”

Shane could only stare while she calmly sipped her martini.

“You can run now if you want to,” she said. “This works both ways, you know.”

“No. I mean, I just . . . How did you find all those guys?”

“I didn't find them. They were like moths to a flame. It's a gift. Or something,” she replied, then sighed. “Look, you're not the only one with a sketchy dating history, is what I'm saying. You ought to know I'm not any good at this. I choose poorly. I've been choosing poorly for most of my twenty-nine years on the planet.
It's why I stopped trying. I was really unhappy back then. Now I'm not.”

“What made the difference?” he asked, genuinely curious. He'd been choosing poorly for thirty years and counting, but it hadn't led him to any great revelations. “Celibacy?” He spat it out like it was a dirty word. Giving up sex was never the answer, he thought. Never never
never
. And if it was, he would languish happily in ignorance.

Larkin laughed, and the way her eyes crinkled at the corners said it was genuine. “Uh, no. I think it was more about taking responsibility for my own happiness. I love food. I love making food. I love giving people food, which makes those people happy, which creates this perfect circle of happiness that does not involve dirtbags in any way, shape, or form.”

“Perfect circle of happiness.” Shane snorted. “Hippie.” He laughed at the face she made, but underneath his teasing was a surprising truth: He envied her. It might have been hard-earned, but she seemed to know who she was and what she needed.
Happiness
. Shane turned the word over in his mind. It was kind of a foreign concept in his life, sadly. But maybe that was one of the things that fascinated him about her.

She didn't have to pretend to be happy. Larkin really
was
happy. Single, across the country from where she'd grown up, living on the Cove's North Side by herself . . . and happy.

How the hell did anyone manage that?

“Hey,” Larkin was saying, “don't judge. My life is good. I know what you probably think about this neighborhood, but for me? This is paradise.”

Shane's smile vanished. Was he that obvious? “I didn't say anything about your house.”

Larkin shrugged. “No, you didn't. I'm just going by general Cove opinion of the North Side. It's not perfect, but it's friendly and affordable. This is a nice street. The snoots around here act like it's Skid Row.”

He couldn't be offended when she wrinkled up her nose like that. Larkin disgusted was a new thing for him. “‘Snoots'?” he asked. “Is that even a word?”

“It is now. Anyway, that's me. That's why I haven't wanted to get involved.”

“I'm not a dirtbag, Larkin.” Why he felt like he needed to say that, Shane wasn't sure. It wasn't like vouching for himself was going to accomplish anything. She offered a small smile.

“I know. But that doesn't mean my magic powers won't turn you into one. Or that we'd be good for each other. None of this worries you, Shane? We have
nothing
in common. Besides maybe bad decisions.”

“Untrue. We have cheesy fries. And cookies. And Pink Floyd. Don't underestimate having bad decisions in common, by the way. Remind me to tell you about all of mine sometime.”

One of her eyebrows arched. “You'd do that?”

“Sure. Got a year or two to listen?”

That made her smile again, and Shane felt himself relax in turn. Whatever worries she voiced, she hadn't changed her mind about bringing him here. Maybe he should worry about everything she'd just said, but while it was interesting, it didn't feel like it applied to tonight. It was more of a last warning:
Stop right there; I have baggage.
Well, everybody did. He'd take his chances.

Shane watched her stirring the batter for a moment, then moved closer so he could swipe a few of the chocolate chips. Larkin swatted at him, but he tossed them in his mouth anyway, earning an eye roll. “So . . . does all of this mean you're going to go out with me?” he asked, leaning a hip against the counter to watch her work. “With the understanding that it's against your better judgment. I'm completely fine with that.”

“Oh, I'm sure you are,” Larkin replied. She smiled, but there was still worry in her eyes. That was fixable, Shane thought. At least for tonight.

He made a move for the cookie dough, and Larkin deftly blocked him. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter as she turned to face him, her stance and expression deceptively casual. He could see the tension in her, though, and how white her knuckles had gone. It made him want to punch whoever was responsible for making her so scared to trust him—and to trust herself
with
him. The only silver lining was that for once, he knew he wasn't the problem. Whatever had happened to her, Shane was suddenly determined to make her forget. Because this close to Larkin, his senses full of her, he felt something so unfamiliar he almost didn't recognize the same sensation he'd teased her for chasing—happiness. Real happiness, both simple and pure.

And no matter what anyone thought of him, he wasn't going to screw up what might be his last chance at holding on to
it.

S
he'd seen him with that stubborn, determined look in his eyes before, but having it directed at her was a new experience. She'd done her best to warn him off—heck, she'd offered up way more information than she'd even intended to—and Shane's only reaction had been a very clear “Okay, so we're still doing this, right?” He wanted what he wanted.

And damn it, so did she.

Heat curled through her, starting at her toes and rushing upward, pooling in places that demanded immediate attention from the man standing a breath away from her. Her heart skipped in her chest, her breath coming fast and shallow. She'd known that letting him this close, just one time, would be opening Pandora's box . . . and sure enough, not quite a week later, here they were again.

“Watch where you're sticking those fingers,” she
said. It sounded ridiculously sexual, considering how close they stood, bodies angled into each other. The brief flash of intensity in his expression faded, replaced by more familiar amusement . . . and new, but no less appealing, arousal.

“I am,” he said. And because the man did not appear to be a fan of subtlety, he placed one hand on her hip and leaned into her while he reached around to pilfer her cookie dough anyway. The connection between them was electric. Larkin's body lifted, seemingly of its own will, to press against him. She heard his breath catch, felt his fingers dig into her hip through her sweats.

This was what she hadn't been able to resist, and she knew it. So close to Shane, every rational objection seemed to fade away in favor of the heat that snapped between them like a live flame. So what if he was a wealthy, womanizing bad boy? So what if her track record with guys was a still-smoldering Dumpster fire? He was funny! And hot! And basically every fiber of her being wanted to have crazy monkey sex with him! What could go wrong?

He sucked the dough off his finger, and Larkin couldn't help but think it was only a brief hint at all the amazing things he could do with that mouth. Shane seemed to sense his opening and made no move to put more space between them. He touched his forehead to hers. “Tastes good. You didn't answer my question, though.”

“Question?” she asked. Something about dating. A technical question. But he was wearing that spicy musk she was always wanting to lick off, and there was a deeply distracting throbbing at the apex of her thighs, and technical questions were the last thing on her
mind. He was hard, too—she could feel the rigid length of him against her, hot against her lower belly.

“You know what? Never mind. It wasn't a question,” he growled.

Funny, she thought through her haze, that he was the one so eager to put a label on this. Right now, as long as he kept his hands on her, she didn't care what they called it. That was, of course, a problem. One she would deal with . . . later.

Because, God help her, she was going to do the stupid thing. And she was going to enjoy every ill-advised second of it.

“We were supposed to start with dinner or a movie or something,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone. She reached up to trace his lips with her finger, finding them as soft and warm as she'd imagined. He caught the tip playfully in his teeth, then released it with a gentle scrape. She shivered, heart stumbling in her chest.

“We ate cookie dough,” he said. “That counts as dinner.”

“Yeah, close enough,” Larkin said, and slid her fingers over the nape of his neck, into the coarse crop of his hair. Then his mouth was on hers, and it was no brief, questioning brush of his lips this time. Tonight, Shane simply plunged, and she willingly went with him.

Rational thought vanished the instant he crushed his mouth against hers. It was hot and primal, a complete possession that left Larkin shaking.
This. I need this.
All she could do was hang on to him, her nails biting into his shoulders while he tasted her with his tongue, his teeth. There was an edge of roughness to his kiss, a sense of barely leashed restraint that was as intoxicating as the scent of his skin. Shane wore a civilized veneer, but
he was big, muscular, undeniably physical. She'd wondered which side of him would win out in bed . . . and thought she had her answer when one of his hands slid up her waist to cup her breast, giving it a rough squeeze. The pleasure arrowed straight to her core.

He wasn't gentle. And damn if that didn't make him even more appealing. His hips pinned her against the counter, and she writhed against him, craving the friction. She heard him hiss in a breath when he tore his mouth from hers.

“I thought this wasn't about sex,” he growled into her ear, then bit the sensitive lobe just hard enough to make her gasp before flicking it with the hot tip of his tongue. He squeezed her breast again, thumb abrading the taut bud of her nipple through the thin fabric of her shirt and bra. What will her legs had to hold her up was rapidly vanishing. This wasn't what she'd had in mind. . . .

Bull
—
this is exactly what I had in mind. Might as well go with it.

She tugged on his crisp oxford shirt and then slid her hands up over his heated skin. The way his muscles jumped at her touch gave her a surge of pure, feminine power, and she knew she wouldn't be sending him away. They'd both wanted this for far too long. The lust was the easy part . . . but maybe this wouldn't screw up their friendship. Much.

She'd think about it later, when she was naked and sated and capable of things like reason and restraint. Right now, it was amazing just to let herself want and be wanted. Singlehood was fine, but God, she'd missed this.

“Plans change,” she purred. “I'm flexible.”

She caught the wicked glint in his eye, a laugh that was almost a moan. “I bet.”

His mouth claimed hers again, and she let herself drown in the kiss. His hands were everywhere, caresses that she felt even after his touch had roamed elsewhere. When they slid down to cup her backside and then squeezed, pulling her tight against him, Larkin drew her head back on a harsh breath, cupped his face in her hands, and showered kisses over all the lovely bits of his face she'd obsessed over—cupid's bow, bridge of his nose, cheekbone, tiny scar on his forehead—while she tried to communicate a single, simple idea.

“We . . . kitchen . . . probably not . . . bedroom.”

Fortunately, he got it.

“Okay. Hang on.” That was all the warning she got before he scooped her off her feet and set off in search of her bedroom. She yelped, then laughed as he stumbled back into the living room, carrying her as though she weighed nothing. “Shit.”

“Back toward the kitchen,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder and digging her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “Hang a left, then a right.”

Without another word he turned and found his way to the little hallway, carried her past the smaller bedroom she used as an office and straight into her room. The light was off, and he didn't bother to turn it on. He faltered once, kicked a stray shoe out of his path with a muttered curse, and then semi-gracefully deposited them both on the bed.

Larkin wrapped her legs around him and sighed with pleasure. However good he'd felt standing up, this was better. Why had she tried to plan this? She knew how things went when she tried to plan them; she . . .

Oh crap, wait a minute.

“Wait, Shane. . . .” His face was buried in her neck,
his mouth doing unspeakable things to the sensitive spot just below her ear. “Do you have something?”

He lifted his head, eyes glittering in the dark. His hair was mussed—not stylishly now, but more like he'd been doing exactly what they were doing—and his expression so hazy with desire and momentary confusion that Larkin felt an unexpected tug deep in her chest. She was used to thinking he was sexy. She was less used to finding him adorable.

I'm in so. Much. Trouble.
And it was a bit too late to worry about it.

“Something. Oh. Oh yeah, God, I hope so, hang on.” He lifted himself off her and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, squinting in the dark as he opened it.

“If you don't, I think I might in the bathroom somewhere.” She had vague memories of picking up a box at some point in the last couple of years, shoving them in a cupboard, and then fantasizing about a tall, blond, and yummy stranger who would move into town and entice her to use up the entire box with him. Which explained why it was collecting dust somewhere. But preparation was good.

This particular redheaded, yummy nonstranger was even better.

“I do.” He sighed with relief, then made her laugh when he added, “Wishful thinking paid off for once.”

He pulled out the little package, set it beside his wallet on her nightstand, and then settled back onto his knees, where he began unbuttoning his shirt. He paused, just once, when he caught her eye.

“We still good?”

That he would ask was unexpectedly sweet. Larkin responded by reaching up and pulling the elastic and
pins out of her hair so that it tumbled down around her shoulders. She put those beside his wallet, then pulled off her shirt.

“We're good,” she informed him, and grinned when he popped the last two buttons trying to finish getting his own shirt off. It went on the floor, along with her shirt. And her sweats. And her socks, bra, and panties.

There was a brief moment, when Shane looked up from fumbling with his belt and realized she'd stripped off everything, that Larkin felt uncomfortably exposed, uncertain. This was completely backward. She'd meant to get him here with cookies, have some kind of adult discussion about moving slowly to the next level and seeing how it went, and then send him along before the snow flew. Maybe with a kiss. Or several kisses. Instead, he would be getting to know her body first, and she his. That wasn't supposed to work.

Then again, she was no expert. This was, she supposed, as good a start as any. And if things went downhill, well . . . at least she wouldn't wonder what he felt like. Tasted like. So far, the reality was much better than the fantasy.

Shane's gaze skimmed down her naked form. “Holy shit.”

Her nerves evaporated instantly. He might look like an Irish Adonis, but he was definitely still Shane.

“Thanks, I think.”

She thought he might rip his pants in half trying to get them off. He couldn't seem to stop looking at her. “You're welcome. You should be naked all the time.”

“That would make work interesting.”

He huffed out a laugh and finally managed to wrestle his crumpled khakis onto the ground. It was
Larkin's turn to stare while he stripped off his boxer briefs, revealing a physique that was every bit as toned as she'd imagined. His shoulders, his chest, his stomach, all looked rock hard. He might drive a desk for a living, but he sure didn't look like it. The man was big . . . everywhere.

“Oh,” she said, eyes widening. When she realized she'd said it out loud she felt a little ridiculous, but Shane just smiled in a way that clearly meant he knew. Larkin made a mental note to remember the man did have a healthy ego. She didn't need to be stroking it. The rest of him, however, was fair game.

She reached over, grabbed the little wrapper from the nightstand, and ripped it open. Shane's smile faded as he watched her, the heat from his gaze warming her bare skin. She fought off a shiver, unsure whether it was from cold or nerves, and tried her mantra one more time:
It's only Shane.

The thrill she felt as she thought it rendered it completely ineffective. Fortunately, Larkin couldn't bring herself to care. She made her way to him on the bed, tucked her knees beneath her, and gently, slowly rolled the condom down over his shaft. His reaction was worth any momentary shyness she might have felt. His eyes rolled back in his head as her hand went around him, hot silk sliding over her palm, and he made a deep, guttural sound of pure pleasure that reverberated all the way to her core. She stroked him once, teasing, marveling at the effect her touch had on him.

He moved with all the grace and speed of a jungle cat. One moment she was on her knees in front of him, and the next she was flat on her back, hands pinned above her head. Her gasp of surprise turned into a
broken cry as Shane slipped a finger inside of her, circling her swollen sex with his thumb while he began to tease her with a slow in-and-out motion that had her wet in seconds. Larkin writhed beneath his touch, every inch of her skin sensitized. His eyes never left her face, and his ragged breathing rippled through her where skin pressed against heated skin. His cock pressed insistently against her thigh, promising the kind of pleasure that made what she was experiencing right now only a shadow of what was to come. She couldn't talk, couldn't think. There was only Shane's clever hand between her legs, and the pulsing liquid heat he stoked with every brush of his fingers.

Larkin's head rocked back. “Please,” she gasped, utterly at his mercy and startled at the depth of pleasure she took in it. “Please.” The only word her fevered thoughts could form, but the right one. Shane withdrew his finger and entered her with one swift, hard thrust. With one hand he kept her wrists pinned, and the other he used to brace himself as he began to move inside her, slowly at first, filling her completely before withdrawing over and over again. Larkin drew her knees up, taking him even deeper, her entire body humming with white-hot pleasure. She arched, sensitive nipples brushing the crisp hair on his chest, while her fingers flexed, aching to touch him. The gentle restraint he'd imposed on her was both unexpected and deeply erotic. She knew if she asked him to let go he would, but right now she let herself enjoy being claimed, being completely his. Shane's size and strength were part of what she found so irresistible about him—experiencing the way he used both in bed, Larkin realized, would leave her craving him long after tonight was over.

Shane leaned down for a hot, openmouthed kiss before moving on to her jaw, her neck, nibbling and sucking, his breath coming in harsh pants against her skin. Larkin lifted her hips to meet his thrusts, encouraging him to give her more, faster, now as tension began to coil where they were joined in hot little sparks of pleasure, tightening the muscles in her lower belly. His pace was controlled, relentless, though she could feel him flexing against her as his pace began to quicken.