31. Easton
Easton
“What if someone screams in the movie and your dad overhears and thinks something’s wrong?” Or worse, that we’re in here having sex. I toss the oversized pillows off the couch to make space for the two of us.
“Psh. The walls between suites are basically soundproof, you know that. The hotel didn’t exactly skimp on construction.” She backhands the air instead of swatting my chest like I expected, then drops down next to me. “Thank you for coming, though. I really need this distraction.”
Maybe being here is a bad idea. Who am I kidding? This is a horrible idea. “Sure you don’t want a different kind of distraction?”
She shoots me her signature, Say what? look I’ve come to know well over the years.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” I grumble, fighting a smile.
“Oh yeah? What do you think I thought you meant?”
“That’s a mouthful,” I deflect as she grabs the remote from the coffee table. “I meant a different kind of movie. Like a comedy.”
In truth, whenever I watch one of these darkish-type movies, I always feel depressed after it ends. No clue why. Of course, Gwen doesn’t know this. And she won’t. Because then she’ll watch horror flicks alone or with someone else, and that’s not happening.
“Well, I’m not in the mood for a comedy.”
“Just in the mood to be scared?” I pat my pocket, ready to go for a stick of Spearmint, then remember the pack is empty.
How will I keep my mouth from saying something I shouldn’t? Or, worse, from kissing her?
“I want to be held by you. The movie gives me a reasonable excuse for that to happen without making things awkward.”
“And you want me to hold you because . . .?” I’m on the verge of shamelessly praying she’ll tell me she wants to be in my arms for one reason—just because she likes to be.
She lifts her shoulder, and regardless of whatever she planned on saying, I won’t be hearing the truth from her. I can feel that reality in my bones. “Just frustrated about everything, I guess.” She points to her laptop. “No more new leads today, and I feel useless.”
“Well, I have faith in you and the team. We’ll figure this out. One day at a time,” I promise.
I can be strong for the both of us. Hotspot my strength to her for as long as she needs it.
“Can we pack three days into one to make time go faster so we get to the finish line quicker?”
I take the remote from her and toss it on the table. I don’t think we’ll be watching a movie after all.
“Unfortunately, I can’t speed up time, but I can do the other thing for you.” I take a breath to mentally prepare myself for what’s about to happen. “I’ll always hold you. You don’t need a scary movie as a reason.” I swallow, then rasp, “Now come here.”
Whatever tension she’s holding in her shoulders vanishes, and she visibly relaxes. Her gaze slides from my face to my chest and back up again. “Will I hurt your legs if I sit on you? Your back?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” God help me, I pat my leg, and for whatever reason, that makes her grin from ear to ear. “And you’re smiling because?” I hold out my hand, and she accepts the offer.
“Not want me to?”
I tighten my hold of her hand. “If I could have anything in the world, it’d be your smile.”
“Is that all you want from me?” she whispers.
“I could think of a few more things,” I say, far too intimately. “But I’m about to rescind my offer on the hug if you don’t hurry.” I gently tug her over, needing to break the tension before I wind up opening my mouth and admitting a hell of a lot more. “Get over here already.”
She chuckles. “Want this hug done that badly, hmm?”
“Of course I do. Just because I’ll do anything for ya, doesn’t mean I’ll enjoy doing it.” I wink, and she finally makes the move. She climbs on top of me, knees on each side of my thighs as she settles in.
Her ass on my crotch is fantastic in helping with my plan to behave.
She readjusts, linking her ankles between the couch cushion and my back, sinking even deeper against me. “Sure I’m not hurting any part of you?”
“Nope.” But where do I put my hands? On her hips feels too intimate. On her face? Nah, that’s even worse, because I’ll wind up dragging my hands into her hair so I can tilt her chin back and . . . At my sides it is.
She rests hers on my shoulders, rotates her ass—the tease—and searches for my eyes. “Well, are you going to hug me or what?”
“Aren’t I?”
“Hugs require touching.”
“Oh do they now?” I smile.
“Mm-hmm.”
I buck my hips. I’ll chalk it up to an involuntary movement of my body and nothing more. “I am touching you.”
She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
Trouble, all right.
“Touch me more,” she murmurs.
I bite down on my back teeth, search for my sanity and self-control, and then I cave. I wrap her in my arms and guide her closer so that her head is beneath my chin.
She scooches forward and snuggles against me, like I’m her human pillow.
I shut my eyes, and we stay like this for a few minutes. Holding her feels like I have my arms wrapped around the possibility of forgiveness and hope and all the things that are good in the world.
“Feeling better?”
“Getting there.” She shifts her position a little, catching me by surprise when she nuzzles her nose against the side of my neck.
I could get used to this. But when she kisses the same spot, I almost snap, nearly flipping her over so I’m on top.
Wyatt’s daughter. That truth marinates in my mind, but the words can’t form into anything solid.
They remain letters and sounds that I can’t latch on to.
Because she’s kissing my neck again. And all the reasons in the world to behave don’t seem to matter as she buries her fingertips into my biceps, rocking against me while her lips follow a pathway along my jawline up to my ear.
I’m not prone to goose bumps, but she’s ushering in an entire wave of them as she brushes her mouth over my skin. And I’ve lost my mind, because not only do I not tell her to stop, I stretch my neck and angle my head to give her better access.
“What are we doing?” I finally manage to get out instead of the word stop. I also can’t seem to prevent my dick from getting hard, and she’s going to feel my response to her.
“You don’t have gum. Giving you the scent of it instead,” she whispers between kisses. “That’s all.”
“Oh, how kind of you.”
I’m vaguely aware that I’m growing lightheaded and becoming numb to reality with every second she kisses my throat.
But when she rocks against my erection, I realize she’s testing the waters.
Finding out whether we can find a distraction in more than a hug.
And I just . . . can’t. Not now. That knowledge doesn’t stop me from gently fisting her hair, urging her to look at me.
Her eyes land on mine, and I’m at a loss for words, so she’ll need to do the talking.
“Want me to stop?” Her voice is small and shy, like she’s nervous about my answer.
I don’t say no.
Don’t say yes, either.
“Pretend I’m someone else you’re hugging if that helps you.”
We’re doing a little more than hugging. She’s basically grinding against my cock in those short shorts.
But wait. What’d she say?
Our mouths are dangerously close, and her lips are swollen and naked of her gloss.
It’s probably all over my neck now. I want to kiss away the redness around her mouth from where my facial hair has scratched her sensitive skin.
Not that she seems bothered by it, but I never want to hurt her in any way.
I blink and recalibrate. I have a habit of going five different ways at once and often forget where I’m going to begin with. The only time my mind goes quiet is behind a yoke.
“Why would I want to pretend you’re someone else?” I rest the back of my hand on her cheek. So damn beautiful, my God.
“Because you feel guilty about it being me on your lap.”
“I do feel guilty,” I admit, pulling my hand away. “But I’d never think of someone else while I—”
While I what? What are we even doing?
“So you’re hard because of me?”
She knows I am, just wants to hear me say it. I don’t blame her. I’d love to hear her tell me she’s wet for me.
“I mean, I am sitting on your lap and kissing your neck, so it’s possible your body is simply reacting on its own accord.”
“No.” I shake my head, not that she sees it. “I mean, yes.” I smile. She misses that, too. “Well, hell, I only have so much willpower.” I swallow and wait for her gorgeous eyes, and she finally gives them to me. “But it’s more than—”
Dammit, I can’t do it. I can’t tell her how I feel. Not yet. I’m not ready. There are still too many obstacles in our way. Too many question marks.
“You’re holding back from anything going further between us because of what went down on that island, aren’t you? You think it’s too soon for me. But it’s not. I feel safe with you.”
“Safe. That’s good,” I mutter like an idiot, then settle my hands on the couch next to us, doing my best to resist someone who’s irresistible. Easier to come out unscathed after having a Freedom Dorito—a.k.a. a B-2 bomber—on your ass, than to sit here and not kiss her.
When I don’t continue, because I’m stuck in my head, she asks, “If that hadn’t happened, would you be able to cross the line with me now?”
And there go my hands. Shit. They clamp down on her waist. “I’m fairly certain we’re hovering over that line as we speak.” Need penetrates through my voice no matter how much I try and fight it.
She tips her head, her blue-grays flashing to my face as she brings both palms to my chest.
A sharp breath slides out of me, low and involuntary, as I bring my hands to the small of her back, fingers flexing as she anchors herself to me.
“God,” I say under my breath—part plea, part apology for what I’m considering doing. You know, going full throttle right over that line that isn’t so invisible. The line that has a few names etched into it, one of them happening to be Wyatt Pierson.
She’s probably nervously biting the inside of her cheek. It’s these little things she doesn’t show everyone and usually only lets me see. Maybe this is her guard coming down?
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, her voice breathy and far too sexy.
“Because I want to kiss you.” The truth slips out too easily this time.
I drop my forehead against hers, hating that my conscience is still in the pilot’s seat and making the decisions.
“E.” One letter. One syllable. One arrow to my heart. “What if we just see if there’s chemistry between us and go from there? Test it with a kiss on the mouth this time.”
A dark laugh falls from me as I lift my head. I reach between us and hold her chin. “I don’t need to kiss you to know we have chemistry.”
She has to already know it, too.
“It’s my dad. That’s what this truly comes down to, isn’t it?” She pouts. “You respect him too much to ever do anything with me.” She starts to shift off my lap, but I take hold of her hips again. Stupid, I know.
“I do respect him, of course I do. But I respect you, too. And our friendship we’ve built over the years.
” I reach between us and set my hands on her face again before sliding my fingers up into her hair.
“And if I kiss you, I’m going to want to kiss every inch of you after that.
And keep going until you’re crying out my name so loud the soundproof walls won’t be good enough to—” I cut myself off and freeze at what I just said. You know, the truth.
She stares at me, eyes wide with shock. Her cheeks become pink and she scooches around on my lap like she’s chasing what I wish I could give her. “And if I want you to disrespect me?” Her sultry tone slips under my skin, and my balls tighten.
I lift my eyes to the ceiling, hoping I might find strength somewhere above, because I’m about out of it.
“That sounded—”
“Exactly as you meant for it to.” My voice is almost as dark as my damn thoughts. Because in my mind, she’s naked and riding me. Nails at my back—screw the lash marks. Let her carve love there in place of what Jezebel left behind.
“But you won’t do it, will you?”
I shake my head, my body tensing up even more than I thought possible. “One night won’t ever be enough for me.” I let go of her before it’s too late and I lose what’s left of my conscience and give in to what we both want.
She moves off my lap to stand, and I run my fingers through my hair, working hard to get a grip. This is the closest we’ve come to testing the waters, and now that we’re here, it feels like I’m about to walk away from her all over again.
“I want you, E.” She faces me while rubbing her arms as if cold. “What makes you think it’d be just one night?”
Because forever’s too good to be true. Of course I don’t say that and stupidly grunt, “You know what I meant.”
She bites her lip, her gaze falling to the floor.
We’re a pair, I swear. We can joke around like the best of them, but when shit gets serious, we both freeze up.
Thanks, trauma. Thanks a lot. “I’m sorry.” I’m not even sure what I’m apologizing for. For everything, maybe?
Two knocks at the door effectively pause wherever this conversation was about to go, and maybe that’s for the better.
Gwen shakes her head in frustration at the interruption, then starts for the door, but it opens before she makes it there.
At the sight of Wyatt and Gray, I rise.
A two-for-one special. Dad and uncle.
Perfect.
Based on their dark expressions, they’re both gonna kill me. So much for Constantine running interference for me. He probably got distracted by my sister. I’m torn between smiling and rolling my eyes at that.
“We were watching a movie,” Gwen says defensively, pointing toward the TV that’s still paused at the beginning.
Wyatt lets the door shut behind them as I discreetly adjust myself to ward off my erection, then join them, prepared for fifty questions.
“My sister found something.”
“It’s Nash.” Wyatt’s eyes are trained on Gwen, and I’m no longer worried he’s here to kill me for being alone with his daughter. Nope, he has another target in mind. But why Nash?
Wyatt’s gaze drops to my twitching fingers, like he knows I want to take her hand. “Nash betrayed us,” he reveals. “He’s how they found out we were going to Dubai. He’s why they got their hands on Gwen.”
The blood rushes from my face, and I stumble backward as dread fills me.
Nash, my former wingman when hunting criminals with Carter, helped the enemy? That Nash? Can’t be. Refuse to believe it.
And yet, I can’t stop the overwhelming sense of rage from taking over. Because if that’s true, that means he’s why those men were ever able to set a hand on Gwen in the first place.
My hands snap to my sides as the question barrels out of me low and deep. “Where is he?”