Getting Hotter (21 page)

They both laughed. Observed each other again. Reached for their beers.

A groan got stuck in his throat, joining the ball of frustration and lump of unease already taking up residence there. This had never happened to him before, damn it. Lusting over another man?
Just
another man? With no woman around to balance everything out?

Fuck.

The lack of estrogen on the balcony became glaringly apparent the longer he and Aidan watched each other. Unsettled, he chugged the rest of his beer, but the liquid was lukewarm by now and did nothing to extinguish the fire raging down below.

Enough. He was tired of the strange waves of tension palpitating in the air whenever he and Aidan were alone together. He needed to get laid, damn it. It was the only way to purge his body of this tight, antsy feeling, the only way to vanquish this inappropriate craving.

“Shoot, I forgot, I have to return this chick’s call.” He scraped his chair back and reached for his two empty beers.

Aidan beat him to the bottles. “Make your call out here. I’ll take the empties in.”

“Oh, thanks, man.”

“No problem.”

Their fingers brushed as he handed Aidan the bottles. A tiny shock wave coursed through his veins, making him gulp.

With a knowing twinkle in his dark eyes, Aidan headed for the sliding door and quietly moved through the threshold.

Dylan stared at the other man’s retreating back and resisted a groan. Crap. He was approaching a critical point here. A potential point of no return.

Grabbing his phone, he scrolled through the contacts until he found one entry in particular. Rachel Carver. The blonde he’d met at the club last week.

Lord, please let her answer the phone.

To his overwhelming relief, she chirped out a hello on the second ring.

“Rachel?” He cleared his throat. “Hey, it’s Dylan. Dylan Wade. We met at OMG last week, remember?”

She sounded absolutely delighted to hear from him. “Hi! I’d almost given up on you! I’m so glad you called.”

His peripheral vision caught a blur of movement. He turned his head to see Aidan in the living room, one sculpted arm flexing as he pointed the remote at the flat screen before flopping down on the leather couch.

Tearing his gaze away, Dylan forced his attention back on the phone call. “So. Rachel. You feel like hanging out tonight?”

Chapter Twelve

The following week, Miranda moved back to her apartment, leaving Seth feeling oddly dejected and more than a little discouraged. Even with her kids constantly underfoot, he’d liked having her in his house. They may not have slept in the same bed, or even spent all that much time together, thanks to their busy schedules, but he’d drawn comfort from her presence.

And as expected, living with the woman had taught him quite a lot about her. For example, he now knew what a nauseatingly chipper morning person she was, that she cooked the best breakfasts on the planet, and that she sneezed every time she smelled the scent of dish detergent. He’d also discovered that she preferred classic rock to anything contemporary, the History Channel to reality television, and boxing above all sports.

His three favorite fucking things.

The best thing about Miranda Breslin, though? She loved sex. Absolutely
loved
it. Maybe it was the seven-year lull, but he’d never been with a more passionate woman. She gave 110 percent in the bedroom—eager, brazen, quick to laugh, open to experiment.

Oh, and the icing on the cake? She was into morning sex.

Very
into it, he discovered when he crawled into her bed at ten in the morning, spooned her from behind, and slipped a finger inside her. He groaned at how wet she was. How, even in her sleep, she rocked into his finger and let out a moan.

“Seth?” she murmured.

“Mmm-hmmm.” He dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder, pleased that she hadn’t bothered with pajamas.

He knew she’d gotten home from the club at two a.m. last night and woke up at seven today to drive the twins to school. After spending another long night in the ocean, he’d turned on his phone to find a text from Miranda, informing him she was going back to bed and to let himself in. She’d signed the text with a winky face, which had brought a smile to his lips.

He’d stopped at his house to shower and change, then managed to drive to Miranda’s apartment without falling asleep at the wheel. The team would be doing classroom work for the rest of this week and most of the following one, which meant his sleep schedule would return to normal. For a bit, anyway.

“That feels good,” Miranda said sleepily.

He fingered her with lazy thrusts, his cock stiffening and straining against her naked ass. Moisture coated his finger, eliciting a deep growl of approval, and he greedily added a second digit, loving the way her sex clenched around it. His thumb tended to her clit as his fingers worked her pussy, and it wasn’t long before she was gasping and squirming and shaking with orgasm.

While she lay on the bed, warm and boneless and recovering from her climax, he donned a condom, then moved into the spooning position again and eased into her from behind.

“Oh, that’s nice,” she murmured when his entire length filled her.

“Very nice,” he murmured back, planting a soft kiss on the nape of her neck. The fine hairs there tickled his lips.

His cock throbbed, ordering him to go faster, to fuck her harder, but exhaustion and indolence overruled his body’s demand. Very deliberately, he pulled out, one inch at a time, but not completely. He kept just the tip inside her, an unbearable tease that resulted in Miranda clenching her inner muscles around him, a hot vise squeezing his engorged head.

Seth let out a curse. “You’re evil.”

Her choked laughter filled the air. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I guess my body wants to trap you in there.”

“Baby, I’d happily move in if I could.”

He rolled his hips and they both groaned at the tantalizing friction. All talking ceased as he closed his eyes and lost himself in mind-blowing sensation. The iron grip of her sex on his cock, her silky hair tickling his cheek, the way her nipple puckered when he brought one arm around her to cup a breast.

When he finally came, it wasn’t in one tidal wave of pleasure, but, rather, in little bursts of ecstasy, like waves lapping against the shore, dancing over his flesh and tingling in his balls and shivering through him in an endless, full-body rush. Huh. Exhausted sex apparently had its perks.

“Can’t move,” he mumbled when the bliss finally ebbed. “Sleepy.”

He scraped up enough energy to pull out and peel off the condom, then slung his arm over Miranda’s waist and snuggled close to her warm, lithe body.

He didn’t know how long he slept, but he’d never felt more rested when he finally opened his eyes a while later. Pleasure tugged at his heart when he realized Miranda was still in bed with him. No longer tucked into his chest, but lying on her side, her hazel eyes fixed on his face.

“What time is it?” he asked, reaching up to wipe the sleep from his eyes.

“One thirty.”

“Damn, woman, you let me sleep past one?”

“You needed it.” She touched his jaw, running her fingers over the thick stubble.

He groaned. “Oh, right there, scratch right there.”

With a laugh, she scratched the itchy spot on his chin, summoning a contented sigh from his lips.

“I should really shave,” he conceded.

Miranda gave a mock gasp. “Wait, you actually own a razor?”

“Yes, I own a razor.” He grinned. “I just don’t use it very often.”

“I can’t picture you clean-shaven.” Her fingertips skimmed the stubble above his upper lip, then trailed over the beard growth along the line of his jaw. “I don’t think I’d like it.”

“You like your men scruffy, huh?”

She offered a self-deprecating look. “I’ve always been attracted to scruffy, tattooed bad boys. It’s a problem of mine.” And then she gave his jaw another scratch and it felt so good he nearly purred like a fucking kitten.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, sitting up.

She’d gotten dressed at some point when he’d been asleep, and he enjoyed the way the fabric of her black tank top was pulled taut over her breasts. The bra she wore must have been thinner than toilet paper, because he could see her nipples poking through, and his lower body stirred at the sight.

“I’m starving.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, but his attempt at flirting was betrayed by the loud rumble of his stomach.

Miranda laughed again. “Uh-huh. There’s my answer.”

Much to his unhappiness, she scooted off the bed and headed for the bedroom door. “Omelet or regular eggs?”

His mouth immediately watered. “Omelet.”

“Ham, cheese, mushrooms, green peppers, onions?”

Oh fuck. Now he was liable to drool all over her damn sheets. “All of those sound great.”

“Good. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Seth dragged himself out of bed and ducked into the hall bathroom to use the john and wash up. His gaze was drawn to the toothbrush holder on the edge of the porcelain sink. Three toothbrushes—an adult-sized one and two kiddie brushes with Disney characters on them. It was an intrusive reminder that Miranda didn’t live in this apartment alone, but luckily, he hadn’t spent much time with the rugrats since they’d left his house. He’d either come by here when the kids were in school, or Miranda stopped by his place for a quickie if she managed to leave the club early.

When he entered the kitchen five minutes later, Miranda already had an omelet sizzling in a pan. She nudged it with a wooden spatula and the most incredible aroma floated in his direction.

“You need any help?” he offered.

“I’ve got the omelets and toast covered, but you could pour us some coffee. Mugs are in the cupboard to your left.”

Seth grabbed the coffeepot and poured the hot liquid into two ceramic mugs, then headed for the fridge to get the milk. He splashed a bit into Miranda’s cup, dumped in two sugars, and carried both mugs to the small kitchen table. He sipped his coffee, his gaze following Miranda’s movements and admiring the way her cotton boxer shorts clung to her perfect ass.

“Oh, and by the way,” she announced, perching one hip against the counter, “I’m still
horrified
by what you said the other day.”

He chuckled. “I say a lot of scandalous things, baby. You’ve gotta be more specific.”

“About Marquez being technically better than Pacquiao?” she prompted.

“Oh, that.”

“‘Oh, that’?” She raised her spatula in the air as if she planned to whack him with it. “Manny Pacquiao is clearly the superior fighter, Seth. He won
two
of the three matches between him and Marquez—”

“It was a split decision—”

“It’s still a win!” She harrumphed. “Jeez, next thing you’ll be telling me is that Ali wasn’t the greatest boxer of all time.”

“He wasn’t. Sugar Ray Robinson, hands down.”

Miranda’s mouth fell open. And stayed open. She just stared at him in shock for a good minute.

Seth stifled a laugh and gestured to the stove. “You gonna deal with our breakfast before it burns?”

After a beat, she snapped out of whatever mental lecture she’d been giving him and shut off the burner.

“I can’t believe you said that about Ali,” she muttered after she’d served their food and joined him at the table. “I think that might have been blasphemy.”

“Hey, everyone’s entitled to their own opinion,” he chastised.

“Not when it’s
wrong
.”

The stubborn look in her eyes made him grin. He liked that she had no qualms about arguing with him. Or challenging him. Or sassing him. Miranda always spoke her mind, which he appreciated. A lot of females expected you to be a damn psychic. They wanted you to anticipate their moods, to know when they were pissed off without them having to tell you, and then they got even angrier when you didn’t. It was refreshing being with a woman who didn’t expect him to do any unreasonable guesswork.

Being with her?
the little voice in his head echoed, wary as hell.

Sleeping with her, he amended. Hanging out with her. Flinging with her. Whatever.

There was a lull in the conversation as they ate, but the silence was comfortable. After they finished eating, they carried their plates to the sink and cleaned up together. He washed, she dried, and as detergent soap bubbles floated over the sink, Miranda sneezed so many times Seth actually got a stitch in his side from laughing so hard.

It wasn’t until they refilled their coffees and headed for the backyard so he could have a smoke that he realized how this entire morning just smacked of domesticity. He’d never had breakfast with a woman before. Never washed dishes with a woman. Never had coffee in a woman’s backyard, or chatted about bird feeders with a woman.

Shit.

What was he doing?

“Sophie is convinced one of those sparrows is after her.” Miranda’s laughter broke through his thoughts.

He followed her gaze to the birds pecking at the seeds in the red wooden feeder hanging off the fence that bordered the yard. “She could be right,” he mused. “That one on the right looks a tad aggressive.”