Tease (14 page)

“Well,
Hawk
, you’re wrong.” I lifted my chin. I went for a mocking tone, but I missed the mark. My voice sounded breathless and affected in a way I was trying to pretend not to be. “I just did like four guys back in that house.”

His mouth curved almost cruelly at my lie. “Such a liar.”

Okay. Maybe I should have gone for a more believable number. Especially since Logan couldn’t have called him more than thirty minutes ago. He reached between us and plucked the keys from my hand.

“What are you doing?”

He reached around me, his arm brushing my hip as he lifted the door handle. “I’ll drive. Get in.” He motioned for me to circle around my car.

I watched in astonishment as he pulled open the door and settled himself behind the wheel of my car, adjusting the seat for his long legs. I glanced at him and looked around. “Where’s your truck?”

“I got dropped off.”

That explained how he got here so quickly. He must have been nearby. I cocked my head. “Who dropped you off?”

“I was with a friend when Reece texted.”

A friend.

I knew without him saying that it was a girl. Apparently he wasn’t so into me that he excluded other girls from his life. The pain that flared to life inside my chest was so unexpected that it infuriated me. I shouldn’t be feeling this way.
I had no right to feel this way
.

The familiar urge to storm off came over me. Unfortunately I had nowhere to storm. He was sitting inside my car.

I stalked around the car and dropped down into the passenger seat, sealing us in the cozy interior. There was some leftover heat from earlier. He started the engine and let it idle, the motor warming.

When I thought about the fact that I had just toyed with the idea of giving in to my urges, of just playing this thing out—whatever it was—between us, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“You didn’t need to end your date for me.”

He leaned his head back against the headrest and gave me a lazy look. “Jealous?”

“Why should I be jealous? I do what I like, with who I like. You’re entitled to the same.”

He smiled slowly and that grin made my stomach flip over. There was such knowledge and experience behind that smile. Of the world. Of life. Death. And, as unlikely as it seemed, me.

“You like me,” he announced. “You don’t want to, but you do.” He said this so easily, so matter-of-factly that I wanted to stomp my feet and yell
no
. I faced forward instead, looking out the windshield. “Let’s go. Drive.”

Chuckling, he put the car into drive. We traveled for several moments before he said, “I wasn’t on a date.”

“I don’t care.” Of course I snapped this off so fast that I sounded like I did care.

“Cara is a friend. We went to boot camp together. She was in town on leave for her nephew’s christening.”

A Marine like him. She must be strong. Tough. Probably sexy like Alice from
Resident
Evil
. “How nice. You must have a lot in common.”

“We do.”

“Sounds perfect. Why aren’t you still with her then?”

“Because you needed me.”

“I didn’t need you. I was leaving.” My voice faded, full of regret over admitting that to him—that I had been in over my head at the kink club.

“Why? Doing four guys wear you out?”

I scowled and crossed my arms over my chest.

“C’mon. I know that didn’t happen. You were leaving because it wasn’t for you, right?”

I hated that he was right.

“Because,” he continued, “you’d rather be with me.”

I snorted. “I’m surprised you even fit in this car with that inflated ego of yours.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Maybe you’ll convince yourself that there isn’t anything between us.”

I sniffed and bit back the reply that there wasn’t anything between us.

He chuckled and the deep sound sent shivers through me. I stared through the windshield, frowning. “Where are we going? This isn’t the way to my dorm.”

“My place.”

The two words sent a jolt through me. “Why?”

“I’m without a vehicle.”

“So I can drive myself home from your place, is that it?”

He nodded once, but there was something unconvincing in the motion that only seemed to heighten my own unease. Like maybe he was hoping I would stay.
You’re just dropping him off, Emerson. You’re not going inside
.

I had my own car. I was in control. As we turned onto the narrow road that wound around the edge of the lake, I reminded myself of this.

We bumped along the uneven gravel drive beside his house. The night seemed full of light out here. Moonlight bounced off the vastness of snow and ice. The lake stretched out into forever like a white sheet of glass. He killed the engine. “I’ll get your door. It’s slippery.”

I watched, my pulse pounding, as he walked around for my door.

Stepping out, I held my hand up for the keys. “You didn’t need to turn the car off.”

“I thought you might like to see something I’m working on.”

I frowned, certain that suspicion stared out from my eyes. He looked down at me so soberly. There was nothing sly in his gaze. It was just him, but he’d always been like that. From the very beginning. So direct and straightforward. He didn’t say a lot, but when he did it meant something. It was truth.

He motioned to the work shed beside the house. “I’ve seen your art . . . at least what was in your room.” He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. He actually looked a little self-conscious. A definite first for him. He always seemed so confident. Something fluttered loose inside me at this new side of him. “Well, this is mine, I guess.” His art. That’s what he was saying even if he was having trouble admitting it. Something loosened inside me, and I knew that I couldn’t turn away from this part of himself he was offering to show me.

I glanced at the shed. I wasn’t even going inside his house. I didn’t have to step foot inside the cozy-warm space that reminded me of a Normal Rockwell painting. I didn’t have to see that big bed again to remember how comfortable it was.

It was just a shed. What could it hurt? I nodded jerkily and followed him to the shed. It was a little warmer inside, but not by much. He flipped on a switch and I blinked at the sudden flood of light.

Engine parts and pieces of bike littered the small space everywhere. There were at least three motorcycles that looked finished. I didn’t know anything about bikes, but one was definitely a chopper. It was cherry red with shiny chrome. Beside that one sat another one that only looked partially assembled. It wasn’t painted yet. I stepped between the two.

“You built these?”

“Yeah.” He stroked one of his bikes, and I couldn’t help watching his hand. The long, blunt-tipped fingers. I remembered the unbelievable way they felt on me . . . in me. My face burned and I took a bracing breath.

Fortunately he was still looking at his bikes. “I’m making this one to sell. I have a client who’s interested.”

“If it looks anything like this one, you won’t have any trouble selling it.” I touched the red one, admiring it. All that fiery red was cold and smooth under my hand.

“I’m thinking about having a mural on the tank and fender . . . maybe something patriotic.”

“Like your tattoo?” I asked.

“A bit. It’s a starting point at least, but I would like it to be something fresh.”

“You could do an eagle’s face up close . . . have the eagle’s eye in actuality be the globe.” I bit my bottom lip, contemplating. I moved my hand in front of me, fingers flexing like I could see it. Touch it. And in that moment, I could. It was like I was working the shapes and colors with my hands right then. “That could be cool . . . symbolic. Maybe clouds that look faintly like flags.” I dropped my hand and shrugged. Glancing at him, I froze at the intent way he was looking at me. Like I had said something profound.

“Could you do that?”

“M-me?” My voice squeaked a bit. “I’ve never done anything like that. I work on paper or canvas.”

“But you could do it.” He uttered this so absolutely. Like he had no doubt. “It’s just airbrushing.”

“I could mess it up.”

“Then we’d start over.”

We
. When did that happen? We weren’t
we
in any way, shape, or form.

“How do you know you can’t do it? You gotta try, right?” He searched my face, his eyes peering into mine like he was looking into my soul, and suddenly I didn’t feel like we were talking about airbrushing his bike anymore.

I shivered and chafed my arms, pretending it was the cold and not him. Not the way he watched me or talked to me. Not the memory of what his hands and mouth felt like on me.

He looked down at the bike again. “Have you ever been on one?”

I shook my head quickly, relieved at the change of subject. “No.”

His mouth twisted into a half smile. “Afraid?”

“No. I’ve just never been with—” I caught myself and corrected. “I’ve never met anyone who had a bike before.”

Something flashed in his eyes and I knew he caught my slip. Thinking that way was dangerous
.
You’re not
with
him.
Never forget that
.

He patted the seat. “Hop on.”

“What? Ride it? Now?”

“No. It’s too cold, but try it on for size.” His eyes roamed my face in that way of his that made my stomach flutter. Like he was really looking at me. Memorizing me.

I looked down at the seat and shrugged. Why not? I lifted one jeans-clad leg and straddled the bike. It wasn’t like hopping on my beach cruiser back home. It was bigger. I had to spread my thighs wider. My hand stroked the seat cushion.

It was a little intimidating to think about flying sixty miles an hour down the highway on this thing.

His voice sounded close to my ear. “How’s it feel?”

I grasped the handlebars in front of me. “It feels . . . dangerous.”

“Here. Like this.” His bigger hands closed over mine, adjusting my grip. My heart raced faster at the texture of his callused palms on the backs of my fingers, at the solid press of his chest against my back. I trembled, longing to twist on the seat and wrap my arms around him, pull him close and taste him again.

Only I knew where that would lead.

“And sit back a little farther.” His hands skimmed along my arms. Even through my sleeves goose bumps broke out all over my flesh. His hands settled on my hips. He pulled me back on the seat in one easy drag. Like I weighed nothing at all. It heightened my awareness of his strength, his size. I was used to being smaller than average, but even I couldn’t be called skinny. I had my curves. But Shaw made me feel almost delicate. “You don’t want to be so far up front.”

I nodded dumbly.

“Feel better?” he asked, his voice a deep purr near my ear. The question was innocent enough, but his hands lingered on me. The weight and pressure of them made me think of where else those hands had been. The delicious things he had done to me.

And how much I craved his doing them again.

As though he could read my mind, his hands drifted, skimming my hips, moving up to my waist. My breath hitched. I sat a little straighter. He hesitated for just a heartbeat. And then continued over my stomach, stopping just below my breasts. His thumbs pushed against the bottom swells, lifting them higher. My nipples hardened. The satin of my bra felt abrasive against the tips and I wiggled a little on the seat of the bike.

Suddenly the bike dipped a little with his weight. He sank down behind me, his thighs aligning with mine. Instantly, I felt warmer with his body behind me. He fit himself snugly against me. His lips grazed my ear, a teasing brush. I just had to turn my face and my lips could reach his.

I didn’t move. My chest lifted high with deep breaths, thrusting my breasts out higher. His thumbs continued to drag back and forth against the undersides. I bit my lip to stop a moan from escaping, a small plea for him to stop tormenting me and just take me in his hands.

He pressed closer against my back and that’s when I felt him against my bottom. The hard bulge of him prodded me and I clenched my teeth to stop myself from grinding against him. That was begging for trouble and I was already knocking at its door.

I released the handlebars and quickly climbed off the bike. I slid my sweaty palms down my front and then brought shaky hands up to tuck my hair behind my ears. “I don’t think I’ll be riding one anytime soon.” At least I didn’t stammer the words. The way I shook on the inside, it was surprising.

He sat there looking up at me, his eyes dark and heavy. “You don’t have to. Maybe you can just take a drive with me sometime. In the spring when it warms up a little.”

Riding with him? As in sixty miles an hour with the wind blowing all around us and my arms wrapped around him. Just the idea left me feeling exhilarated. He made the offer so casually as he climbed off the bike and stood with one hand tucked halfway in his front pocket. Even crazier than that was the idea that he would still be hanging around me come spring.

“Maybe.” I shuffled my feet toward the shed door. “I really need to get back now.”

He followed me from the shed without trying to stop me. Not a touch or a kiss. I almost expected him to. What was all that on the bike if he wasn’t even going to try to for more? Again, just more evidence that he wasn’t like any other guy I’d encountered. And even more confusing was that I didn’t know which emotion humming through me was stronger. Relief or disappointment.

He watched me back out of the drive, still looking relaxed. When I pulled out onto the street and left his house behind, in my mind I could still see him standing there.

I didn’t think I would ever close my eyes again without seeing him.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins
Publishers

....................................

Chapter 14

I
was waiting for
Pepper the following morning. It was close to nine when I heard her enter next door. I bumped the partially open adjoining door with my hip. She and Reece sat near her desk, sorting through a bag of bagels.

She looked up. “Hey. Em!” Reece gave me a wave.

She must have read something in my expression. Pepper approached me, holding half a bagel in her hand, her eyes bright with worry. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She slid an uncertain look to Reece. “Well, last night Logan saw you and was a little worried that maybe you were in over your head—”

“Logan? Reece’s man-whore brother?
He
was worried I was in over my head?” I pressed a hand to my chest.

“Yes!” Pepper’s eyes flashed. “If Logan thought the situation was bad, then the situation was bad.”

“Uh, hello?” Reece waved his bagel, his expression grim. “I’m right here. Can you not call my brother a whore anymore?”

“Sorry, baby.” Pepper smoothed a hand over his shoulder.

“I just would like to know why you thought it was a good idea to text Shaw?” I tossed my arms out wide on either side of me. “Why? Is there something I should know?”

Pepper glanced at me and then looked at Reece searchingly.

Reece looked at me, his stare unflinching. “Is it that hard to figure out? The guy is into you.”

“So that is supposed to mean—”

“He gives a shit about you, Em,” he said, clearly having no trouble being direct with me. “Maybe that
should
mean something. He’s a helluva lot better for you than those other losers you waste your time—”

“Emerson.” Pepper’s voice cut in, which was a good thing. I was about to go off on her boyfriend for lecturing me about what kind of guy I chose to spend time with. Pepper continued, “I know you like Shaw. I’ve seen you with him. He’s . . . different. You’re different when you’re around him.”

I wrenched my gaze off Reece’s hard-eyed stare. He looked at me like I was the bad one here. Like I was screwing his friend over. What did they want from me? I couldn’t be like Pepper. I couldn’t just have a boyfriend and fall in love.

I stared levelly at Pepper. “I love you, girl, but you gotta stop this matchmaking business. Both of you.” I glanced at Reece and then back at her. “It’s not going to work.”

She gave a single nod, but she still had that worried look. “Okay.”

Okay. Good. I nodded, but the sense of relief I wanted didn’t come. No relief or satisfaction or whatever. The hollow feeling inside me only yawned deeper. “Thanks.” I waved at them both. “I’ll leave you alone now. Carry on.”

Pepper glanced at her clock. “I thought we were going to walk to class together.”

“No, I’m going in early to work on my stuff for the showcase.”

Pepper’s eyes brightened. “That’s right. That’s coming up. When is it?”

“Next Friday.”

Pepper glanced at Reece. “It’s a big university art show that Em’s in.” She looked back at me. “Are you ready for it?”

“I think so.” My mind drifted to the painting of Shaw and I fidgeted. Professor Martinelli made it clear she expected to see it in the exhibit. It was hard enough putting anything I created on display, but that painting? It would feel like I was baring myself up there on that wall. Like
I
was on display. But Martinelli had made it clear my grade would suffer if I left it out.

“What time?” Pepper asked. “Georgia and I want to go.”

“Yeah. I’d like to see your work.” Reece nodded. “Maybe I can the night off.”

“Um.” I bit my lip. “It’s not a big deal. You guys don’t have to come.”

They exchanged glances before looking back at me. “Why not? Georgia and I went last year—”

“I know,” I cut in. “It’s just not a big deal. You saw that last year.”

“I thought it was awesome. I loved that painting you did of the dog waiting outside the Java Hut.”

I smiled in memory. That was one of my favorites, too. I’d snapped the picture on my phone of a dog wearing a jaunty little neck scarf outside the coffeehouse.

“Why don’t we meet outside afterward?” I suggested. The last thing I wanted was for them to see the painting of Shaw. Even though it was just his eyes, they would probably recognize him and that was just too mortifying to contemplate. “Really,” I insisted. “It’s no big deal. You went last year. It’s just more of the same.”

“I want to go. I would like to see what you’ve been working on. And don’t you want someone there?” The instant the words were out there I could see the apprehension in Pepper’s eyes. Fear that she had somehow hurt me with the reminder that I had no one to attend on my behalf. No family that cared enough to come out and support me. Last year family members had crowded the exhibit, all there to support their loved one.

“No. I’m fine. Really.” I was accustomed to the lack of family in my life.

“If you’re sure,” Pepper said, but she still sounded unconvinced. “I really would like to go though.”

“Pepper,” I chided. “I’m sure you can think of a lot more entertaining things to do. Like tie this hot boyfriend of yours up to a bed or something.”

Reece laughed.

“Em!” Pepper looked shocked even though I knew there wasn’t much that could shock her these days. Not since she and Reece had hooked up. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. I was surprised they ever left the bedroom.

“Just let us know if you change your mind,” Reece said, rubbing Pepper’s back. “We want to be there for you.”

I nodded, but I knew I wouldn’t change my mind. There was no way anyone could see that painting.

On Monday night, Shaw
came to my room. It was a little after eight. I had just gotten home from study group. On top of Friday’s showcase, I had a test coming up in my Medieval Art class. To make matters worse, Mom kept calling. I answered her calls, worried that if I didn’t talk to her she would just show up in my dorm again. So I endured her recriminations. She went back and forth from accusations to pleas. She even tried bribing me with a trip to Europe.

I had enough on my plate without Shaw showing up. I stared at him through the peephole as he knocked. Three steady knocks. He waited, glancing left and right down the hall, one arm braced along the wall near the door. Holding my breath, I appreciated the square cut of his jaw, the strong line of his nose. The well-carved lips that haunted me still. Everything inside me lurched and responded to the sight of him.
Sexy as hell
. I bit my lip.

“Emerson, you in there?”

Compressing my lips, I watched him until he turned away. The sound of his tread faded. In the distance, I heard the ding of the elevator. Releasing the breath I’d been holding, I collapsed against the door, sliding down its length until I was sitting on the floor. At least Georgia wasn’t here. I didn’t need her witnessing me coming apart over a guy. Especially Shaw. Shaw with his eyes always on me, watching and intent, devouring. Shaw with his shirt off, his body hard, muscles rippling under his tanned skin. He was beautiful. The most beautiful guy I’d ever seen, and it wasn’t just his looks. He’d be beautiful twenty years from now. It was a quality he had. A confidence. It was in his voice when he talked about Adam. When he showed me his bikes. When he told me I needed to pursue my art and screw a desk job. And it was in his eyes when he looked at me. In his hands when they touched me.

I swallowed. I’d clearly let it go too far if I was feeling this way.

Lying in bed that night, I was almost asleep when my phone buzzed beside me. I reached for it on the shelf that edged the bed and stared at the lit screen in the dark.

Shaw:
Hey. I stopped by to see you

I bit my lip and stroked the screen with my thumb, almost like I was touching him.

I stared at his words, debating replying or just letting his text go unanswered.

It was as if I could hear the deep purr of his voice
.
I clutched the phone in both hands and held it close to my chest, at war with myself. I wanted to reply. I wanted to pick up the phone and tell him to come over. But I resisted. After a few minutes, the phone vibrated in my hands. I glanced down anxiously, feeling like a thirteen-year-old girl with her first call from a boy.

Shaw:
Good-night, Emerson

By Wednesday Shaw quit
texting me altogether, and something in me died a little because I knew he wouldn’t anymore. He’d given up. And why shouldn’t he? I’d put up all my walls so that he would do just that.

I went to class, spent every free moment I had at the studio. Ate. Slept. Staying busy helped. Until my mind strayed to him. At night it was impossible not to think of him. Alone in my bed, staring into the dark, I should have dropped into a dead sleep. Instead I thought about him. I thought about how I couldn’t stop thinking about him and how that had never happened to me before.

Jeff from the Java Hut texted me. At eleven thirty on Thursday night. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what he wanted. I read between his simple words and knew he was looking for a hookup.

It would have been easy. Undemanding and straightforward. He was attractive. We’d hooked up before, but now all I could see was Shaw in my mind. Was this how other girls felt when they got themselves all worked up and desperate over a boy? When they let themselves get used and trampled on? No thanks.

On Friday morning, I was walking to the campus bookstore, which happened to be located across the street from the Grapevine. I stared at the restaurant for a moment before moving to the crosswalk. Before I could even consider what I was doing, I was hurrying across the street and diving inside. The delicious aroma of fresh-baked bread greeted me, but I wasn’t interested in food.

To my relief, Beth’s was the first face I spotted, standing behind the hostess’s podium.

“Emerson,” she greeted, her manner as stilted as the last time . . . once I had made it known I was friends with Shaw. “Good to see you again. How many in your party—”

I held up a hand, cutting her off. “I came here to talk to you.”

She blinked, and then glanced around uneasily as if she might call for backup.

“Just hear me out.” I inhaled, determined to do this. I had to do this. For Shaw. “I know you don’t know me, but I—Shaw and I—” Hell, what was I supposed to say? “Shaw’s my friend.” Forget the fact that he had stopped texting and calling me. Shaw was special. He deserved . . . hell, he deserved everything. He deserved better than me. He deserved to have his family in his life.

I could see it all stretching ahead. Beth inviting him to her wedding. Embracing him back into the fold. Maybe he’d fall in love with one of her bridesmaids. A girl named Amy who liked to fish. She’d bait her own hook and they would fish off the dock at his lake. A year from now, he wouldn’t even remember the color of my eyes.

God, I hated Amy
.

I swallowed and shoved this imaginary girl from my mind. Moistening my lips, I said in a firm voice, “I care about Shaw.”

It was like a shutter fell over her eyes. “Did he send you—”

“No. No, he would never do that, and if you really knew him, then you would know that.” Something flickered in her eyes. I stepped closer, softening my voice. “I think you do know that. In fact, he’d probably be pissed if he knew I was talking to you.”

She ducked her head and sighed. When she looked back up, moisture glimmered in her eyes. “What do you want from me?”

I’d come this far. I couldn’t stop now. “I can’t even begin to know what you’ve gone through. What you and your family have gone through, but Shaw . . . Shaw’s your family, too. You’re not the only one who lost Adam. Shaw lost him, too. And he blames himself. He feels responsible for Adam being there. You not talking to him, cutting him out of your life . . . he thinks he deserves that. He thinks he deserves to be alone.”

Beth stared at me, saying nothing.

I stepped back, wiping my damp palm against my thigh. “And that’s all I needed to say.”

I turned and headed for the door.

“Emerson.”

I stopped and looked over my shoulder. Beth took one step after me, her gaze sharp and penetrating. “He’s not alone anymore. Is he? He has you.”

I stared at her for a moment, waiting for the denial to come hard and swift. But I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t deny her words.

“You care about him.”

Emotion rose up in my throat, making speech impossible. Even if I wanted to respond. Even if I could.

Turning, I pushed through the door and out into the cold.

By the time that
night arrived, I was a wreck. I couldn’t stop thinking about Shaw. Seeing Beth had only made it worse. I ached when I remembered his mouth on mine. The way his eyes looked at me. I thought about when he showed me the bike he was building. Because he thought I would appreciate it. Because he cared about my opinion. Every once in a while I pulled out my phone and read the last text from him
.

It didn’t help that I spent all my free time putting the finishing touches on his painting, concentrating on the memory of his face. I named it
A Winter’s Morning
.

The showcase was held in the Student Memorial Center the same as last year. Lots of wall space and room for easels. It was probably more crowded than the year before, which only made sense. We had more students in the art program this year.

I smiled and made nice as Gretchen introduced me to her parents and grandparents. They’d traveled all the way from Colorado to be here. I mingled, but stayed near my work. Professor Martinelli stressed the importance of being available for discussion.

A Winter’s Morning
elicited a great deal of attention. This was both gratifying and troubling. It felt like me hanging up there. It wasn’t me, I knew. No, it was worse than that. It was Shaw. How I saw him. How he affected me.

“I’m very proud of you, Emerson.” My face warmed as Professor Martinelli stopped to stand beside me. “Outstanding work. If you don’t mind . . . I have a friend who owns a gallery in Boston. I’d like to show her some of your work.” She pointed at my canvas. “Especially this one.”