Ready to Fall (6 page)

Sarah tugged her friend farther away from the men. “I'm going after another guy, Helen,” she hissed. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Helen's smile died. “I was thinking Chris needed someone special to break through that wall he's built around himself. Someone who wouldn't take no for an answer, and who would drag him back into the world no matter how much he kicked and screamed. And I was also thinking my friend could use a good man in her life. One who'd appreciate a woman like her.”

She was almost afraid to ask. “And by that, you mean . . . what?”

“A woman with a hell of a big heart under all her drama.” Helen grabbed one of Sarah's hands and squeezed it. “Don't settle for good enough, honey. You deserve more than a man who'll just
tolerate
you.”

Sarah's shoulders slumped. “The Battlefield Babes talked to you about Ulysses, huh?”

“Of course they did. They love you just as much as I do.” Helen's hand tightened, and she nodded toward Chris. “Look at him, Sarah. He spent most of the night paranoid you might get hurt in some way. This is the first time he's let you get more than an arm's length away in an hour, and he keeps sneaking glances at you when he thinks no one is watching. I've never seen him so cheerful or chatty, not once since the day I met him. He's into you, whether you believe it or not.”

Sarah wanted to believe it. She did. But his own words contradicted the hope springing to life in her traitorous heart. “He told me he wasn't ready to date yet, much less start a relationship.”

Helen shook her head. “And what the hell was tonight, if not a date? Did I just imagine him holding your hand?”

“He's protective because he's a good man. Not because he wants me that way. Besides . . .” She trailed off, unwilling to speak the thought that had made her heart ache all evening.

“What?” Helen jiggled their clasped hands. “What, Sarah?”

She let out a long, slow breath. “Men like him leave me. Sooner rather than later. And I'm not going through that again, especially not with a man like Chris.”

“A man like Chris?” The patience in Helen's warm brown eyes comforted Sarah, prodded her to be completely honest.

“He's . . .” Her throat went tight. “He's exactly the sort of man I've always wanted, only . . . more. More handsome. More perceptive. More intelligent. He could be my kryptonite, Hel. I don't know if I want to take that risk.”

As the men approached, Helen let go of her hand. “I understand, honey. I really do. But you need to think hard about what you want in your life. And then you need to think even harder about how much you're willing to fight for it.”

Her mind spinning, Sarah could do nothing but nod in response.

“Hey, ladies. You ready to head out?” Wes looked down at Helen, unmistakable adoration in his golden-brown eyes as he studied his girlfriend's face.

Helen nodded. “Talk to you soon, Sarah. Remember what I said, okay?”

As if she could forget. “Yeah. I'll call you after the retreat.”

After Helen waved good-bye to Chris, Wes wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The two of them walked over to his truck, cuddled close the entire time. He opened the passenger door and boosted her up into his truck with a hand on her ass, one that lingered a few seconds longer than necessary. And then he refused to move aside so she could close the door, standing in the doorway until Helen laughed, leaned down, and planted a kiss on his waiting mouth.

Sarah turned away, unable to watch anymore.
That.
That was what she wanted. And maybe she'd had it for a week or two at a time, but never longer. Did she really think Ulysses could give that to her? And if not, was it worth taking a chance that Chris could?

Moot point
, she reminded herself.
He doesn't want romance right now.

When she turned back to her SUV, she jerked in surprise. Chris was standing only inches away, way closer than she'd realized. Leaning against her passenger door, he was watching her with an intensity she didn't understand.

“You look sad.” He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” She flashed him her brightest smile. “Just mourning all the poor people who've been murdered on that mini-golf course. And also in this parking lot, most likely.”

After another moment of steady scrutiny, he shook his head. “Performing again, huh?”

Then, before she could react, he was pulling her into his arms, and she couldn't even offer a pretense of resistance. She collapsed into his embrace, burying her face in his chest as if she could somehow hide there forever. Her cheek rose and fell with the rhythm of his breath, and she could feel his heartbeat, steady and rapid, in her ear. The warmth of him surrounded her completely, enclosing her in darkness and comfort.

He held her close, hunching down until he could rest his cheek against the top of her head. “You can tell me. I won't betray your trust. I promise.”

At those words, stupid, stupid tears prickled behind her eyelids.

She raised her head from his chest, ready to fake another smile and make a joke. But as soon as his gaze caught hers, her breath stuttered. She couldn't make a sound to save her life.

Still holding her close with one arm, he freed the other. His hand reached up to cradle the side of her face, and a rough thumb swept beneath her left eye, smoothing away the wetness there. At the contact, her lips parted in a silent gasp.

And then his head lowered to hers, moving in stops and starts as if he were fighting the descent every inch of the way. His warm breath fanned over her mouth as he hovered just above it, only a millimeter away.

If she'd been capable of thought in that moment, she'd have bet he was going to pull away before making contact. Or that if he did actually kiss her, it would be a brief press of lips, over as soon as he remembered his determination to stay single. As soon as he thought about what pursuing a romance with her would mean.

But once his lips brushed over hers, he didn't back away. No, he angled his head and let his mouth cling to hers in long, slow kisses, ones that wiped her brain clean of anything but him. Chris. Holding her as if she were precious to him.

And every warning bell in her head abruptly went silent.

He overwhelmed her. The lingering scent of metal and oil, overlaid by the smell of his clean cotton T-shirt. The slide of his big hand from the middle of her back up to the base of her neck, spreading heat the whole way. The gentle tug of his fingers in her hair as he guided her head where he wanted it. The way he tasted, like the berry-flavored mints they'd shared in her car earlier that night.

The rumble he made deep in his chest when she sucked on the tip of his tongue. The hard pressure she was beginning to feel against her upper belly.

God, it excited her.

He yanked her closer, pressing her tight against his erection as his tongue plunged deep. She gave a muffled moan at the feel of it, her hand skimming over the damp skin of his neck and running down his hard, muscled arm.

She could hardly stop herself from tugging down his jeans right then and there and offering her body to him. Offering herself to him. Whatever he wanted, however he wanted it. Just as long as he claimed her as his.

It felt glorious.
He
felt glorious. She'd never experienced a kiss—an embrace—so absolutely perfect in every way.

At least until he pulled away with a sudden jerk. With shaking hands, he moved her away from him. He did it gently, but there was no denying the urgency of the gesture. Now they were standing a foot apart in the dim light of the parking lot, two separate people once more. And even surrounded by the humid heat of a Maryland night in July, she shivered.

And at that moment, Sarah knew. She might be overdramatic, but she was no fool. This man could rip out her heart if she gave him half a chance.

So she gathered up the shreds of her composure, plastered a cheerful grin on her face, and got on with the show.

“Don't look so worried. I know what just happened didn't mean anything.” Tossing her ponytail, she headed around the car to the driver's-side door. “Let's chalk it up to the romantic atmosphere of Minnie's Mini-Golf.”

She slid into her seat and waited. He didn't move. As far as she could tell, he was still leaning against the passenger door, staring at the crumbling windmill in the distance.

When she honked the horn, he jumped. He climbed into the car and slammed the door shut, his impenetrable shell solidly in place once more. He didn't say anything, and neither did she.

As soon as she heard the click of his seat belt, she took off from that fucking parking lot like someone was chasing her. And she didn't look back.

S
arah wants another man
, Chris reminded himself the next day.
The whole reason you two even met was because she's pursuing someone else. Don't you forget it a second time
.

He spent the entire ride to the Battlefield Library parking lot trying to focus on the task at hand: teaching her how to ride a bike safely. But the memory of the night before simply wouldn't leave him.

He kept thinking about the press of her pliant body against his, the sweetness of her tongue, and the sound of her moan. Even more than that, though, he kept remembering the way she'd giggled at his stupid jokes and her shocked awe when he'd lifted her over the fence. The feel of her small hand clasped in his, her hip pressed against his side. The mingled comfort and excitement of Sarah's company during a long summer night together.

Most of all, he kept seeing the pain in her blue-gray eyes when he'd jerked away from their kiss, the hurt she'd quickly hidden behind a bright smile and a breezy dismissal.

He'd caused that hurt last night. He was ashamed of himself for it, and he didn't want to give her mixed signals a second time. Now wasn't the right moment for him to get involved with anyone, much less a woman on the hunt for another man. So he needed to make sure he didn't touch her any more than necessary for the lesson. Didn't kiss her. Didn't hold her.

He'd promised to teach her how to ride her bike, and he always kept his promises. All he could do now was try to keep it professional and hope she'd do the same.

Her car was already waiting in the lot when he arrived, and he braced himself with a deep breath before climbing out of his car. He walked over toward her, studying the place where she'd try riding for the first time in twenty years.

The library was closed for the Independence Day holiday, its interior lights dimmed. It sat on a hill, squeezed between a playground on one side and a Civil War battlefield administered by the National Park Service on the other. The battlefield was also closed to visitors for the evening, and both the playground and the large parking lot were deserted. In that respect, it was optimal for teaching her how to ride her bike. Then again, once the sun completely set, it was also going to be very dark. The entire area was lit by only a few floodlights on poles.

Insects chirped and whirred in the humid dusk. A sluggish, hot breeze moved the empty swings on the playground, making their chains creak. In its own way, the sight was almost as creepy as the goddamn mini-golf course they'd seen last night.

Shit. He needed to stop listening to his sisters' descriptions of all the horror movies they watched. They were going to make him as melodramatic as Sarah.

She was just getting out of her car as he approached, and her entire frame stiffened when the first blast of heat hit her. “Jesus,” she muttered. “No electrolyte is safe tonight.”

He came to a halt a good distance away from her. “Are we even allowed to use this parking lot after hours?”

“Well, hello to you too, Mr. Crankypants.” She flashed a smile his way, though he noticed she never quite made eye contact. Moving to the back of her SUV, she popped the rear gate. “During my shift at the library today, I asked my boss about that. According to Angie, the local police will be too busy overseeing the local fireworks display and dealing with drunk drivers to worry about a couple of idiots riding bikes in a library parking lot. Even if one of them is lying in a bloody sprawl on the pavement, crying for her daddy.”

He couldn't help a small laugh. God, he loved her theatrics. To the point where he could barely resist kissing that tempting, smart mouth of hers again.

But in two days, she might very well be kissing her fucking coworker. Goddamn Ulysses.

His amusement died at the thought, and he strode without comment to the back of her SUV. He hauled the bike out of the cargo area and stood it next to the car.

“You ready?” he asked.

Her brows drew together at his brusque tone. “Are you okay?”

“For five hundred dollars, I'm more than okay.” He huffed out an impatient breath. “I'm great. So I'll ask again. Are you ready?”

“Chris . . .” She trailed off, eyeing him carefully. “Did I do something to offend you? If so, I'm sorry.”

Shit
. He needed to keep her at a distance, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings either.

“If you'd rather not do this, it's okay.” Her small, sneaker-clad foot kicked at a pebble in the lot. “I sometimes . . . push people. Wear them out. I know you don't want to spend your Fourth of July teaching a woman with no sense of balance how to ride a bike. And maybe you're uncomfortable about what happened last night. So if you'd rather end this now, I'll still pay you some of the money for what you've already done.”

Part of him wanted to jump at that offer. He could leave here right now and not have to struggle with the temptation Sarah embodied. Not have to imagine her making another man dizzy with longing. Not have to see her ever again, as a matter of fact.

Then he took a good look at her. Her blue-gray eyes, which usually met his with such brash confidence, were glued at the ground. Her wide mouth was pinched into a frown. She'd wrapped her arms around herself.

He could see it again. The vulnerability she hid beneath humor, exaggeration, and determination. The same vulnerability he'd seen when she'd panicked in his shop and after their kiss last night.

She deserves love
, he told himself.
She's shelling out five hundred dollars and putting up with a cranky bastard like me so she can go to that retreat and try to find a good man. And here I am, making her life harder. Upsetting her, when she's done nothing wrong.

He reached out a hand and laid it on her arm. “Sarah?”

She looked up, her expression wary.

“I'm sorry.” He shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to say. “I didn't mean to sound so short. Of course I'll still teach you how to ride your bike.”

“Are you certain?” she asked quietly.

“I'm sure.” He forced a reassuring smile onto his face. “But we should start our lesson before we lose all of our remaining electrolytes.”

Before he realized what was happening, he felt her hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down to her height. She brushed her lips across his cheek, leaving a trail of fire that dwarfed the heat of the summer sun.

“Thank you.” She backed away, her cheeks flushed. “I appreciate your help.”

He kept himself under tight control, even though his fingers twitched to grab her and pull her close again. “No problem.”

But every cell in his body was screaming the same message:
This is more than a problem. This is a catastrophe.

* * *

Almost two hours later, he'd discovered a valuable lesson: Even intractable lust could be successfully tamped down by a combination of extreme heat and extreme frustration.

He ran a rough hand through his shaggy hair, drawing on the dregs of his patience. “Sarah,” he said firmly, “you have the basics down. But you have to be willing to try riding without me holding on to the back of the bike.”

“But you're the one holding me steady.” Her mouth compressed into a mulish line. “If you let go, I'm going to become a Sarah pancake on the ground. The bad news—I'll be dead. The good news—I'll make my own syrup. And by syrup, I mean blood.”

She stood straddling the bike frame, both feet on the pavement of the parking lot. Her cheeks had long ago pinkened from the muggy summer air, and her wide eyes looked wary. His urge to kiss her battled with his urge to shake her.

He tried to explain it the best way he knew how. “If you want to ride, you have to take the chance you might fall. That's just the way it is. No risk, no reward.”

“I'm scared.” She meant it. The truth showed in those beautiful eyes, and every rapid breath she took revealed it too.

At the sight of her distress, he couldn't keep his distance any longer. Reaching out, he cradled her hot cheeks in his hands, trying to think of an argument that might reach through her fear. “I know. But just remember what you said to me yesterday. You're doing this for the possibility of love, right? Isn't he worth it?”

She looked up at him, and her hands covered his. “I hope so.”

The touch of her fingers burned him. He dropped his hands from her face, and hers returned to her handlebars.

“Then let's do this.” He did his best to sound confident. “Time to take the chance.”

He watched her take a deep breath and straighten her shoulders. She placed her feet on the pedals, and he had to stop himself from reaching for the back of the bike and ensuring her safety. Every instinct he had said not to let her go.

She can handle it
, he told himself.
She doesn't need you anymore
.

With a strong push of her feet on the pedals, the bike started moving across the parking lot. For the first few seconds, she overcorrected for every wobble and almost tipped over. But each time he thought she was about to put down a foot or hit the deck, she managed to regain her balance. After twenty or so feet, she was actually riding in a pretty straight line.

Her laughter trailed behind her, and he smiled at the sound. Pride for her blossomed in his chest, driving out the ache that had settled there last night.

“Chris!” She was still laughing, still riding. “Do you see this? No Sarah pancake!”

“I see it!” he called back. “You're doing great. Now make a big circle and come back this way.”

She made a slow loop around the parking lot and headed toward him. “I wouldn't stand directly in my path,” she told him breathlessly as she got near. “My steering isn't exactly precise, and I may forget how to brake. Even giant mutant men can get hurt by a runaway bicycle.”

His smile widening, he lowered his voice to a near grunt. “Me giant mutant man. Me trust tiny shrimp woman to use brakes.”

He watched her feet. A foot or two before she would have hit him, she pedaled backward and stopped the bike. Her feet came down on either side of the frame, and she stood very still for a moment. So did he.

“Chris . . .” She was breathless. With exertion? Excitement? Something else?

His eyes rose to hers. “Yes, Sarah?”

“I know how to ride a bike,” she said with a big grin.

And with no further warning, she swung her leg over the bike, pushed the kickstand into place, and raced toward him. She landed against his chest with an audible thump, driving him back a step or two. Her arms wrapped around his back, and she gave him a mighty squeeze. He squeezed back, his eyes closing as he luxuriated in the feel of her body plastered to his.

Just like last night, he couldn't help but marvel at how goddamn soft she was. Her breasts, her tummy, her hips . . . all of her. Jesus, everything about her was arousing, especially when all that everything was pressed up against
his
everything.

She tilted her head back, unfastening her chin strap and removing her helmet. Her grin had disappeared, but her eyes were lit with delight and . . . something else. Something that made his breath catch in his throat.

“The only reason I could do that was because of you,” she told him, her voice as quiet as he'd ever heard it. “I trusted you to teach me. I trusted that you'd know when I was ready to ride on my own. I trusted you to take care of me if I fell.”

The affection in her eyes, in her voice, overcame him. He couldn't help what he did next. Before her words had even fully left her mouth, he'd covered it with his own.

Her lips were warm beneath his. So warm. For a long minute, he contented himself with simply brushing his mouth against hers, feeling the plush softness give under the slight pressure. Then he clasped the nape of her neck with one hand, the other sliding down to the small of her back. With gentle flicks of his tongue, he urged her lips to open. When they did, he eased inside, his tongue playing with hers and exploring her sweet mouth.

Gradually, playful teasing turned into passionate hunger. They devoured one another, their tongues delving and their hands grasping. Her short fingernails bit into the back of his neck and she pulled him even closer, almost bruising his mouth with the force of her kiss.

He slowly backed her against her car, and she moaned as her ass bumped the front fender. Without thinking, he lifted her until she was sitting on her hood. With her in that position, he didn't need to bend down nearly as far to kiss her, and he immediately took advantage of that fact. His tongue thrust against hers, demanding her participation and passion. She pulled him closer, her legs parting to allow his hips in between.

He groaned as his hardening cock nudged at the apex of her thighs, where he could feel heat even through layers of clothing. His hands fumbled as they reached for the hem of her long-sleeved T-shirt, but he managed to shove the thin fabric above her bra with one fierce pull.

One hand still lifting her shirt, he slid his other over her belly and starting moving up. Triumph nearly whited out his brain when he finally felt the weight of her breast in his palm. Giving it a gentle squeeze, he searched for her nipple with his thumb.

There.
She gasped and shivered when he gave it a light flick. So he did it again, and she whimpered. Lowering his head, he began to kiss his way down her neck, hungry to feel the hard nub of her nipple against his tongue.