Emergency Engagement (Love Emergency) Page 13

  “I thought we agreed you’d go to the meeting with the gallery today.”

  “I did go, but we wrapped up quickly. The showcase is on track so I popped over to see if your dad needed anything.” She rubbed his tense shoulders, and then let her hand stray down his arm. Available if he wanted it. “What’s your excuse?”

  “I always come here on my days off, and”—he looked up at the TV—“watch my stories.”

  “Right. Because you don’t have a TV at home.”

  “I don’t like to watch the show alone. It’s too intense.” He unclenched his hands and took hold of hers. “The redhead there is a sociopathic man-eater.”

  She wove her fingers between his, gratified when he squeezed them. “You diagnosed all that with the sound down?”

  “The acting stands on its own.”

  “I’ll take your word. How’s your mom?”

  He leaned in and rested his forehead on her shoulder. His breath released in a long, shaky exhale. “She’s good. The surgeon said the procedure went textbook, and lab results should be available by the end of the week. Mom’s in recovery and Dad just went back to be the first thing she sees when she wakes up.”

  “That’s sweet.” She reached for his other hand and held it in hers. “I’m glad the surgery is over and everything went well.”

  “Me, too.” He lifted their linked hands, ran his lips over her knuckles, and then raised his head and looked her square in the eyes. “Thanks for coming, Savannah.”

  God save her from this self-contained man. She’d have driven over with him if he’d asked her to, but he hadn’t. Still, his appreciation eased the sting of his blatant reluctance to rely on her. “I couldn’t stay away. You understand.”

  “Yeah, I do.” He brought her hand to his lips again and kissed it. “Want to get out of here?”

  “Whenever you’re ready. If you prefer to stick around and see your mom?”

  “No. She’s in good hands, and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.” He stood, pulled her to her feet, and started toward the elevator. “My dad’s going to take her home. I’ll call tonight and check in.”

  They rode the elevator in silence. He walked her to her car and paused by her door. “Feel like a late lunch?”

  She shook her head. Not so much. And if she was reading him right, neither did he.

  “See you at home?”

  She nodded and tried to ignore the reckless pirouette her heart executed at his use of the word “home.”

  On the drive home she attempted to talk sense into herself. By home, he probably meant Camden Gardens, but in truth she was starting to feel at home in his bed. They’d spent every night together since the evening at her studio, and each time she’d drifted off to sleep as breathless, boneless, and thoroughly satisfied as the first time. The inferno between them showed no sign of burning out. Her hormones insisted any sane, healthy woman would find herself addicted to rebound sex of this magnitude, but her better judgment kept harping on the danger of the addiction. It insisted getting hooked on devastating orgasms was problem enough, but getting accustomed to falling asleep with her head on his chest and his heartbeat thumping like a steady lullaby in her ear only invited heartache. She was already in deeper than she ought to be, and she’d begun to look at the first of the year with a weird combination of dread and relief.

  The exact same combination of emotions churned in her stomach when she climbed out of her Explorer and saw Beau leaning against the wall by the stairwell, waiting for her. He straightened as she approached, took her hand, and said, “Can I buy you a drink?”

  A peek at her watch told her it was barely two in the afternoon, but she suspected mentioning the time wouldn’t dissuade him. Not that she blamed him for wanting to take the edge off. His mom’s surgery had gone well, but now the stress of awaiting the lab results became all the more acute. This strong, independent, don’t-rely-on-anyone man needed comfort and company. She could offer both. And love, a fatalistic inner voice acknowledged. You’ve in love with this strong, independent, don’t-rely-on-anyone man. She couldn’t pinpoint the moment when she’d lost the battle to keep her emotions on a safe path, but she had. She’d fallen, and there wasn’t a thing in the world she could do to reverse course, even knowing he’d sooner cut out his heart than risk loving again. Hopefully her heart was more resilient. Hopefully she could be here for him while he needed her, and then find the strength to get on a plane and move on with her life. “Where did you have in mind for this drink?”

  “I know just the place.” He led her upstairs and into his apartment. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll find the bartender,” he said and stepped into the kitchen.

  While he dug around in the cabinet above the fridge, she pulled the ponytail holder out of her hair and tossed it on an end table. Next came the stack of silver “bamboo” bangles Sinclair had given her a few birthdays ago. Then she settled herself on the arm of the sofa and kicked off the Prada zipper-back black stilettos she’d treated herself to when she’d sold her first piece in Atlanta—shoes she should have waited to purchase until she’d collected her commissions. Her slightly punished toes forgave the fashionable torture as she massaged them through her black tights. After a moment she straightened, peeled out of her cropped leather motorcycle jacket, and tossed it across the back of the sofa.

  The rustling in the kitchen ceased. She looked up to find Beau staring at her.

  “What?” She got to her feet, and her hands automatically drifted over her long black knit dress, checking the turtleneck collar, straightening seams, smoothing the line of the skirt.

  He shook his head and smiled. “Nothing. Just admiring how you come into a room.”

  The little trail of cast-offs around her drew her attention. In the course of three minutes she’d strewn more personal items into his living space than he kept there on a permanent basis. “Sorry. I’m not neat.” She made her way into the kitchen. “But I have other qualities.”

  His smiled tightened into a cocky grin. “I’m intimately familiar with your qualities.”

  She patted his cheek and gave him her own cocky grin. “You’ve only scratched the surface of my qualities.” She’d never witnessed him drink anything stronger than beer, so she was a little surprised to see he’d lined up a nearly full bottle of tequila, a still-sealed bottle of vodka, and three-quarters of a bottle of whiskey. “You were serious about that drink.”

  “Any preference?”

  “I prefer simple.” She reached up and opened the long, narrow cabinet to the right of the sink, pulled out two short tumblers and placed them on the counter. Then she unscrewed the top from the bottle of Jack and poured two fingers in each glass.

  After handing him one, she lifted the other and tapped it to his. “To your brave, strong, totally kick-ass mom.”

  “To Mom,” he echoed, and downed his drink.

  She did the same and refilled their glasses. “To your dad, who keeps her path smooth, in that laid-back, quiet way of his.”

  “To Dad.” He knocked back the second shot. She followed suit.

  The throat of the bottle tinkled against the rim of the glass as she refilled their tumblers. After putting the bottle aside she lifted her shot. “To you, for being there, even though it’s scary. Even though she gave you an out because she’s trying to protect you.”

  He downed the third shot without toasting, lowered his chin to his chest, and exhaled through his nose before replying. “I don’t need protecting.”

  Those normally sharp brown eyes didn’t quite lock on his glass, or her, or anything he looked at. “Of course you don’t.” She poured more Jack into their tumblers. “You’re a big, strong, invincible guy. You can handle anything.” She tipped her head toward the living room. “Want to sit down?”

  “Sure.” The word came out a little soft around the edges. Three shots in as many minutes had a noticeable effect on Mr. Invincible. She carried the bottle and her glass over to the coffee table and sank down on
the sofa. He followed, and she noticed the little stumble and the way his lax body took an extra bounce when he plunked down beside her. He faced her and wound a stand of her hair around his finger while his eyes roamed her face. “You’re beautiful.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “I’m getting there, but you’re still beautiful.” His eyes narrowed. “And sober.”

  She folded her legs under her and turned her body toward his. “Honey, the man I dated my last two years of college and all through grad school came from a family of whiskey distillers. Me and Tennessee do just fine.”

  He leaned forward, lifted the bottle off the table, and splashed some more in her glass. “Drink up.”

  “You think you can get me wasted? You’ll pass out trying.”

  He raised one dark brow at her. “I’ve got body weight and dehydrogenase in my favor.”

  “Be that as it may, I can drink you under the table.”

  “Is that a challenge, Smith?”

  “It’s a fact, Montgomery.” Just to prove her point, she picked up her glass and tossed back the shot. “Your turn.” She poured another two fingers in his tumbler, handed it to him, and set the bottle aside. Enough alcohol. She had better ways to give him a temporary respite from the worry weighing on his mind. He downed the drink, those expressive lips twisting into a grimace as he swallowed.

  “Now let’s test your reflexes.” She hiked the hem of her dress above her knees, slung one leg over his lap and straddled him. He grasped her hips as she arranged herself on his hard thighs.

  When she stilled, he cradled her butt in his big hands and scooted her closer. “I passed,” he said against the side of her throat.

  She cupped his cheeks and drew his head back. “That wasn’t the test. This is.” She lowered her mouth to his and sank into a long, slow, whiskey-soaked kiss. His head tipped back against the sofa, and she thought for a moment he might let her have her way with him, but then long fingers tangled in her hair, and he leaned forward, changing the angle of the kiss. His reflexes were still pretty sharp, but hers were sharper. The knowledge sent a shiver along her spine. Beau tended to storm her senses, leave her shuddering, gasping, and utterly at his mercy, but this time the tables would turn. She reached down between their bodies, grabbed two handfuls of his sweater, and pulled it over his head.

  “I love your chest,” she said between kisses, and let her hands run all over the warm, smooth terrain, from the hard planes of his pecs to the channel between, which ran due south and provided a perfect path to guide her fingers down his abs. Her tongue tingled to follow the same route.

  “Coincidentally, I feel the same about yours,” he murmured, and drew her dress up. She raised her arms and let him peel it off, but shifted away when he leaned close and reached for the back clasp of her bra.

  “Uh-uh. Keep those hands to yourself. I’m not finished testing your reflexes.” She ran her fingertips over the ridges of muscle bracketing his abs, all the way to where they disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

  “Savannah.” His low voice vibrated with warning.

  “Yes, Beau?” She traced the edge of his waistband until her fingers arrived at his fly. The bulge straining the line of buttons there jumped under the brush of her hand, but his fingers intercepted hers.

  “Four shots of whiskey have an effect on a man’s reflexes.”

  “I’ll be the judge.” She wiggled her fingers out of his grasp and went back to work on his fly.

  “No you won’t. I made you a firm promise a while back. You get nothing short of my best every single time I’m inside you, or…Jesus that feels good.”

  She swept her thumb again over the smooth head peeking from the waistband of his underwear, this time lingering longer to explore the small opening at the center. He groaned and flexed his hips.

  “See, you’ve got excellent reflexes.” She slipped off his lap and onto her knees, parted his jeans, and freed him the rest of the way from his boxer briefs. He raised his head and their eyes met. While he watched, she traced a fingertip along the length of his shaft.

  “They’re improving by the second, but—”

  “Just one last test.” The big, strong, invincible man she loved needed an escape, and she could provide one. Leaning in, she kissed the very tip of his erection. “Don’t worry, it’s painless.”

  Despite her promise, when she parted her lips and slowly took him into her mouth, she wrung a low, tortured curse out of him. “Fuck it, Savannah. You’re killing me.”

  She reversed course, appreciating the hitch in his breath, and then paused to look at him. “But you’ll die with a smile on your face.”

  “You’re determined to take me down, huh?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She let the response vibrate around him, loving how his eyelids suddenly struggled with gravity, and flags of color unfurled across his cheekbones. A large hand cupped the back of her head, guiding her, but not usurping control.

  When she dug into his jeans and cupped his balls, he murmured her name.

  “Hmm?” Oh yeah, he liked that. The hand on her head tightened.

  “It’s not going to take long.”

  She laved the smooth crown, and then speared the tip of her tongue into the opening. At the same time, she gave his balls a pump. His big body jerked, and a fast, harsh inhale reached her ears.

  “Okay. I’m there. You should stop before I—”

  “Beau?” She had to raise her head to speak, but she refused to relinquish her grip on the boys.

  “What?” His tortured reply pleased her almost as much as the desperate look in his eyes.

  “Sit back, relax, and let me take care of you.” Before he could respond, she lowered her head and encased him, taking him in as deep as she could without denying herself oxygen. Then she squeezed again.

  The hand in her hair fisted. Muscles tensed, and then long, hard-fought words echoed in her ears as she drained him. “Jesus. Savannah. I love the way you take care of me.”

  Her heart trembled.

  No, but you would. You would if you’d really let me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I get nervous when you do that, Smith.”

  “What? This?” Naturally, she kept right at it.

  Beau tightened his grip on the steering wheel and forced his attention back to the road. “Yes. That. Do you have any idea how many accidents I see involving exactly what you’re doing right now?”

  She shrugged. “Then you’d really hate watching me do it while I’m driving.”

  Good point. “At least give it a rest while I make this turn.”

  “Oh, please. I’ve done this while going over railroad tracks—at forty miles per hour—without a single mishap.”

  Before he could give her shit about taking railroad tracks at forty miles an hour, she lowered her hand from her face and waited while he steered the Yukon into the parking lot of the Chattahoochee Tavern. As soon as he slid into one of the few remaining open slots, she flicked on the interior light and resumed applying black gunk to her eyelashes with a long, potentially blinding wand. What was the female preoccupation with eyelashes, anyway? He supposed he’d notice if someone didn’t have any, but short of that…

  She tossed the tube into her oversize red purse and dug around for something else.

  “You don’t need the war paint. You look beautiful.”

  “I look like I haven’t seen a ray of sun in almost a week—which I haven’t.” Her attention never wavered from the bag. “I need blush.”

  He crossed his arms and settled into the seat. “I could make you blush.”

  She arched her brows at him. “And mess up all my hard work? I’d have to start all over again. But it’s nice to know someone’s ready to have fun this evening.”

  He was. For the first time in a long time he actually looked forward to a holiday party. Some credit went to his mom, who’d called that morning to tell him her pathology results couldn’t have been better. Clear margins, clear nodes. Sh
e’d passed the news along to him as casually as discussing the weather, and then dived right into plans for when he and Savannah visited, but he’d been a little too distracted by the waves of relief washing over him to pay much attention.

  Hell yeah, he was ready to have some fun.

  Savannah took a break from moving a fat brush over her cheeks in rapid circles. “That makes two of us. I’m really happy to know your mom is in the clear.”

  “Me, too.”

  She smiled, and then tipped her head toward the mirror again and slicked some glossy red stuff on her lips. The way she held her lips open and moved the wand over them sent his memory sliding back to the other night, on his sofa, and the feel of those soft but nimble lips cradling his highly appreciative cock.

  When she finished, she dropped the gloss in her bag and turned to him. He flicked off the dome light, which left the interior of the car gilded by the soft white glow from the lights around the tavern’s parking lot. He turned to her, propped his left arm on the steering wheel, and leaned closer. Hemmed her in when it came right down to it, but he didn’t think she’d mind. “Tell me, Savannah, do you have everything you need in that bag of yours to redo all this?” He ran his finger along her cheekbone.

  Long, darkened lashes fluttered, and his groin tightened. Maybe he was a lash man after all?

  “Why would I need to redo it?”

  He cupped her jaw, tipping her face up, and brought his mouth inches from hers. Her gleaming lips parted. “Because I’m about to mess you—”

  A thump on the driver’s side window brought them both up short. He craned his neck to find Hunter’s grinning face on the other side of the glass.

  “Go away.”

  “You want privacy? Seriously? You’re in a fucking parking lot, Lancelot. Anyway, Ashley wants to meet your fiancée. Or as she put it, she wants proof of life.”

  His partner reached out and snagged someone by the arm, and a second later Ashley’s exasperated face appeared at his window. “I did not say that.”

  Beau lowered his window. “Hi, Ash. Did you two come together?”