Lyric and Lingerie (The Fort Worth Wranglers Book 1) (18 page)

“I’m beat,” Lyric said as she walked straight through the main part of the house to the back staircase. “Make yourself at home. You know where your old room is, right?”

When Heath’s father had started staying out all night instead of cooking supper for his eleven-year-old son, Bowman had given Heath the guest room, and it had been his ever since.

“Yeah.”

“Good. If you need food, obviously help yourself.” She was so tired, the words were beginning to blur together. “I need to crash.”

She sure as hell did. And he did too. Partly because he was almost as tired as Lyric was, and partly because all the flying and driving and sitting he’d done over the last couple of days had really aggravated his knee. He was afraid if he didn’t lie down soon, he was going to fall down.

Not that he was about to tell Lyric that. She’d probably insist upon carrying him up the stairs, or at least spend the next half an hour trying. And since he outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, he was pretty sure her attempts would be nothing but an exercise in futility.

Besides, he was injured, not permanently disabled. As long as he took it slow going up the stairs—and avoided thinking about how much this whole thing fucking sucked—he’d be okay.

“Sounds good to me,” he said as she made her way up the long, circular staircase. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She gave a careless, drunken-looking wave. “Yes. Tomorrow.”

From his spot on the bottom step, he watched as she climbed the stairs. And while he knew he shouldn’t be checking her out—they had just clarified the fact that they were only friends—he couldn’t help the way his eyes were drawn to her very shapely ass. Any more than he could help the way, as he watched her ass sway back and forth, his brain immediately kicked into gear with a whole host of sexual fantasies he was better off not thinking about.

But knowing what he should do and actually doing it were two very different things, especially when he was stretched out on his bed hours later, staring at the ceiling and willing himself to go back to sleep, all to no avail. It was early yet—really early, according to the old-fashioned alarm clock next to his bed, but he’d been listening to Lyric move around her room for the last half an hour.

The sounds were muffled, like she was trying to be quiet, but it was very obvious that she was doing something. Their rooms did share a common wall, after all. Just more proof, he knew, that Livinia had always trusted him with Lyric. When he’d been a teenager, he’d spent more than one night under this roof—when his dad was on an angry bender, when he was sleeping it off in jail, and one unforgettable night when he’d decided to wave Heath’s granddaddy’s prized Colt pistol in Heath’s face.

Each time, Livinia had put him in this room, next to Lyric, instead of in the one down the hall that shared a common wall with Harmony. Guess it had been obvious back then how he’d felt about Harmony … and how he’d thought she’d felt about him. Right up until they slept together and, somehow, he’d ruined everything.

But it wasn’t Harmony he was lying here thinking about right now. Wasn’t Harmony that had his head spinning and his dick aching. No, that was all Lyric. All brainy, bold, beautiful Lyric.

His teenaged self must have been an idiot, because there was no other explanation as to why he would have fallen for Harmony back then when Lyric was around. Sure, Harmony had always been the one with the short skirts and high heels and sexy perfume, but Lyric had been the one with the wicked sense of humor. The one with the crazy ideas that always got her into trouble. The one who was so full of life that she was constantly tripping or falling or causing one disaster after another because her body could barely contain all her joie de vivre.

And she still was.

He’d spent the day in that waiting room with both of them, and for a moment—just a moment—he had wondered if his old feelings for Harmony and their shared past would rear their ugly head. But he hadn’t felt so much as a twinge, even when he was sitting right next to her. How could he have when he’d spent the whole day unable to so much as look away from Lyric?

Even know, when he should be sleeping, he couldn’t keep his mind off of her. Or the fact that at this very moment she was in the shower, hot water streaming over her pinup-star body. Hands rubbing soap along all that glorious skin. Washcloth sliding between those glorious thighs of hers …

And fuck. He had just gone from turned on to
really
fucking turned on in the space of a couple of seconds. But who could blame him when he wanted nothing more than to bury his own hand, face, cock, between Lyric’s gorgeous thighs.

Sweaty, groaning, and more turned on than he could remember being in a long damn fucking time, Heath slid his hand under the covers. Fisted his hand around his rock-hard dick. And began to stroke himself as images of Lyric bombarded him from every side.

Lyric in that ridiculous excuse for a duct-tape dress, her gorgeous breasts all but falling out the top of it.

Lyric in the airport restroom doing the potty dance as he was on his knees in front of her.

Lyric upside down in Cherry Cherry, her long, curvy, million-dollar legs right in his face as she spouted some ridiculously little-known fact or other at him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Who the hell could have guessed he’d find the fact that forty gazillion meteors hit the earth every day… so damn sexy. Then again, it wasn’t the meteors he found sexy. It was Lyric. It was all Lyric.

He stroked himself faster, harder, as he thought of her. Then closed his eyes and pretended it was her hand, her mouth, that was on him. That it was her body stretched out next to him instead of a pillow.

He came seconds later, head swimming and hips arching off the covers in one of the most powerful orgasms of his life. He wasn’t sure what it said about Lyric, or more accurately his feelings for her, that just the thought of her had him coming harder, deeper, than he had since he was a kid.

After a couple minutes of recovery time, he stumbled into the en suite bathroom, his head still a little messed up with the pleasure of it all. He took a couple of minutes to clean himself up with the towel he’d used after his shower last night, then slipped back into his room and pulled on his jeans with hands that still shook, just a little.

Next door, the water had stopped, and he forced himself not to think about Lyric getting out of the shower dripping wet. Forced himself not to imagine her toweling herself dry or smoothing lotion over all that silky skin or—

He broke off with a groan. Jesus, he was acting like a horny kid with his first girl, his dick rising again and again at just the thought of her.

Deciding he needed to do something to take his mind off of the delectable Lyric and her too-perfect everything, he grabbed a shirt from his suitcase and yanked it over his head. Then made his way downstairs to the kitchen to start cooking breakfast.

After the day they had had yesterday, he was starving, and he was pretty sure Lyric must be feeling exactly the same way.

Livinia’s fridge was fully stocked, as always, and he pulled out the makings for a Denver omelet and quickly got started making it. There was something soothing in the act of chopping up the onions and peppers and ham, something mind-numbing, in the best way, in grating the cheese and beating the eggs.

It had been a rough couple of days in every area of his life, and it was nice to just concentrate on something normal for a while. Something besides the fact that his career—and his life—were pretty much over.

Oh yeah, and he was engaged … to be married … to Lyric.

Actually, that seemed minute compared to everything else.

But no one liked a pity party, certainly not him. And if his knee twinged more than a little while he was walking around the kitchen making toast and coffee to go with the omelet, then no one needed to know about that shit but him.

Lyric had enough on her plate.

Fifteen minutes later, he slid an ooey gooey omelet bursting with meat and veggies and cheese onto a plate and divided it into two pieces. Then he poured a couple cups of coffee, doctoring one to sickly sweet, just the way Lyric liked it.

Then, after putting everything on a cookie sheet he’d found in the cabinet next to the oven, he headed up the stairs to serve Lyric breakfast in bed. Or at least breakfast on a bed, considering she had already showered and was probably completely dressed by now.

Except, when he knocked on the door, she didn’t answer immediately. Had she passed out on the bathroom floor after slipping when she was getting out of the shower and hitting her head on the tub? Or the vanity? Or—let’s face it, this was Lyric—the edge of the toilet?

She’d actually done that in fifth grade. He still remembered finding her lying prone and calling 9-1-1.

Freaking out now even as he told himself he was being insane, he managed to twist the knob on the door even with his hands full and then shove the door open.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me.” Lyric put a hand to her chest.

He took in a very wet, very flushed Lyric—obviously fresh out of a bath instead of a shower—standing in the middle of the room, soap suds on her legs and the skimpiest towel ever invented wrapped around her unmentionables. Unmentionables that he really wanted to mention because—like her—they were so fucking gorgeous.

“What are you doing in here?” She stared at him.

“I knocked and you didn’t answer. I thought you might have slipped and hit your head like before …” He should leave, he knew that, but his legs wouldn’t move, and he couldn’t stop staring at her.

“Why are you still here?” She took a step toward him, tripped over her own two feet, and caught the edge of the dresser. Her towel came undone and fell to the floor. “Oh God.” She tried to cover herself and leaned over, grabbing for the towel and pulling it in front of her.

She was standing there beautifully, gloriously almost naked.

He should walk away, or at least look away, but for long seconds he could do nothing but stare at Lyric, absolutely spellbound. If that made him an asshole, then he was willing to live with it. Some things were worth being an asshole over, and this look at Lyric’s wet, flushed, gorgeous body was definitely one of them.

“I brought up … um … food.” He sounded like an idiot. Hell, he’d been charming ladies out of their panties since he’d realized the difference between girls and boys, but this time he was flustered.

For long seconds, neither of them moved. Instead, they just stood there staring at each other as arousal arced between them like an ungrounded electrical current. Powerful, unchecked, and dangerous enough to burn everything in its path.

“Lyric.” Her name was as much groan as it was prayer as he stepped forward.

She sucked on her bottom lip, but she didn’t turn him away.

Dropping the tray of food on the nearest flat surface that wasn’t a bed, he stepped forward and gently took the towel from her.

And holy shit was she beautiful. And glorious. And absolutely fucking incredible. Despite his recent orgasm, he felt his dick harden to the point of pain, felt his mouth drop open and his tongue all but hang out, like when one of the cartoon characters from his youth saw a pretty girl.

He wrapped one hand around her shoulder and the other arm around her waist. Then he yanked her forward, until all those soft, glorious curves of hers were pressed against all the hard, lonely planes of his own body.

And reveled in the moan she didn’t even try to hide.

# # #

Oh my God. Oh My God. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod
. For long seconds, they were the only three words Lyric could think. Well, except for
hot
and
hard
and
that feels so good
. Oh, and
mine
. She couldn’t help thinking
mine
over and over again as Heath pulled her against him and slowly, sexily, lowered his mouth to hers.

For long seconds, that’s all it was. The sweet and tender meeting of his mouth and hers. And then, with the quick slide of his tongue along the seam of her lips, everything changed.

Heath might have initiated the kiss, but she took over in the space of one heartbeat to the next. She slid her hands up the sexy stubble on his jaw, tangled her fingers in the cool silk of his too-long hair, pressed her body against the lean, hard length of his.

Then she opened her mouth, let his tongue slip inside to tease and tangle with her own. And savored every second of it.

Of him.

It had been so long since someone had held her like this, kissed her like this. Even longer since someone had made her body come to life like this. And as he skimmed his own fingers down her back, as he cupped her ass in his big, rough hands, she admitted to herself—only to herself, and only in this moment—that the last time she’d felt like this had also been with him.

Oh, it had been different then, because she’d been desperate for him. Desperate for his touch, his breath, his body, and desperate to get as much of him as she could in the small amount of time that they’d had.

This time, she wasn’t going to do that. She was going to savor every moment she had with Heath Montgomery, so that when it was over—when he walked away—she would have this one perfect memory.

This was forbidden and out of character for her and delicious.

Opening her mouth, she swept her tongue along his lower lip. Softly, sweetly, asking not demanding. As she did, she felt the curve of his lips that told her he was smiling.

It was all she needed to keep her going, to have her toying with the lush fullness of his lower lip before moving on to the sweet indentation in the middle of his upper lip. When they’d been younger, she’d teased Heath about his cupid bow mouth, and he’d always hated it. Had always threatened to bite her with it. Maybe today she’d finally let him make that threat a reality.

She felt him grow hard against her as she nibbled at him, and she reveled in the way every one of his muscles tightened as she teased the corner of his mouth. He opened for her right away, as if he’d just been waiting for her to make the move. Waiting for her to ask. She loved it, loved everything about the way he responded to her. Just like she had always loved him.