Birding with Benefits

Chapter 20

Celeste hadn’t been sure how John would handle the “games” portion of Maria’s annual party, but just like at bowling, he threw himself into it with quiet good cheer. Maria loved putting adults through their paces with children’s games—she joked that it kept them all humble. There had already been a crab-crawl race and a game of Simon Says (with consolation vodka shots offered to the losers), and now they were back inside for hide-and-seek, with Maria as supervisor and Arnold as the first seeker.

As Maria shouted, “On your marks, get set—go!” people all around them scattered, the lazy ones jumping behind the couch while the more competitive guests left to investigate other areas of the house.

Celeste shooed John. “Go! It’s each person for themselves!”

John just laughed and looked around the room, rubbing his beard. Every time he touched that thing, she wanted her hands to follow.

She couldn’t get to hiding fast enough.

She really should have stuck to the plan she’d developed at home while braiding her hair in the mirror. Know your limits, the lime-green Post-it warned her. She knew it was wise to keep the PDA stuff to a minimum, telling herself they’d made enough of a point at the bowling alley. No need to poke the wasp’s nest of sexual tension.

But when Andrea had descended on them and John’s fingers had brushed hers, she’d taken his hand.

Why would she make such a blatantly stupid move, knowing how it would send electricity through her body?

Because she’d wanted to. Just like she’d wanted to feel his shoulder next to hers at the picnic table. Especially after he’d taken off his coat and rolled his shirtsleeves up, those woodworking forearms on display in the sunshine of Maria’s yard.

Her eyes were tracing the vein just above his wrist when an olive twig fell from her hair. He picked it up gently and angled it back into her braid, his other thumb rubbing a small circle on her neck as he worked.

Celeste was a caretaker. She enjoyed helping people, advising them, coaching them. Parenting Morgan was the greatest joy and accomplishment of her life. Long before their divorce, when Celeste and Peter had moved more side by side than together, she’d stopped expecting that kind of care from him. They had been partners, often unequally, in their home and co-parents to their daughter, but she’d taken care of herself.

And most of the time, that suited her fine. But would it be so bad if she leaned into John’s gentle acts of caring during the party? Andrea and other coworkers were there, after all, preventing any one-on-one time that could prove dangerous to her stay-single plan.

She made her way toward the end of the house that held Maria’s bedroom and Xavi’s nursery. Maria was standing in front of her bedroom door, arms crossed to prevent entry into the den of dirty laundry. When Celeste stopped in front of the hall closet, Maria waved her on, blowing her a little kiss.

She opened the closet door just enough to slip in and shut it behind her. But instead of the old coats Celeste knew Maria kept here, Celeste stepped right into a warm body, her face brushing against a rough beard. She groped about in the darkness, her hands landing on wide forearms, rigid beneath her fingers.

Exactly what she’d been hiding from.

“Jesus!” Her back was against the closed door, and her front was very, very close to John. He smelled like a goddamn pine tree, the kind she used to stick her face in at Christmastime even if it meant getting poked. John moved away from her slightly, making the closet contents rustle, but his sudden absence sent her off-balance, and she stumbled into him.

Her hands pressed hard into his chest, registering the smooth buttons of his shirt. “What are you doing here?”

He held her shoulders, steadying her. “I’m hiding. Isn’t that the point?” His whisper went straight into her ear.

She swallowed hard and stepped back, gaining the small fraction of space she could, and whispered, “It’s fine.” She twisted one arm behind her, searching for the doorknob. “I’ll find another spot. Just…” She tried to turn, but her hip ran into his, and his fingers on her shoulders tightened. “Just let me turn around.”

They each shifted a bit, and she managed to turn, but it hardly improved the situation. Now his chest was hovering just behind her back, warmth radiating from him. God, how she wanted to lean back into the solid wall of his chest.

But she leaned forward and grasped the doorknob instead, starting to turn it. John’s arm shot around her and covered her hand. “Wait. Listen.”

Thudding steps made their way toward the closet from outside. Celeste had never thrown a game and she wouldn’t now, cramped closet be damned. She froze as the steps approached the door and then moved on.

John’s palm was warm on her hand, his arm pressed to hers from wrist to shoulder. Even in the dark, she pinched her eyes closed tight, willing her hand to turn the damn doorknob.

But the doorknob didn’t turn. And John’s hand stayed over hers.

Celeste’s senses slowed, the air around them thick like honey. The point beneath her sternum was tight and hot, and fuck, so was the spot between her legs.

Finally, John drew in a breath and spoke quietly, his voice strained. “I think it’s safe out there.”

Unlike in here, he didn’t say. But he didn’t have to. His fingers still over hers said it all. They asked her a question.

“I know,” she whispered. But she didn’t move. And that was her answer.

Behind her, his breath stirred just over her neck. “Peppermint.” She could barely hear him. “You always smell like peppermint.”

She swallowed, then let out a slow breath.

“Yes,” she said shakily. His small observations were always undoing her. “It’s essential oil. I always put a drop…”

“Right here.” His fingers touched her pulse point, his touch confident and firm. “I know.” He hovered so close behind her she could hear his intake of breath whistle through his teeth. “I’ve noticed.”

The hand on her neck stayed steady on her skin like the one covering hers over the doorknob. She tilted her head to the side, exposing more of herself to his touch.

She was being stupid, reckless. But she was also squeezed into a dark closet with an attractive, intriguing, kind man. And he was touching her like he’d been studying her so thoroughly that he could find her in the dark without hesitation, knowing exactly where his hands would land.

His fingers slid from her racing pulse down her neck, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake as he murmured into her ear. “I shouldn’t be doing this.” The simmer in his voice slithered straight down her body, filling her with power.

Celeste struggled past the knot in her throat to make sure John heard her, the hitch in her voice demonstrating her need. “Do it anyway.”

He groaned as his palm curved over her shoulder, then ran back up her neck. His fingers slid into her hair, pulling her braid tight. The warmth of his breath shifted from her hair, past her ear, lower, hovering just over her exposed neck.

Then there was a brush of lips and a breeze of hot air. Her sigh ended in a whimper as his free hand wrapped around her waist from behind and his mouth opened against her neck. He scraped her skin with a drag of his teeth before she felt the hot, wet swipe of his tongue, seeking out the same spot where he’d pressed his fingers, tasting her pulse.

She raised both arms and flattened her palms against the door. John’s hand stayed on her neck as his fingers and mouth worked in tandem—his thumb tracing lines across her skin that his lips would follow. His motions were excruciatingly, deliciously slow. Her nipples were tight and sore, puckering with need as she clenched her thighs together, desperate to relieve some of the pressure building in her body.

His mouth left her neck, leaving her bereft until his lips closed on her ear, nipping and licking down its curve. A sharp tug on her earring made her moan against the door.

Celeste brought her fist to her mouth, biting her knuckle as John gently slipped the earring out of her ear. He could have pulled off all her clothes for how naked she felt. He closed his lips around her earlobe with a low, pained moan, and her head sagged back against his shoulder. His teeth tugged, sending a jolt that turned the ache between her legs into a rioting scream, and her hips pushed back instinctively, seeking contact.

She found it in the form of his erection, rigid against the slope of her lower back. She circled her hips, grinding into him, his lips releasing her ear just long enough for him to utter a drawn-out, guttural “Fuck.”

She’d never heard the word from his lips before. Hearing it now, husky in the pitch dark, the honey-thickness of arousal in her brain spun it into something sharp and needy. “John,” she whimpered.

He gripped her hips hard, then spun her around to face him. The bumping and sliding that had been awkward when she entered the closet took on a heightened eroticism that had her legs shaking. Once her back was against the door, John stepped all the way into her, crowding her, his cock pressing into the ridge of her hip. Their breathing, heavy, in sync, thundered in the darkness, and his hand cupped Celeste’s jaw.

Her body screamed with need, begging for the relief of his tongue in her mouth and his knee pressed between her thighs. But her brain screamed back, and wouldn’t be silenced.

This really wasn’t a good idea.

But she wanted this. She needed this. And dammit, didn’t she deserve it? She and John were on the same wavelength about not wanting a relationship. Maybe they were also on the same wavelength about what they did want.

They just needed a plan. She was great at plans.

So even though her body was clear about what it wanted, Celeste let her brain take over.

“Wait.”