Chapter Sixteen
Brian and Chloe returned to her shop, pizza box in hand.
The padlock remained undisturbed. Daisy greeted them at the door, her whole body wagging.
Brian studied Chloe as she bent to pet the dog.
She had been quiet throughout dinner. The news about Sharee had hit her hard.
He put a hand to her back, wishing he knew how to ease her pain.
“We should try to get some rest,” he said.
“You can have the sofa and I’ll be down on the floor with Daisy.
She may not look it, but she’s a pretty good watchdog.
She’ll let us know if anyone tries to break in. ”
She straightened and looked at him, her eyes clear. “I want to be on the floor with you,” she said. “There’s room enough for both of us.”
“Uh, sure. There’s room.” He tried to read her expression. Was she talking about…just sleeping? “If you’re sure.”
She moved closer, the tips of her breasts brushing his chest. “I’m sure.
” She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, hard.
He stumbled backward and hugged her to him.
His back to the wall, he returned the kiss, every nerve alive to the sensation of her body pressed to his—firm, soft, warm skin like satin beneath his fingers.
She moaned, low in her throat, and he trembled with the effort of holding back, afraid of asking for more than she would give.
She threaded her fingers through his hair and angled her head to deepen the kiss, and he dropped his hands to cup her bottom, pressing her more firmly against his evident erection.
She squirmed against him and a low growl of pleasure rumbled in his throat.
She pulled back enough to speak. “I need you tonight and I’m tired of pretending we’re merely friends,” she said.
“I think we moved beyond that days ago.”
“Yes,” he said, the single syllable all he could manage. He kissed her again, with more ardor this time, and shifted so that now she was against the wall, her hands beneath his shirt, his over her breasts.
She stilled, and he froze also. When he raised his head, she was staring over his shoulder. He looked back and saw Daisy watching them from the corner of the sofa. “I could put her in another room,” he said.
“She looks comfortable,” Chloe said. “We could move into the massage room. It has a door that closes.”
“Good idea.” They moved apart and he scooped up most of the bedding. She took the pillows and followed him into a small room with a dresser and a massage table.
“We can move the table over,” she said. He helped her shove the table against the wall, then arranged the bedding on the floor. She switched on a pair of electric candles, then turned to smile at him. “It’s nice in here.”
He took her hand and urged her down beside him. They knelt, facing each other, and he brushed his fingers across her silken cheek. “I’m all for this, but I didn’t want to be presumptuous,” he said. “I don’t have any protection.”
“I do.” She held up a finger, indicating he should wait, then she slipped out of the room.
He fluffed the pillows and tried to rein in his racing thoughts. He wanted this. But he really, really didn’t want to screw it up.
She returned, holding aloft a box of condoms. “Do you always keep those on hand here at the salon?” he asked, trying to sound teasing.
“As a matter of fact, I bought them yesterday.”
The idea that she had been planning—anticipating—this moment sent heat through him. No more holding back. He reached for her and she fell into his arms, mouth caressing, hands exploring, making sure she knew exactly how much he wanted her.
CHLOE MIGHT HAVE fantasized about undressing slowly, teasing Brian with each movement and drawing out the moment.
But the reality was, she stripped off her clothing as quickly as possible, longing for the caress of him, naked, against her own bare flesh.
He discarded his garments just as quickly, and drew her to him once more, his skin warm and smelling of herbal soap.
She smoothed her hands across his strong shoulders and the hard muscles of his biceps, enjoying the rush of sensation the contact sent through her, reminding her that inside the facade of the workaholic business owner and grieving sister, the passionate woman still thrived.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, kissing the tender skin at the base of her throat, his hand cupping her bare breast. He thumbed one erect nipple and she arched against him, already desperate, and he had scarcely touched her.
Some voice inside her told her things were moving too fast, but she told the voice to shut up.
This was what she needed—to lose herself in the pleasure of the moment.
Not only in the physical enjoyment, but a tenderness that fought back against the darkness that whispered that life was all hard edges and suffering and struggle.
Every kiss and caress and soaring sensation reminded her that life was full of good things, too. Things worth hanging on to.
He kissed her cheek, then drew back. “Hey, are you crying?”
She hadn’t even been aware of the tears, but more overflowed now, warm and stinging her lips with salt.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. She cradled his face in both hands, reveling in the roughness of the stubble along his jaw and the gentleness in his gaze.
Those things were more real than her fear of what might happen tomorrow or next week or regrets about what she had failed to do last month.
Right now, she had this wonderful moment with a man she cared for, who cared for her, and she wasn’t going to waste it. “I’m just so happy.”
“I’m happy you’re happy,” he said, and kissed her again.
She lay back and pulled him on top of her, gripping his hips and guiding him into her, her own need and longing driving her to demand more.
He responded to every prompt with an eagerness that thrilled her.
They moved with a rhythm that was in turns fierce and languid, drawing out the moment, then rushing toward a breaking point that pulled like gravity.
She dug her nails into his shoulders as her climax ripped through her, and rocked against him, taking every bit of pleasure she could, until he joined her in crying out his own release.
When she opened her eyes, he stared down at her with a look of such satisfaction and wonder that she couldn’t help smiling. “That was amazing,” he said.
“It was, wasn’t it?” She kissed him, then shifted beneath him.
He moved to her side and pulled her close.
She cradled her head on his shoulder and thought of things she might say to him, about how easy it was to be with him and how good it was not to be alone.
But none of those words ever reached his ears, because she fell asleep, truly relaxed for the first time in months.
CHLOE HAD NEVER liked to be touched while she was sleeping.
She had been happy for her previous lovers to go home to their own beds.
But here, on the floor of her shop on a camping mattress, one of Brian’s arms around her waist, his thighs pressed to hers, she relished the warmth and security of his touch.
Something about the way he held her, as if she was something to be protected and sheltered, made her feel safe in a way she hadn’t for years.
She opened her eyes to the dim glow of the single electric candle they had left burning. At some point after she fell asleep, Brian must have opened the door so that Daisy was no longer shut out and Chloe could make out the dog’s soft shape sprawled in the hallway right outside the room.
The dog shifted and raised her head, then let out a low growl that raised the hairs on the back of Chloe’s neck.
“Brian!” she whispered, urgent, fear gripping her throat. Daisy growled again, menace in the sound.
“I heard.” He raised onto his elbows and joined her in staring at the dog. Daisy stood, her body rigid, all attention focused on the front of the building.
Then Chloe heard the scrape of metal on metal. A key in the lock of the front door.
Chloe groped for her phone while Brian reached for his pants. She punched in 911.
“Emergency response. What is the nature of your emergency?”
Daisy erupted in barking, toenails scrabbling on the tile as she raced toward the front of the building.
“Someone is trying to break into my shop,” Chloe said, raising her voice to be heard over the din.
As Brian raced past her, she gave the 911 operator her name and address.
“Hurry,” she said, before ending the call.
Her phone immediately rang again with a call from the 911 operator, but she ignored it, instead pulling on the leggings and sweater she had worn earlier and following Brian to the front of the shop.
He had switched on all the lights and the front door stood open, cold air rushing in.
But there was no sign of Brian or Daisy.
“Brian!” she shouted. Had the intruder taken him somewhere? Was he outside, hurt? She moved toward the door and almost collided with Brian as he reentered, red-faced and panting.
“Whoever it was got away,” he said. “Daisy must have scared him off.”
Daisy followed Brian inside and shook herself. A siren wailed, growing louder before dying right outside the door. Then an amplified voice demanded, “Come out slowly, and keep your hands where we can see them.”
Chloe looked down at her bare feet. “We’d better do as they say,” Brian said.
“You’re right.” She grabbed a pair of the cheap flip-flops they handed out to pedicure clients, then followed him outside, hands raised.
The two officers lowered their weapons. “Ms. Anderson,” one—Deputy Schneider—said. “You called about a break-in?”
“Someone tried to get in the front door,” she said. “They ran off when Brian’s dog started barking.”
Schneider’s attention shifted to Daisy, who sat beside Brian, panting gently. He looked back at Chloe. “Did you get a look at this person or persons?”
She shook her head. “Did you, Brian?”