Touch & Go (2 page)

Ava was giving it her college best, really she was, but there was no stopping the freak-out in progress.

Sam was kissing her.

His lips were on hers in a soft press that, based on its closed-mouth properties alone, should have been benign. But this was
Sam.
And he was in strict violation of a no-fly zone their friendship
never
breached. Sure, she and Sam were touchy-feely friends of the highest order. He always had an arm around her. Her legs draped over his. Something. She was a cuddler, so contact in and of itself was no big thing. But there were lines friends didn't cross. Lines that started above the knee and ended below the belly button. Panty lines. Bust lines. And most important, lip lines. Which meant the intimacy of that taboo contact, even as chaste as it was—well, it was crossing wires Ava had spent twenty years trying to keep straight.

So the freak-out?

Yeah, it was on.

Because now how was she supposed to look at Sam's hands without thinking of them warm at the sides of her face as he lowered his mouth to hers? How was she going to look into his eyes without seeing that last instant when they dropped to her lips? And how the heck was she supposed to look at that gorgeous, easy smile of his and hide the fact that after twenty years of wondering what his kiss would taste like, she wished the only one they were likely to share through the course of their entire lives had lasted just a little longer, gone a bit deeper, been a smidge more real?

Because already it was over.

Five beats of her heart and Sam was withdrawing. Slowly.

Really slowly, actually. And then after a point, not at all. The contact that had been a soft press was still there, but only in its most minimal form.

“You're freaking out,” Sam stated quietly against her lips, one big hand moving from her cheek to brush back through her hair.

“A little.” No point in denying it. He knew her too well to miss the tension radiating off her in waves. They'd be lucky if Steven couldn't catch it from where the ass was still watching them from the door.

Sam let out a low laugh, his mouth curving against her own and making that place deep inside her heart ache from the overwhelming pleasure of it. Another light caress through her hair, and she had to remind herself this was for show before she did something crazy like melt into a touch that felt altogether too real, but wasn't.

“We can stop now,” he murmured against her lips. “Let the guy believe what he will. Or…”

The ache in Ava's chest ceased with all other activity there. Her heart stalled, her breath caught on that single dangling word. Two letters she knew deep down to her core were trouble, but tempted her too much to ignore.

“Or,” she prompted, her whisper hardly reaching her own ears.

The corner of his mouth hitched hard on one side. “Or you let me kiss you for real…and you kiss me back.”

The obvious answer here was to leave it at the single kiss and let Steven draw his own conclusions. That would be the smart thing. The safe thing.

“But Ave, if you can't handle it, just say the word and we'll end it here. Cut out and go back to your place to watch
The Hangover.
”

If she couldn't
handle
it?

Ava blinked up at her best friend of more than twenty years, her hardest crush and best-kept secret, about 98 percent certain the guy had just thrown down the gauntlet. Intentionally.

Giving in to her own laugh, she looped her arms around Sam's neck and flashed him a merciless grin. “Do you
want
to kiss me?”

Sam met her stare with that same easy confidence he brought to everything else. This guy wasn't ruffled. He wasn't concerned. He was just…Sam. Taking whatever opportunities life granted him and having fun with them. Not taking things too seriously, and reminding her not to either.

“Come on, you can't tell me you've never wondered what it would be like? To try it.
Just once.
”

Tonight, in this context, it was a truth she could afford to share, even if the flippant, casual tone she wrapped it in was a lie. “Sure, I've wondered…you know, what all the fuss is about, because girls talk and with you there are a lot of girls and, well, a lot of talk. And heck, I mean we've been friends a long time. So yeah, I've wondered. From time to time. A little.”

A lot. For years. But it was a curiosity she'd kept under control.

He was nodding, keeping his tone low. “And here we are with the perfect excuse. We won't even have to worry about it being weird after. What do you say, Ava?”

“One real kiss and then we're done?”
God,
this was what she wanted, but the way her heart was slamming against her ribs made her think it might be a mistake with catastrophic potential.

“Yeah. One kiss and then we're done. But it's got to be the real deal. No chintzing out on me.”

He was right. This was the perfect justification. Her one chance at living out a fantasy with zero risk of the repercussions that had kept her in check for more than two decades.

“Okay,” she whispered, half breathless at the idea alone. Because she was in. “Show me what all the fuss is about.”

“Brace yourself, Ave,” he warned, giving her his cockiest, most devastating grin.

The first thing Ava figured out was “the fuss” was about more than the kiss itself. It was a complete package that began with an intensifying of Sam's focus. His eyes seeming to drink her in as his hands started a slow, migrating roam through her hair, down her neck, and across her back, with his arms picking it up from there. The tightening embrace bringing her into a full body contact so warm and solid and right, this time there was no choice but to melt into it.

And why resist? This was her chance. Her stolen moment.

In fact, what the heck was she doing just staring up at him like some passive, waiting recipient?

This was her chance.

Unlinking her hands from around Sam's neck, she speared her fingers deep into the tousled mess of golden-blond temptation previously allowed to her only under the pretense of determining the need for a cut. But not tonight. Tonight that unruly bit of wave was hers for the taking and as she sank, full-fingered, into the silk of it she couldn't contain the soft purr of pleasure slipping past her lips.

That too-telling sound at any other time would have left her terrified by the prospect of being discovered, but tonight they would simply chalk it up to being a part of the show. Just like Sam's answering groan when her fingers tightened, burying themselves deeper still in the thick strands she never wanted to be free of.

Sam's brows pulled together, his eyes darkening beneath the glittering backdrop of the nighttime cityscape behind them. And the fluttery awareness in her belly promised this was it. No more teasing. No more opportunities to back out.

No more waiting.

When Sam's mouth came down on hers, there was nothing gentle about it. The kiss he delivered was hungry, an insistent pressure so crazy right, all she could do was open beneath it. Welcome him into her mouth with the soft flick of her tongue, and then cling to the solid anchor who had been there through every rocking event of her life as he thrust deep, groaned, and then, pulling her impossibly closer, thrust again. It was as if a bolt of lightning speared straight through the center of her, overloading every circuit with twenty years' worth of
want,
desperate for release.

She couldn't hold back. Her hands were everywhere at once. Cupping the hard line of Sam's jaw, running over the packed muscles of his chest, and gripping the shoulders strong enough to carry stacks of two-by-fours and any personal burden without letting it bow him.

Tongue sliding over and around his, Ava didn't know how to stop. She didn't care about the lines she'd so painstakingly avoided all her life because the hot rush of blowing past them was better than anything she'd known before. Sam was kissing her like her mouth
was his,
holding her like he didn't know how to let her go. Like he didn't want to let go.

Another hot thrust and her whole body shuddered with need. With—

“Jesus, Ava,” Sam growled against her mouth, his hands wrapping firmly around her shoulders and holding her tight. Holding her away when he took a step back and her body tried to follow. “Talk about fuss. Holy fuck, woman.”

She blinked, too confused to follow what was happening, because the only single-minded thought in her head was
more.

“And let's just say it's a damned good thing I never got a taste of that in high school or something tells me we'd have been getting married on the wrong end of your dad's shotgun…Uhh…Ave?”

Okay, and that cut through the thick haze of her lust, bringing clarity back in an icy rush.

Sam was staring down at her, concern in his eyes as he ran one big hand over his mouth and jaw while continuing to hold her at arm's length with the other. This was bad.

“Ava, you okay?”

And the look he was giving her, like everything might not actually be the way he thought it was, couldn't be allowed to take root. She needed to think fast. Actually, screw that. What she needed to do was draw on the twenty-plus years of experience she had acting like there was nothing between them but friendship, like she was as breezy and cool as he was. And she needed to do it now.

“Whew!” she laughed, fanning herself dramatically, as she shoved her features around until her smile and eyes weren't giving anything more away than she'd just had a nice bit of carefree fun. “I'm going to need a glass of water after that one. Nice work, Sam. You know how picky I am, but that was some grade-A technique.”

Sam blinked and then, dropping his arm, took another step back, letting out a relieved laugh himself. “This surprises you?
Please.
”

And like that, they were good.

“Looks like Stalker took the hint too.”

The ballroom doorway was empty, thank God.

“Yeah, I snuck a peek before we wrapped things up.”

“Thorough too.” Pulling the lapels of Sam's jacket around her tighter, she tried to warm the rapidly cooling spot inside her chest. “Think it's safe to clear out of here?”

Sam checked his watch and then, draping an arm around her shoulders, nodded. “Yeah. Our work is done.”

The gesture was easy. Unconsciously smooth. An affectionate move Sam had been making for so long, Ava couldn't remember a time when she hadn't felt the weight of his arm across her shoulders. It was normal, which meant everything was going to go back to the way it had been without even so much as a bleep.

Good.

That's what they'd agreed to. It was what she wanted.

Because it would be stupid to hope for Sam to be uncomfortable after a kiss that didn't mean anything. To wish that maybe he'd feel like things couldn't just seamlessly slide back into place. To disrupt a norm she'd spent the majority of her life conditioning herself to accept.

Sam wasn't going to suddenly start to love her because they'd gotten their kiss on for five incredible minutes. The man went through kisses like water. He enjoyed them. One after another. Never getting attached to one, because there was always another to look forward to. The only thing that differentiated Ava's from the hordes of kisses that had come before and would inevitably come after…was that lack of weirdness ensuring she'd be able to do what all those other women he kissed could not. She'd be able to keep him.

She'd have his friendship, his easy smile and dumb jokes and downtime hanging out watching stupid movies that made them both laugh themselves silly. She'd have what she'd always cherished. Just shy of everything.

Something no kiss was worth giving up.

Back in the ballroom, the event was definitely winding down. Ava gave Sam his jacket back and they chatted with one of her partners for a few minutes over a last drink before saying their goodbyes.

It was comfortable. Easy. Good.

They walked to the bank of elevators, and after pushing the down button Sam stepped back into line with her, his arm sliding around her back, only this time, instead of falling into its usual innocuous position, it drifted lower…his fingertips grazing a light, teasing trail down the bare skin of her arm and firing up every nerve along the way.

Ava's breath rushed out, her head cranking around to where Sam had gone stone-still beside her. The look on his face as he stared down at where he'd just touched her and then back up into her eyes falling somewhere between utter discomfort and abject horror.

“Accident,” Sam grumbled by way of apology, shoving his fingers through his hair and giving it a good yank to try and wake up. Because not cool. Not even a little. Ava was standing beside him, a soft pink burning through her cheeks as she stared at the elevator doors, the charge in the air between them one that had never been there before. It was awkward and uncomfortable, and what the hell was he supposed to do now? Throw the arm around her he'd meant to the first time before some synaptic misfire went and fucked everything up? Pretend that near electric jolt hadn't run through him at the feel of her bare skin beneath his fingertips?

Actually, now that he thought about it, yeah. That wasn't a half-bad idea after all.

Only this was
Ava.
And he didn't lie to her, because she'd never lie to him. And that meant something.

So cutting her a look, he opened his palms and let out a guilty breath.

“Okay, so the kiss was maybe better than I'd been expecting. And evidence would suggest its residual effect is lasting a few minutes longer than I'd have guessed.”

Ava's eyes narrowed, slanting toward him in a way that made him want to take a step back. “You thought I'd be a bad kisser?”

And hello bigger problems than he was equipped to handle right then.

“No,” he answered quickly. Firmly. Honestly, too, because with that mouth of hers—
Christ,
it was wide and full and sexy as fuck. But he'd pretty much been telling himself it couldn't be as hot as it looked since he was sixteen and hormones started putting stupid ideas in his head about the one girl he knew better than to put a move on.

“No way I thought you'd be a
bad
kisser. But I mean, like you said, I've kissed my fair share of women—” Noting her arch look, he rolled his eyes, amending, “Fine, and maybe Ford's share, too, but what I was getting at was…you stand out. It was a really
good
kiss. So good, it scrambled a few signals upstairs, and when I reached for you like I always do, instead of going buddy-buddy, it went…
not so buddy.
”

Okay, now she was checking her nails. Never a good sign. “And this, after ‘brace yourself'?”

Sam pressed his tongue against a molar, coughing out a short laugh. He'd known he would pay for that one. Like he should have known Ava would be cool about whatever went down between them. And she'd prove it by ribbing him as relentlessly as she always had.

Damn,
he loved her.

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. This time Sam knew exactly what he was doing when he reached for the girl who was everything that mattered to him. Catching her around the shoulder, he firmly tucked her into his arm as they stepped into the waiting car, already occupied by three passengers. Moving to the far side, he watched the doors close, felt the subtle drop as the elevator began to move, and then slowly, awfully, became aware of the soft slide of Ava's hair where it fell across his wrist and hand, and the tingling charge in his fingertips as he resisted the urge to catch a bit of it and rub.

Clearing his throat, he moved his arm. Took the half step back available in the confined space and tried to shake out the offending limb as subtly—and when that didn't work, not so subtly—as he could.

Ava shot him a curious glance.

“Hand's asleep.” And this time the lie really did seem better than the truth. At least right then.

The doors opened to the lobby, and Sam was thinking his plans to watch a flick with Ava when they got home would have to wait until he'd taken some quality alone time with Anne Hathaway as Catwoman throwing her leather-clad leg over a motorcycle. Only then Steven was in his peripheral vision, the guy lurking off in a corner by himself, and instinct kicked in, driving Sam to do what any fake boyfriend worth his weight would.

He caught Ava by the arm and with a single tug, spun her back into his hold, and stole another kiss like it was his to take. And
Jesus,
in an instant she was right there with him. Melting into his chest and opening beneath his mouth as he held her against him with her own hand wrapped in his at the small of her back.

By international standards, this kiss was far tamer than its French cousin up on the terrace. But despite the lack of tongue, it burned at least as hot as the last. More. And he wasn't the only one to feel it. Beneath his fingers, Ava's pulse was racing. Her breath was unsteady against his lips. And when he drew back and looked down into her eyes, there was no denying the heat in them.

That heat shouldn't have started his heart jacking in his chest. It shouldn't have ramped him up. Because this was Ava and they were friends and that was never going to change. Only, somehow, suddenly, the fact that this was
Ava
and knowing she was responding the same as him was ramping him up like nothing else. Because she wasn't worried. He'd have seen it in her eyes if she were. And if she wasn't worried…maybe for the sake of really hammering things home with Stalker, indulging for just a few more minutes wouldn't be the worst thing to do.

Sam was kissing her again. Backing her through the hotel lobby toward the street exit with their bodies in an intimate press better than just about anything her imagination could have summoned.

It wasn't real—she'd seen Stalker Steve an instant before Sam reeled her back into his kiss—but it didn't matter. His lips were firm and warm and half smiling against hers. And when their eyes met, their silent agreement was struck.

Just a little bit longer.

Just for show.

Just enjoy it.

At the revolving doors, they broke from the kiss and Sam spun her forward, keeping her body in front of his as they exited. There were a couple of groups ahead of them for the cab, so Sam let the doorman know where they were headed and then pulled her off to a quiet corner out of the way.

Against her neck, he murmured, “He could still be watching.”

“He could,” she agreed breathlessly, reaching back to sift her fingers into his hair as he pulled hers aside and set his mouth to that stretch of skin beneath her ear that had never been so sensitive. “Oh my God, you're good at that.”

Another lazy smile against her neck. “We want it to look legit, right?”

“Yes,” she gasped, as his arm stole around her middle, pulling her in closer still. “This is our window. We should make the most of it.”

“Are you sure? Because if we were really going to sell it, Ava,
I'd make you blush
. Get you to tell me what color panties you're wearing beneath this dress—the lacy dark blue ones, I'm betting? Ask you, when I put my mouth here”—he pressed an openmouthed kiss beneath her ear, drawing against the tender spot with the lightest suction before returning to nuzzle her lobe—“if it makes those pretty panties
wet
?”

“Sam.”
The way his name slipped past her lips like it was some kind of plea should have had her backtracking, trying to reinforce the friendly state of their relationship, and at any other time, it would have. But Sam was doing this on purpose, so what was the harm in giving him what he was after?

“Jesus, Ava, that blush is going to be the end of me. I shouldn't be able to make you do it. I shouldn't know I
can
make you.”

Just like she shouldn't know that after all the years of believing this man was totally immune to her, suddenly she had the power to affect him. A power that was drugging, addicting, and had her desperately wanting to test the limits. She wanted to find out how far she could push before he cracked. Before he wouldn't
let
her push anymore.

Still tucked back to front in Sam's hold, she turned her head to rub one cheek against his chest. “Then you probably don't want to know about the state of my panties, Sam.”

It was a challenge. A dare.

A bold leap from the harmless games of flirtation they'd been playing upstairs.

Sam tensed, his slow-roaming hand stilling over her hip, and she wondered if, that quick, the limit had been reached. Only then his fingers began to close, his grip on her tightening in a way that had her heart starting to skip.

“Tell me.”

She barely recognized the voice that reached her ears; it was so low, so rough. Nothing easy or laid-back about it. And
it was for her.

“You're right. I'm wearing the midnight-blue.” A lacy set he'd found within days of her purchasing them while he'd been fingering through her stuff, waiting for her to find a missing sneaker. A set he'd made all sorts of teasing, appreciative noises about, just to get a rise out of her. “And as for their being wet?”

Wet
was an understatement. She'd gotten wet at that first chaste kiss up on the terrace. Pushed into sodden at the mere mention they kiss for real, and hit drenched at the first sweep of his tongue. Now, with Sam barely breathing behind her, his thick fingers balling into the fabric of her dress, pulling the skirt tight around her?

“I don't think I'll ever be able to wear them again,” she whispered back to him, adding a sinuous little shift of her body against his. “After tonight…I think they're
ruined.
”

Not that she cared. They'd been happily sacrificed on the altar of fantasies-come-to-life, and under the safety net of convincing Stalker Steven she wasn't available, no less.

She waited for the baiting comeback. For Sam to say something. Do something. Only instead of lightening the mood or pushing their game further, the only words Sam had for her were, “Get in the car, Ava.”

Confused, she blinked and then noticed the doorman standing beside a Yellow Cab, waving them in.

Game over. Or it would be within the next several seconds, anyway.

Body still thrumming with the awareness Sam had woken in her, Ava sighed moving forward, because that's what she did. Always. And like always, Sam was there with her, the reassuring warmth of his hand at the small of her back as they crossed to the waiting cab. She thought he might kiss her once more. She hoped for it. But at the door, he stood back, waiting. Then, once she was situated, he climbed in beside her, shutting the door.

The air in the cab seemed still. Heavy with all the things they were going to need to say to put the night behind them.

Sam raked his fingers through his hair, staring forward as they pulled into traffic. His hands balled at his sides, only to flex open when, with a curse, he shook them out in front of him.

“Sam?” she asked, reaching for him, because whatever he was in the middle of—and it was definitely something—she was in it with him.

Her fingers met his arm and his eyes closed. Then, letting out a coarse laugh the likes of which she'd never heard from him before, he turned to her, hard eyes running over her face, before he swore again. And then, faster than she could see it coming, he had her by the shoulders and pulled her across his lap.

“What do you say, Ave,” he asked, searching her eyes. “Feel like making a really bad decision with me?”