Tease

  Her mouth parted in a small O of surprise. She took a small step back, relaxing her shoulders. “Yeah, well.” She turned a tight smile on me. “You’re just moving up in the world, Em.” She looked Shaw over now with decidedly less appreciation. “Hanging out with all sorts of interesting people.”

  I nodded, staring at Shaw. “I’m definitely keeping better company these days.”

  He smiled at me and a strange fluttering erupted in my belly. I looked back at Annie. Her cheeks flushed. With a sniff, she stepped around us and punched an elevator button. Still feeling her eyes on me, I slipped my hand around Shaw’s and led him down the hall. I swiped my door card and entered my room, releasing his hand.

  My desk lamp glowed, saving the room from total blackness. Avoiding his gaze, I removed my jacket and hung it up in my criminally small closet, taking my time with the mundane task, struggling to slow my racing thoughts. I didn’t usually bring guys back home with me. It was letting them into my world. I fooled around plenty, but I didn’t want to wake up staring at some guy who should have taken the hint and left hours ago. And the thing that scared me the most in this situation was that I could see myself not wanting Shaw to leave. Assuming he wanted to stay over. Oh. God. Would you listen to me? It was like I was a love-struck teenager. Nothing was going to happen because I didn’t want it to happen. It was as simple as that.

  Finally, when there was no delaying it further, I looked up. “Thanks,” I breathed, motioning to the door. “Annie . . . she’s a real bitch.”

  “I take it you’re not hanging out with her anymore.” He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on my swivel chair. This only made my chest tighten. So he was staying. At least for a little while.

  I nodded, maybe a little too fast. “No. Not anymore.” Was that high-pitched squeak my voice?

  “Good.” He approached me with slow strides. With his long legs, it took about three steps for him to reach me in the small space of the room.

  I held myself utterly still as he tucked a short strand of hair behind my ear. Even my lungs froze, unable to move air in and out. This close, all I could think about was kissing him again. The taste of him still lingered on my lips, and I just wanted to grab him by the back of the neck and slam my mouth over his again. God. I was a wreck around this guy.

  He grazed my cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. “She’s not the kind of friend to have your back.”

  I nodded again. “I-I know.”

  He was so close now. I could make out the tiny gold-brown flecks in his eyes. “Do you want me to go, Emerson?” His voice was deep and low. He didn’t even need to speak. This close I could have read his lips.

  I dragged a deep breath into my lungs through my nose, but that was a mistake. It only brought the clean, heady male scent of him in.

  “N-no.” What was I saying?

  “You don’t sound that convinced.”

  Because I wasn’t. Being around him I didn’t even know myself anymore.

  He dropped his hand from my face and stepped away. I leaned forward, chasing after that hand, almost falling. I staggered a step and stopped myself. He turned his attention to the suite, surveying it. His gaze trailed over Georgia’s side, rife with pictures of her family, Harris, me, and Pepper. Even her dog from back home graced his very own frame. It was easy to know which side was hers. Mine was less identifiable. Mine was just . . . less.

  Naturally, I had a lot of color. Several bright pillows and my floral bedspread that looked like some kind of Georgia O’Keeffe painting. Postcards and posters of various art—some of my favorite pieces. There was only one picture. It was of me and Pepper and Georgia last year at Christmas. We had all piled onto Santa’s lap at the mall. And that was it. No family pictures. It would be a lie to have them and pretend I had a real family.

  I’m sure he noted the lack of family pictures. It was in such opposition to Georgia’s side that showcased a great family. Even Pepper had a grandmother who loved her . . . and a father who had adored her before he passed away. She’d just drawn the short straw when it came to her mother.

  I had parents, but I might as well have been an orphan for how alone I felt in the world.

  “I guess this is your side?” He motioned to my purple and red floral bed.

  I nodded, my heart constricting as he sank down on it. He spent his time studying my postcards and posters. He didn’t even look at me. I frowned. One minute he wanted to devour me and the next? Not so much.

  I rubbed my perspiring palms against my thighs as he stared at a picture I had taped to the brick wall. I’d drawn it one day during my Biology class last semester. I was bored out of my mind. I had to take the course to meet my degree requirements, but I spent most of the time staring out the window. It was a simple pencil sketch on notebook paper.

  I remember that day. It was still warm and nice outside. There had been a girl studying on the quad, her boyfriend across from her, their hands laced lightly together between them as they studied, heads bowed over their separate books. I didn’t know them, but there had been something so natural and intimate in the pose. So sweet and innocent. Even the cynic in me had responded and had ripped out a piece of paper and quickly started drawing them.

  “You do this?” he asked, a hint of wonder in his voice.

  I nodded, feeling a giddy sense of pride.

  “It’s amazing.”

  I sank down on the bed beside him, my hands clutching the edge of the mattress. “I’m a studio arts major.”

  He faced me. “You’re really good. Is that what you want to do? Be an artist? Well, you are, clearly,” he amended. “But when you graduate?”

  I sighed. “I’ll probably end up going into marketing somewhere. Maybe a design firm, but . . . yeah, the dream would be to paint.”

  “Then that’s what you should do.”

  He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Smiling, I pulled one of my pillows into my lap and plucked at the fringe. “I need to actually get a paycheck.”

  He snorted. “You mean you don’t have some fat trust fund? Daddy won’t take care of you indefinitely?”

  My smile slipped. Yeah. Dad would keep paying my way. I was his only child and he seemed to have an endless supply of wealth, but I didn’t want that. I couldn’t keep accepting his money. It didn’t feel right. He paid my way because he had more money than he knew what to do with. You didn’t run a Fortune 500 company and not take your responsibilities seriously. And that’s what I was to him. A responsibility—the remnant of a marriage he would rather never have happened. I was an obligation that he would never shirk. He’d take care of me as long as I asked him to, but not because I was “Daddy’s girl” or because he loved me to the point of overindulgence. I’d met my fair share of Daddy’s girls here at Dartford. But I wasn’t one of them.

  My silence—or maybe my expression—must have answered for me. Shaw’s gaze moved on, skimming other scraps of paper that I’d pinned to my wall. His long, blunt-tipped fingers stalled on a sketch I did of Pepper and Reece locked in an embrace where I gave them multiple hands. They were like some sort of human octopus, with hands all over each other.

  He laughed. “That’s an accurate depiction.”

  I grinned. “I amuse myself sometimes.”

  “I can see that.” Humor danced in his eyes and he looked at me with something akin to appreciation. The way his eyes slid over me warmed me inside. It wasn’t the kind of look I usually got. It wasn’t lust filled. He looked at me like he liked me.

  I toyed with one of my short strands of hair, twisting and tucking it behind my ear. Useless. It sprang free again to dangle over my eye. “Those guys need to lock themselves away for a month until they get it out of their systems.”

  “You think a month would be enough?” His gaze roamed my face, his gravelly voice rubbing over me like the drag of satin on my skin. Skin that suddenly felt overly sensitive. “I could see how some people might need longer than that.” He was staring at my mouth
now and my face went from warm to hot.

  Butterflies erupted in my belly. I tore my gaze off him and looked back at the sketch of Pepper and Reece. Now I’m pretty sure we were talking—or at least thinking—about something else. Definitely not Pepper and Reece anymore.

  I suddenly had a vision of us together. With a whole lot less clothes on. I swallowed and took charge of the conversation again, determined to get my mind out of the gutter. “Pepper wasn’t as amused when I offered it to her. She thought it was creepy.”

  “I think it’s funny.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled again and curled my hands around my knees. The fabric of my purple tights felt smooth under my palms.

  “You should paint,” he reasserted with a swift nod. “Don’t go take some job in a cubicle. That would be a crime.”

  “And what about you?” I asked. “You were in the Marines. Are you finished with that?”

  “I’m still in the reserves, but after two tours, I’m done.” His face was impassive as he said this. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. He traced one finger along the slope of a tree that I had sketched when I was home for Christmas. It was an enormous beech tree right outside my bedroom window. I imagined it was the kind of tree a teenage girl would have shimmied down to sneak out. If her parents cared about her comings and goings and bothered with a curfew, that is. Neither of my parents ever cared. I never had a curfew. I came and went as I pleased. Got myself to school. Ate whatever the cook prepared for me. Sometimes Agnes even stayed and ate with me instead of her own family. Out of pity.

  While Dad was away in Barbados over the holidays, I hung out at the house and sketched the tree. It was something to do. A break from reruns of Top Chef.

  He still stared at the picture, but he looked far away, like he wasn’t here with me anymore, and I wondered if mentioning the Marines had pulled him away.

  I moistened my lips and decided to press for more information. “You lost your cousin over there . . .”

  Suddenly he was back with me again. His sharp gaze swung to me, alert. “Guess you would have heard that. No keeping something like that a secret.”

  I smiled almost apologetically. “Logan told me at your cousin’s engagement party.”

  He nodded grimly. “It’s the Marines, right? Some come home. Some don’t. We knew that before we went over there. I lost three in my unit in the first tour . . . and then I signed up again because I was determined to make it matter. To make a difference.”

  I pulled my knees up to my chest, unsure what to say. I wasn’t used to dealing with this kind of stuff. To talk to guys about anything serious. “You did.”

  He grunted. “How do you know that?”

  I opened my mouth, realizing that I didn’t. There wasn’t anything I could say that supported the claim, but I just knew. Looking at him, I knew. He had done something with his life. He had lived. He had worked for something bigger than himself.

  And that’s how I knew.

  I was in trouble. Everything that set him apart from the other guys was what drew me.

  Maybe it was this giddy realization. Maybe it was because I still had alcohol buzzing through my system, but a sudden, heady impulse seized me.

  Turning, I faced him. Whatever he saw in my face made him freeze. Watching me like he was the prey—for a change—I rose up on my knees beside him. Holding his gaze, I pulled my sweater over my head and tossed it to the floor.

  His eyes darkened, traveling over me. I ran a hand over my dark pink bra, lightly caressing the lacy cup.

  “What are you doing?”

  “C’mon. You act like you haven’t seen me in a bra before. I think you’ve seen me in less than this.”

  I slowly settled onto his lap, slipping my knees on either side of his hips.

  “That was different. You’re conscious now.”

  I smiled coyly, angling my head to the side. I pressed a finger to his lips, enjoying touching him, enjoying the sensation of that mouth that I knew could kiss me until I was quivering and useless for anything else. “Can you let me do this?”

  “Be in charge? Something tells me you’re used to that.” His eyes glinted at me, but he didn’t make a move.

  I took that as acceptance. Smiling, I lowered my head and pressed my open mouth to his neck. I licked and sucked at the salty-clean taste of his skin. I felt him sigh, his breath rustling my hair. Sitting back up, my hands dove for the hem of his shirt. I tugged it up. He lifted his arms, helping me pull it over his head. The sight that greeted me punched the air right out of my chest.

  He was lean and hard. His torso cut and defined. My gaze dropped to his abs. Screw six-pack. I counted. Was that an eight-pack?

  A large tattoo covered the skin of his left pec, crawling up onto his shoulder. My fingers chased the pattern of an eagle atop a globe and anchor. I recognized it as the Marine insignia. The name Adam was etched into the anchor, including the years of his birth and death. My chest tightened at further evidence that this guy was different. Special.

  His breathing sawed roughly from his lips and when I lowered my mouth to his chest, it kicked up a notch as I laved my tongue over him.

  His hands came up to circle my ribs. I allowed that. Until they crept up to my breasts, and then I grabbed his wrists.

  “Nuh-uh,” I murmured, smiling down at him as I pressed his hands to the mattress.

  He stared up at me in frustration. “I want to touch you.”

  “I do the touching. Just relax.” I pushed him back on the bed beneath me. Sitting over him, I felt empowered. Maybe I could have him, after all. Maybe he was someone I could control. I knew my game. Knew what worked. He wasn’t going to hurt me. I could handle the situation. Handle him.

  I took one last glimpse of his face, the dark, gleaming eyes fastened on me, before lowering to his chest. I kissed the broad expanse, using my tongue and teeth on the firm flesh. Gentle, butterfly kisses. Long, open-mouthed moist ones. I lavished him with my mouth and hands. His jaw, his neck. I fanned my breath in his ear before biting down on the lobe. He tensed beneath me with a groan and I knew I was getting to him. I felt drunk and it had nothing to do with the alcohol I had consumed tonight. I was high on him.

  He tried to kiss me and I dodged his mouth. I was already perilously close to losing my resolve when it came to him. I needed to avoid his kisses. They turned my brain to mush.

  “Let me kiss you,” he commanded, arching his head off the bed toward me.

  I pushed him back down with the flat of my palm and trailed a finger down the center of his chest. “No kissing.”

  “Emerson.” His eyes flashed at me. “I want your mouth.”

  “Oh, you’re going to get it,” I promised silkily.

  “On mine,” he qualified.

  I just grinned. “I promise you’ll enjoy wherever . . .” I kissed his collarbone. “I . . .” The pulse point on his neck. “Kiss . . .” The center of his chest. “You . . .” My lips trailed down the center of his chest, skimming warm, taut skin.

  His hands drifted back to my waist, the rough palms caressing the exposed flesh above my waistband. It was tempting to let his hands remain there, but I moved them back to his sides.

  “Let me touch you,” he growled.

  I tsked my tongue and dropped my hands to his jeans. My fingers closed expertly around the snap and tugged the denim open.

  “Emerson,” he said, warning thick in his voice. “You won’t let me touch you . . . kiss you . . . this isn’t—”

  “Sssh,” I admonished, dragging the teeth of his zipper down with a slow, gratifying sing, exposing the tented front of his boxers. Without touching him, I pulled the slit in his boxers wide, exposing him to the air.

  He sprang free. I bit my lip to keep my gasp from escaping at the bold, beautiful sight of him. He was hard, jutting forward, ready for me. I blew a warm breath gently over the tip of him.

  “Fuck, Emerson,” he choked out.

  “No,” I softly reprimanded, kissing him just
above his navel. “None of that, remember?”

  “You need to stop,” he growled, his body quivering beneath me.

  I touched the tip of him with one gentle fingertip. “Why?” I taunted, looking at him from beneath hooded eyes. He stared at me, a muscle feathering along his locked jaw. “Don’t you want me to kiss you here?”

  “Not like this.”

  I pouted. “Like how then?”

  “I don’t need you giving me a blow job.”

  My pout turned into an actual frown. What guy didn’t want a BJ? “I bet I can change your mind.” I lowered my head, but his hands circled my arms and pulled me up before I could make contact.

  His eyes glittered, looking almost angry. “What are you doing?”

  “Apparently nothing you’re into,” I snapped, trying to pull my arms free of his grip, but he held fast, each of his fingers a burning imprint. I felt the strength of him, the power of him, tightly restrained beneath me.

  “What’s the matter? The only way you’ll let me close is if I play by your rules?”

  His words were right on the mark. I nodded, stung by his rejection of what I was offering. “You catch on real quick.”

  “Maybe I have a few rules of my own.”

  My heart skipped at the dangerous glint in his eyes. Immediately, I sensed the tables had been turned. He had taken control of the situation—or was trying to.

  “I think we’re done here,” I said, managing to sound cool.

  He shook his head at me slowly and I was reminded of the first time I’d seen him and the realization that this guy wouldn’t be so easy to control. I immediately told myself to keep my distance then. Too bad I didn’t listen to myself. Now I was in the exact situation I didn’t want to be in. Trapped.

  I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. That wasn’t my fear. My fear wasn’t him. It was me. It was in me. It was losing control, giving someone else power over me.

  His fingers flexed around my forearms. His eyes dipped to assess me in my pink satin bra. “We’re just getting started. It’s my turn now.”

  Chapter 8

  SHAW’S MOUTH COVERED MINE and what I didn’t want to happen did. My brain turned to mush. He had a way of kissing me that consumed me, that melted my bones and made me pudding in his hands.