Flip This Love (16 page)

The desperation edging his words made her feel flush and feminine. She’d done this to him. This big, strong guy hovered on the brink of begging all because she wanted him to take a little time to enjoy one of the simpler things in life. And because he’d cracked first, she would never have to admit the simple things were difficult to appreciate when all she wanted was to forever have this man hard and hot for her.

“Above the waist.”

He groaned but immediately cupped one breast. Laney laughed. His reaction was almost knee-jerk. She said go, and he hit the most obvious spot he could find. She went for his magnificent back first, but she found herself sneaking a hand up under his shirt and staking her own claim on one flat nipple. They were every bit as sensitive as her own. A smile curved her lips as she skimmed a fingernail over the tiny nub, and he kicked up the pace, rubbing against her with renewed vigor.

Pressing her head back, she watched the emotion flash across his handsome face. Pleasure, pain, lust, greed, and there, behind it all, the bedrock of hedonism told her he relished every moment of their play--even his delayed gratification.

She surged up to kiss him, fusing her lips to his and dipping her tongue into his mouth without hesitation. The kiss was a reward, of sorts. And more fuel for the fire. Pleased with her assault on his senses, she pressed her fingertip to his lower lip as she fell back to the sofa. The flesh there was tender and damp. Swollen. Red. Irresistible.

Letting her finger trail down over his chin to his throat, she circled the neckline of his shirt, then looked up at him from under her lashes. “What happens if I unzip you?”

He bared his teeth in an odd sort of grimace-grin and shook his head. “Better not. I’m so worked up right now, I’d probably come the second you touched me.”

Well, if those words weren’t an invitation to trouble, she didn’t know what was.

* * * *

Harley bit his tongue to keep from grinning. She took the bait. Sucker.

He tossed his head back as she snaked a hand between them to get at his belt buckle. The Delaney he knew never would have fallen for such an obvious ploy. Either he’d clouded her mind with fantastic sex or she was every bit as game as he was. Didn’t matter. Any way he looked at it, he came out the winner.

He hadn’t forgotten her saying she was a little turned on by the fact he was on the verge of coming on her leg the night they’d reconnected. Well, if he couldn’t coax his proper little Laney into talking dirty to him, maybe he could talk her into playing dirty.

The next time he kissed her, he took it slow and deep, making sure she tasted every bit of control her game was costing him. His gambit paid off. Suddenly those dainty hands were clumsy and frantic. She fumbled with the catch on his belt, her knuckles rubbing against the fly of his pants with what had to be deliberate slowness.

He wrapped his tongue around hers and drew it into his mouth, sucking suggestively as she attacked the button and zipper. He’d have figured a woman who’d majored in fashion...whatever…would be a little more adept at handling a fly, but apparently this one wasn’t. Feeling her control slipping out of her grasp was intoxicating. Hell, she had so much trouble unfastening the button, he almost offered her his crowbar.

Her fingers slipped off the tab as she unzipped and she looked up at him, all wide-eyed apology. “Oops.”

That was when he knew he was the one being played.

“S’okay,” he managed to choke, but he vowed to make her pay for her teasing. The palm of her hand was warm and welcoming. He surged against her, making it clear any further missteps were unlikely to hinder his progress. “That’s it, sugar. Go ahead and slip your hand in there. I wanna come all over you.”

A stroke of master gamesmanship. His words stunned her into immobility. Her hand froze on the front of his briefs. Her gaze flew to his, dark eyes inky with arousal. “What?”

“You started this game, now finish me off.” He growled the words but softened them with a smile. He couldn’t resist thrusting against her hand to drive his point home. He wasn’t lying. He was close. Damn close.

She blinked, but he’d lay odds she was more turned on by his blunt talk than offended. He kissed her again, their lips grinding together as he pushed against her soft palm. And for the first time since she asked him to come closer, he felt like a teenager again—all desperate need and blind lust.

“Didn’t you ever let some poor guy come in your hand, Delaney? Or did you leave ’em all blue-balled and panting?”

“I, uh—”

He didn’t wait for her to conjure a comeback. Shifting his weight, he grasped her hand and pushed it down the waistband of his boxer briefs. Wetting his lips, he let his voice go hoarse. “Please, Laney. I wanna come so bad. I promise I’ll be quiet. I won’t wake your folks.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed nearly to slits. Then, she began to stroke his dick. “You’re a sick bastard.”

“A horny one,” he corrected. He pumped into her closed fist. “Were you a tease, sugar, or did you hold up your end of the bargain?”

She arched one fine brow and stroked him faster. “Maybe a little of both.”

“Oh, I bet.” His balls drew up as he imagined being tangled up with Delaney on her parents’ uncomfortable antique sofa. “Jesus, you make me crazy. I’d have fucked you on that floral couch. Good thing you never messed with boys like me.”

Her breathing grew even more ragged, and the urge to shoot all over her moved beyond a possibility into the realm of the inevitable. Like the two of them. She wet her lips and began to jerk him off in earnest.

“I’d have fucked you on the couch until you yelled my name.” He came in hot, wild pulses. He watched as he slicked her fingers and spattered her clothes. “I’da fucked you until your mama screamed and your daddy loaded the shotgun.”

He stared at the streaks he’d left on her silk blouse and swore to himself he’d buy her a thousand more like it if she’d let him. Then he’d want to come all over them. Lowering himself on trembling arms, he trapped her hand right where it was.

“And you never woulda seen another guy’s couch,” he grumbled into her ear. “I’d have let your daddy shoot me there and probably died happy, or marched straight to the preacher. Whichever you wanted. Whatever you want. I’ll give you everything.”

They lay there for a moment, the sound of their labored breathing filling the room.

“Harley.”

Her voice was choked and raspy. He hoped like hell it was with emotion and not disgust. “Hm?”

“If you don’t get these clothes off me in the next sixty seconds then get me off, I’m gonna go get my daddy’s shotgun. You understand me?”

“Ma’am,” he said with a grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

The scent of freshly brewed coffee tickled Laney’s senses. Without opening her eyes, she sent her left hand on an exploratory mission. It was a matter of confirmation. Sure enough, she found nothing but cool, rumpled sheets. Harley was gone. But unlike the last time, he told her he would be. He had an early inspection with the nimrod from the water department—his descriptor, not hers—then he had to drive over to Mississippi for a consultation on the restoration of an antebellum mansion. She smiled as she remembered his teasing tone, undercut by his serious stare.

“Now, it’s possible I may get held up and have to spend a few days there. If that happens, I will call. Will you answer your phone?”

She’d promised, her voice as solemn as his beautiful green eyes.

Giving in to the inevitable, she cracked an eyelid and peered at the nightstand. The fortune from the cookie she’d opened during their night of sex and Chinese food was tucked under the lamp.

The quickest way to find happiness is to follow the heart.

A tall coffee cup wrapped in a protective sleeve and a waxed bakery bag stood at the ready. Blinking herself awake, she grinned as the logo on the bag swam into focus. He’d gone to Frannie’s. She snatched the bag from the table and unrolled the top. The scent of cinnamon and sugar slammed her back against the pillows. Her mouth watered as she stuck her face into the opening and gulped the intoxicating scent. Miss Frannie made only two dozen of her fantastic cinnamon rolls each morning. The gooey swirls of pastry sold out approximately five minutes after she switched the sign in the door from “closed” to “open.” The restaurant went so far as to limit sales to a maximum of two rolls per customer. Not that it mattered. If you weren’t standing outside the door when they flipped the locks, you were out of luck.

Laney allowed herself a girly sigh as she peered into the bag once more. Harley had given her both coils of hard-won breakfast bliss, bless his hedonistic little heart, and they were still warm. She grabbed the pillow he’d used, intending to prop herself up against the headboard, but paused before tucking it behind her back.

A man like Harley should have looked ridiculous snuggled into a pillow covered in a case printed with water lilies, but he hadn’t. He was too big for the antique iron bed frame. His gunboat-sized feet poked through the scrollwork bars when he tried to stretch out, but he hadn’t complained. Instead, he curled protectively around her once they finally gave in to the need for sleep.

When his phone chirped, she awoke to find the sky mostly dark and the big guy sprawled diagonally across the mattress, letting her use him for a bed. Her whispered “good morning” was all it took to rouse him, but, apparently, he wasn’t the type who sprang from bed, revved and ready to rumble. No, Harley made sure they woke slowly and oh-so-thoroughly. And after he was done making sure every one of her synapses were firing properly, he tucked her into the sheets he pulled smooth over her and held her as if he didn’t have any place else in the world he’d rather be.

Drawing the pillow to her chest, she ducked her head and inhaled deeply. The not-so-freshly laundered case now smelled like sleep and aftershave. Biting her lip to keep from grinning like the fool she surely was, she placed the bag of precious cinnamon rolls on the nightstand, propped both pillows against the headboard, and took a moment to assess her situation. Her bedroom reeked of sex. As it should. They’d gone enough rounds to leave a prizefighter punch drunk. The clothes once strewn across her floor were now neatly folded and piled on the faded chintz chair in the corner. All of them. Even the ones he hadn’t stripped off of her. Aside from the coffee, rolls, and unmistakable scent of satisfaction, there was no indication of a battle lost there. Or won. She wasn’t quite sure which.

But like it or not, her heart belonged to that no-good Cade boy. The same guy who’d taken off with the strongest part of her clutched in his big, hot hand and left her waiting and wondering. He’d also spent the last few weeks pursuing her with the same intensity he had the first time. A part of her wondered how he could stand to leave if he felt as strongly about her as he claimed. But she didn’t have to ask. Deep down, she knew exactly how he managed. Her mama said one always found the strength to do what needed to be done. Laney hadn’t truly understood what she’d meant, but now she did.

Even after most of the money was gone, she’d led a life of sheltered indulgence. When her father called and told her he could no longer subsidize her New York lifestyle, did she buckle down and work triple shifts in order to keep chasing her dream? No. She simply gave her employer and roommates notice, packed her designer duds, and used her American Express card to pay for her flight back to Mobile. Nose out of joint and feeling self-righteous, she gave a nod to the new economies her father insisted were necessary, and made the ultimate sacrifice—she booked business class rather than first. Then she sulked.

Reaching for the coffee cup, she peeled back the seal on the lid and took a cautious sip. The aromatic brew was sweet and light, exactly the way she liked it. Frowning at the cup, she racked her brain, trying to remember a time when she’d deigned to meet Harley for something as simple as a cup of coffee. Once, he’d invited himself to sit at her table at Starbucks when she was waiting to meet Brooke, but she’d already placed her order. He’d asked her out for coffee, of course, but she’d always refused. She’d rejected him in every way possible, but he kept coming back for more. Until the one night she didn’t have the strength to resist any longer.

She smiled as she chanced another sip. Well, now she knew. Harley Cade had no issue with being rebuffed, but once a woman let him see her in the buff, he got the nervous nellies and ran away. Good to know.

Snagging the bag from the nightstand, she plunged her hand in and pulled off a chunk of sticky sweet roll. Her grandmama used to say forewarned was forearmed. This time, she wouldn’t waste time fretting and worrying over him. She’d simply hunt his fine ass down and drag his carcass home like a twelve-point buck.

A low hum of pleasure rolled from her throat as she chewed slowly, savoring the unexpected treat. She stretched her legs, pointing her toes then flexing both feet in a lazy attempt to stretch the soreness from her muscles. A shower would take care of most of the aches. The others? Well, those would have to work themselves out. When Harley called, they’d have to figure out some kind of training plan.

She grinned as she peered into the bag, preparing to pluck off another hunk of heaven on earth, then her phone rang. For a second, she was annoyed by the breakfast interruptus, but then she realized the caller might be Harley and lunged for the jittering cell. A rush of pure, uncut happiness pulsed through her when she saw the words Cade Construction on the screen.

She sank back against the pillows as she accepted the call. “Hello, hot buns.”

A burst of feminine laughter had her jolting straight up again. Coffee splashed from the opening in the lid. The bakery bag fell to the floor. A flash fire of humiliation washed over Laney’s entire body as she recognized Harley’s mother’s full-bodied chortle.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Connie Cade replied. “And thank you. Harley does indeed have a fine bottom, if a mother can say so.”

“Mrs. Cade—”

“Connie,” the older woman protested. “I haven’t dumped tater tots onto your tray in more than a decade. I figure you can call me Connie now.”