Fighting Love (Love to the Extreme) (16 page)

“No, it’s okay. Tommy’s here. I’m just going to rest anyway. Go on home. But thanks.”

Tommy couldn’t help sending a satisfied smirk at Brody, and he was rewarded with another amused

twitch of the lips. What the hell was this guy’s deal?

“I’ll stop by tomorrow, then, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, and sent him a soft smile.

He paused, shifting his weight as his gaze bounced between Tommy and her, as if expecting him to lean

back so they could have a proper good-bye. Not fucking likely. Instead, Tommy nodded toward the door.

“You know the way out.”

The man sucked through his teeth before nodding and leaving. As he watched his retreat, again Tommy

was struck with the sense that Brody was laughing at him. It was really starting to piss him off.

When the front door shut, Julie chided, “You didn’t have to be so darn rude.”

“He doesn’t have to be such a jackass.” He didn’t want Brody to be a topic of conversation, either. He

wanted the man completely gone, now that he’d left. “How bad is it?” he asked.

“
Meh
. It’s not that bad, really. Been worse. I just need a muscle relaxer, some anti-inflammatories, and

some rest.”

He kissed her forehead and scooted back off the bed. “I’ll get the meds.” He looked at the dogs. “Come

on, guys, let her rest.”

“No. Let them stay.”

He wouldn’t argue. Neither Lucy nor Warrior had jumped up on her as they usually did when she came

home. They just sat at the side of the bed, peering silently up at her. Protecting her. Exactly like he wanted

to.

After he went to the kitchen and grabbed two pills and a bottle of water, he returned to the bedroom.

She started to push herself back up, but he placed a hand on her shoulder, stilling her.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’d like to go to my own room, if you don’t mind.”

Actually, he did mind. He didn’t know what possessed him to bring her straight in here instead of into

her own room, but he liked seeing her laid out on his bed.

“Besides,” she continued. “Wouldn’t you like to change, too?”

Before she’d arrived, he’d been in the process of doing just that. He’d gotten as far as sliding off his

jacket and tie and unbuttoning the first three buttons of his shirt before the banging on the door had

interrupted him. Getting comfortable now was the last of his worries. “I’m fine. Let’s get you into

something more comfortable first.”

Alarm dashed across her face. “Uh. I don’t need help with my clothes, Tommy.”

Didn’t stop him from wanting to help, though. “At least let me help you to your room and get the

clothes out for you.”

He went to help her sit up, and she smacked him away. “No. I’ve got this.”

And there was that vicious independent streak coming through. He held up his hands, fully aware that

fighting her would make her even more irritated. She’d made it halfway into a sitting position when she

gasped sharply and her entire body froze.

“Yeah, okay,” she gritted out. “Not happening.”

No, he didn’t see this move happening at all. Until those relaxers kicked in, her muscles were going to

seize every time she tried to sit up. He helped her lie back down.

“I’ll run to your room and grab you a change of clothing.”

He took his time choosing a set of casual fleece PJs, giving her ten minutes before he returned, only to

come to an abrupt halt in the doorway.

She had inched herself up so she reclined on the pillows and had unzipped the side of her dress, which

had peeled back to reveal one black-lace-covered breast. Why he was surprised she’d taken the initiative to

start the changing process, he didn’t know. She was always firmly determined to do things herself.

Wracked by pain, she appeared to be even more stubbornly resolute. A trait that both awed and

frustrated the hell out of him.

He swallowed, as he couldn’t help noticing that the lace gave an enticing peek at the pert nipple beneath.

Shaking himself, he hurried to the other side of the bed, as Julie used her foot to kick off her shoes. “Do”—

he cleared his throat—“you need any help?”

“No.” She planted both feet on the mattress, bending her knees. The skirt rode all the way up to her

hips. His gaze zeroed in on the pale skin above the thigh-high stockings and the silky black ribbons that

kept them in place.

He’d known she had on a garter belt. He’d played with the satin ties as he slid the wedding garter over

her thigh, and just as before, pure possessiveness sliced through him at the thought she’d worn it for Brody

and not for him.

A pained grunt broke into his thoughts as she tried to push the dress down her hips. Her toned, flat

stomach drew his gaze and he bit back a curse.

“I can’t lift my butt. Can you pull the dress the rest of the way off?”

He swallowed.
All the way off?

So she’d be lying there, on
his
bed, wearing nothing but a bra, panties, and enticing garter? He didn’t

know if he could do it. Already his pants were tightening, and he felt like a total ass for it. He glanced at

her. The trust in her eyes made him feel like an even bigger ass.

You are not proving yourself worthy, Sparks.

If anything, he was disproving everything he’d convinced himself of at the wedding—that he would be

able to make love to Julie. Real love.

How? Because he was getting a fucking hard-on even though she was lying there in pain. He could feel

the lust building—while she was hurt. What would happen when she was healthy?

No.
He was better than just his dick. He could do this.

He squared his shoulders and gingerly tugged the dress over her hips and down her legs.

Fuck me.

“Help— Help me with the garter belt,” she said with a grimace.

Using an incredible amount of restraint
not
to glide his hand up the inside of her thigh first, he reached

around to her lower back and fumbled with the tiny clasp, fingers trembling, until he was able to release it

from around her waist.

She’s hurt, she’s hurt, she’s hurt.

He repeated the words as, one by one, he unhooked the four satin-covered fasteners that held the hose

to the beribboned lace. Then, with his heart in his throat—and his cock making a frantic bid to break

through his zipper—he slowly rolled the first stocking down over her knee, down her calf, and over her

foot. The chant didn’t help. If anything, it made him even more aware of what he was doing.

Undressing Julie
.

As he removed the other stocking, he couldn’t stop the vision of what he would’ve done next if he’d

been stripping Julie in the way he suddenly wanted to, for a whole different reason than he was.

Hell, who was he kidding? They wouldn’t even have gotten this far. The stockings would’ve stayed on,

and he’d either have his head or cock thrust firmly between her legs.

He leaned over her and slid off the clingy lace belt that still encased the beautiful swell of her hips. After

he tugged it off, he stared at the minuscule piece of material in his hand, swallowed heavily, and slowly

lifted his head.

Their eyes connected.

He couldn’t look away. He could feel the heat in his own eyes as he communicated exactly what he was

feeling with his gaze and not his mouth—and God how he wanted to communicate with his mouth, right

between those beautiful thighs.
Jesus
. He tore his gaze away and mentally cursed himself.

This was not a thought he approved of when it came to Julie. This was how he thought about the

women he took to his bed who didn’t mean anything to him, no more than he’d meant to them. Their focus

had been on the sex, the pleasure…the physical gratification. Julie
meant
something to him. With her it
had

to be different. Long kisses. Holding her damn hand. Treating her sweetly. Any other behavior was

unacceptable.

Maybe her getting hurt had been some kind of omen. A way for him to see that he was incapable of

change. That he would always be the male version of his mom. It was all he knew. All he’d seen. The

endless parade of men.. And as soon as he’d started dating, he’d followed the exact same pattern. The older

he got, the more he realized he was cut from the same cloth as his mother—because no woman interested

him for longer than a really good night in bed. By morning, he was gone, and on to the next.

What if he did that to Julie?

He needed to reassess his plan. Staying away from her was the better option, after all.

“You can give me the outfit now,” she said. “I’ll get it on.”

“I’ll help.” When he stepped forward, she started shaking her head.

“Uh. No. I’ve got it.” When he hesitated, she said, “Seriously. I’ve. Got. It. Why don’t you, uh, go do

something else?”

As he turned to leave, tension knotted his shoulders. There had been no way she hadn’t seen his blatant

desire for her. And her response had been to tell him to leave. Because of fucking Brody Minton?

Tommy didn’t give a rat’s ass what the universe was trying to tell him. Julie would
not
be with that

man. And if that meant Tommy had to keep his cock in his pants for the next fucking year, he’d keep his

damn cock in his pants, and like it.

Julie deserved better than
both
of them.

…

Julie really hated being in Tommy’s bed. The pillows smelled like him. His scent surrounded her.

Suffocated her. She’d go back to her own bed in a hot minute if she could, but with her muscles all tensed

up, she was pretty much stationary. And there was no way she was asking him to carry her again.

Hell
, no.

Not after what she’d imagined she’d seen in his eyes as he’d looked at her almost naked body. Had the

desire really been there, or had it been her own desperation rearing up again?

If it had been any other man, there wouldn’t have been a second of doubt in her mind. But he wasn’t

any other man. He was Tommy. And Tommy came with a long history that directly contradicted anything

she thought she might have seen. But…

No
. She gave herself a mental shake. It
hadn’t
been there. He did not want her. Not that way.

When he walked into the bedroom carrying some muscle ointment and an ice pack, she focused on

petting the top of Lucy’s head.

The pup whined but pushed her head up into Julie’s palm.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you under the covers. That muscle relaxer should start kicking in soon.”

After he pulled the covers back, he helped her under them—thank God she’d been able to pull on the

fleece sweats by herself—and tucked the blankets around her, then he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

The heat of his lips seared her skin. He lifted slightly to gaze down at her. As she met his green eyes, her

breath hitched hard in her lungs. Had they just dropped to her lips?

Don’t do that!

“I’m going to take good care of you,” he murmured. “Now I think we need to get some sleep. It’s been

a long day.”

He straightened and grabbed some clothes out of the dresser. Over the course of the last hour, his black

shirt had come untucked and he’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. His blond hair, perfectly styled hours

ago, now stuck up in odd directions, as though he’d continuously run his hand through it.

Guilt swamped over her. Here she was picking apart every one of his actions, while he was simply

worried about her pain level.

He dropped his clothes on the end of the bed and unbuttoned his shirt, paying no mind to the fact that

she lay mere feet away, acting as if she found herself in his bed every day, watching him get undressed.

When he finished with the buttons and peeled his shirt back over his shoulders, revealing his chiseled

six-pack, she bit the inside of her bottom lip. His muscles moved, holding her captivated. A wave of lust

pooled low in her stomach. Her mouth went dry, and she had to force a swallow.

She knew he didn’t think it was a big deal, since he walked around here shirtless all the time. But it was

a big deal to her. It had always been.

Pain or no pain, Tommy’s actions still made forbidden thoughts fly through her head.

God, she was pathetic.

Closing her eyes, she turned her head into the pillows, blocking out the image of him. She carefully

shifted onto her side, turning her body away from the empty side of the bed, needing to avoid looking at

him.

When the mattress dipped, her eyes sprang open. “What are you doing?”

“Getting into bed. What do you think?”

Gingerly she rolled over to look at him, then immediately wished she hadn’t, since the jerk didn’t have a

damn shirt on and his well-defined pecs dusted with blond hair filled her vision, tormenting her. She

pointed to the door. “I think you need to get your ass down the hall into
my
bed?”

Oh man, she’d liked giving him that order way too much. He needed to go. Now.

“You’re kidding, right?” The hurt confusion on his face irked her even more. The man had no clue why

she didn’t want him in the same bed as her.