She glanced at me. “Either you’re tougher than anyone has a right to be, you’re used to the cold, or you’re just a dumbass who didn’t bring a hoodie when it’s barely fifty and windy and rainy.”
I laughed. “All three? I’m freezing my balls off, to be honest.”
She shook her head. “It’s Alaska. This is just the beginning. You’re gonna want to stock up on warmer clothes.” She glanced pointedly at my cut-off khaki shorts, T-shirt, and heavy workbooks.
“I was working inside all weekend, so why am I gonna dress for the weather outside?”
She tilted her head to one side. “I guess that makes sense.”
I shrugged. “I can tough it out for the few minutes it takes me to go from home to the bar, or from the bar to the truck.” I laughed. “If I wasn’t with you, I’d be jogging about now, though. It’s colder than a witch’s titty out here.”
She frowned at me. “Crude!”
I grinned sheepishly. “Colder than a yeti’s ballsac?”
“That’s even worse,” she snapped, but she was laughing when she said it. “How about you just say it’s very cold?”
I blew a raspberry. “Boring!”
Another cold, wet gust of wind blew, and Juneau paused, kicked off the low heels she was wearing, hooked them in her fingers, and set off in a jog. “Screw this, let’s go!”
I trotted after her, and we both picked up the pace when the cold wet wind turned into a steady windblown rain. “This sucks!” I yelled, as the rain grew harder.
She glanced at me sidelong, annoyed. “You think? I’m barefoot!”
I glanced ahead to gauge our distance from the apartment: still another half a block or so. I stopped, stood in front of her, and squatted down. “Hop on.”
She blinked at me owlishly. “Um…no?”
“It’ll get you inside where it’s warm that much faster. We have an electric fireplace, and I have a thick fleece blanket.”
She sighed. “Just don’t get handsy, mister.”
I smirked. “No promises. But we’re not getting any drier standing out here.”
With another sigh of resignation, she hiked her sweater up—I glanced back just in time to catch an expanse of bare leg, and then she hopped onto my back, clinging to my neck, her shoes banging against my chest.
I caught her easily, gave a little hop to hike her higher on my back, and then palmed a grip on her thighs.
Which were warm and smooth and bare and strong. This was a bad idea.
I set out in a jog, and then, as I became accustomed to her weight, I increased my pace—I was showing off, at this point; I was soon moving at a dead run…to show off to Juneau, yes, but also because it was really raining hard now and my teeth were starting to chatter.
We reached the building, and I jogged up the steps with her, and then squatted on the landing to set her down, and only with great reluctance did I let her warm, smooth thighs out of my hands.
For her part, Juneau was a little slow to slide off my back, and to move out of my grip.
Combine that with the hesitation around my quip about her not being able to resist kissing me, and I may just have a chance with Juneau.
Maybe.
I hauled my keys out of my pocket in a hurry, unlocked the door and ushered Juneau in ahead of me. “Second floor. There’s an elevator, but I usually just take the stairs.”
“Stairs are fine by me,” she said, and then gestured for me to precede her up the stairs. “You first.”
I laughed as I trotted up the stairs. “You want me to go first so I don’t stare at your ass the whole time, or because you want to stare at mine?”
“Shut up,” she muttered. “Neither. I just don’t know which unit is yours.”
“Sure, sure.” I stopped and did a dumb pose to pop out my butt for her benefit. “You just want to look at my butt.”
I glanced back at her, and sure enough, the second our eyes met, she glanced away a little too quickly.
“You’re awfully full of yourself.”
“You’re just annoyed because you know it’s true,” I said, leaning against the railing and smirking down at her.
“Do you always act this way, or is just me?” she demanded, stomping up the stairs past me.
I followed her up, but sadly the sweater obscured my view of anything good.
“Stop staring at my butt,” Juneau said, glaring back at me.
“Don’t worry, that ridiculous sweater of yours takes care of that.”
“So you admit to staring?”
“Absolutely. But currently there’s nothing to see except a vague hint of motion under all that thick wool.”
“Maybe that’s why I wore the sweater,” she said, pushing through the door and into the second-floor hallway. “To keep your eyes off me. You got more than enough of a look last time.”
“See, that’s where we disagree. That wasn’t anywhere near enough of a look.”
“Yeah, well, it’s all you’re gonna get, so I hope you appreciated it.”
I gestured at a door on the right as she went past it. “This is me.” I unlocked it and led the way in, and for once I was thankful Ram was such a neat freak, because our apartment wasn’t the dirty shithole most people assumed the bachelor pad of three single men would be.
She glanced around and was clearly surprised by the fact that things were neat, tidy, vacuumed, and wiped down—thanks entirely to Ram and his OCD tendencies. “Wow. It’s…cleaner than I expected it to be.”
I laughed. “That’s Ram. He’s got issues.” I gestured around. “Which works for Rome and me, cause we get a clean apartment out of it.”
She stood, waiting. “So…my note?”
I sighed. “Right to business, huh?” I brushed the shoulder of her soaking wet sweater, which hung limp and clung to her body in a way I appreciated, but I knew was leaving her cold and shivering. “How about I offer you some sweatpants and a hoodie to wear while we toss your things into the dryer?”
“I’ll swim in your clothes.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Hey, I’m one hundred percent in favor of you wrapping up in nothing but my fleece blanket, but I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”
“The sweater is the only thing that’s really all that wet,” she said, her eyes flicking away from mine. “I wouldn’t mind if it got dried, though.”
“Give it here and I’ll toss it in. The laundry room is just down the hall.”
She hesitated. “Um, yeah. Okay.” She slowly started unbuttoning the sweater. “Can you, um, look away?”
I snorted. “What, are you naked under it or something?”
“No, I just…” She sighed, and then set her jaw. “Fine.”
She unbuttoned the sweater from the top down, held it closed, and then, with a long look into my eyes, she shrugged out of it.
HOLY. MOTHER. FUCK.
She was wearing a tight black miniskirt that only just barely covered her ass, and a tank top worn braless, with a plunging neckline that bared an absolutely cock-hardening amount of inner sideboob…and what with the thick straps, it also left bare an equally maddening amount of outer sideboob. Basically, the only part of her breasts that were covered was the tips.
Sort of.
Were they taped in place? If she moved wrong, a boob was sure to fly out.
Please move wrong—please?
And those legs? Jesus. If she stretched too far, I was certain the skirt would hike up and I’d get a glimpse at the underside of her ass, if not a hint of underwear.
And all those tattoos? Totally bared, exposed. Illuminated, you might say.
“Remington?” Her voice was low, quiet, quavery. “Say something.”
“I…” My voice was hoarse. “You—you’re…”
She blinked up at me, and I knew that more than tits or ass or legs, it was those eyes that would be my undoing. They were inquisitive, kind, warm, fiery, fierce, sultry…everything, all at once. “I’m what?”
She was inches away,
standing in my living room with those intoxicating eyes on me, waiting for what I’d say.
“In a way it was better with the sweater on.”
She frowned. “It…it was?”
“Yeah, because it was a fuck of a lot easier to keep my hands to myself when you were all covered up.” I gestured at her with a sweep of my finger from head to toe and back up. “Looking all perfect and sexy like this? My self-control is a joke.”
“Then give me my sweater back.”
I laughed, and headed for the door. “Not a chance in fucking hell, sweetheart.”
She followed me. “Remington, seriously. I just came for my note.”
I paused halfway out the door. “And now you’re stuck here with me for as long as it takes for this to dry—unless you want to brave the rain in just that outfit.”
“You’re a bastard.”
“I’m drying your clothing for you, and I’m a bastard?”
“You’re all but saying you plan on…on seducing me.”
“Not all but—I am saying that.” I turned back and sidled over to her, standing so close you couldn’t have fit a piece of paper between her breasts and my chest, staring down at her. “If you’re as impervious to my charms as you’re making out, you’re fine, right? Nothing to worry about. My attempts at seduction are doomed to fail.”
“Right,” she breathed.
“The only reason you’d have to be nervous about me trying to seduce you is if you are attracted to me—if you find me wildly irresistible despite my roguish ways.”
“You’ve obviously read too many romance novels,” she said with a snort of laughter. “Roguish ways.”
“My point is, you have nothing to worry about, okay?”
She attempted a confident smile. “Right.”
Impetuously, still holding her sweater in one hand, I cupped the back of her neck with my other, bent down, and kissed her.
Slowly.
Forcefully.
She stiffened at first, and then melted, and then her hand tangled into my hair and she whimpered, lifting up on her toes and pressing into the kiss, opening her mouth and offering me her tongue and taking mine.
She pressed herself against me, taking my kiss and making it something else, making it something alive and wild between us.
And when we broke apart, she was gasping for breath, and her lips were swollen, and her eyes were fixed hungrily on mine.
“Damn you, Remington,” she whispered.
I just grinned at her. “Stay here,” I said, and disappeared through the door, taking her sweater to the laundry room where I put it on low and warm rather than high and hot, knowing full well it would take twice as long to dry. I mean, it’s wool—I’d hate to shrink it, right?
All the while, my lips tingled, and my zipper was tight, and my head spun—the girl was hungry, wild.
She kissed with a need to match the way I felt.
I had a feeling I was in trouble with this girl. A lot of trouble.
Good thing I’ve always been a sucker for trouble.
10
Juneau
Ohhhhhh god.
Have I ever been kissed like that? Ever?
The way he cupped the back of my neck and pulled me up to meet him? Guiding, demanding, but not controlling. And his lips? Soft, yet firm; pliable, yet powerful. Damp, warm, devouring. His tongue invaded my mouth and I had no choice but respond in kind, to open my mouth for him, and taste his tongue.
My breasts flattened against him, and his heart beat hard and fast against my chest. The whole thing was completely intoxicating.
And then there was the bulging tightness of his zipper, promising something iron-hard and massive. Lust burned through me like a wildfire.
And then, just as I was finding my equilibrium in the kiss, he broke away and that sexy, arrogant grin told me he knew damn well how the kiss had affected me.
He went off to the laundry room, and I stood in the living room of his apartment. I placed two fingers against my lips and read myself the riot act.
I was absolutely NOT going to assault him with my mouth the moment he returned. I was absolutely NOT going to let my hands get anywhere near his zipper, much less the organ behind it. I promised myself I was absolutely NOT going to let him strip me bare and have his way with me right here on the living room floor, consequences be damned.
None of that was going to happen.
We were going to remain fully clothed and conduct a civil conversation. My hands would stay on my lap, and his hands would stay on his, and when my sweater was done drying, I’d call a cab and go home. Alone.
And, once home alone, I was absolutely NOT going to use my vibrator on myself while thinking about the massive thing behind his zipper…or how thick and hard and hot it would feel in my hand as I slowly and gently stroked it.
Crap.
Crap, crap, crap.
I was daydreaming about Remington’s cock. Again.
When he sauntered back into his apartment, I jumped a mile in the air, squeaking embarrassingly.
He held up his hands, moving toward me slowly, laughing. “Whoa, chill, Juneau—it’s just me.”
I wanted to be mad about it, but how could I? I was in his apartment of my own free will, and I knew he’d be back. “Sorry, sorry—just…”
He quirked up one eyebrow. “Thinking dirty thoughts about me?”
“No!” I protested, knowing I was giving myself away.
He grinned, a hot, knowing smirk. “I see. So…you were.”
“No,” I insisted. “I was just…” I sighed. “Can I have my note back now?”
He leaned in, and his lips brushed mine. “It’s okay, Juneau. You can admit it.” He touched his lips to the shell of my ear. “I was thinking dirty thoughts about you, too.”
“You were? When?” I couldn’t help but ask.
He laughed, a gruff, husky rumble. “Um…well? Just now. Last night. Three days ago. Shit—to be honest, Juneau, I’m thinking dirty thoughts about you pretty much all the time.”
A heavy, pulsing, significant pause filled the air.
“Want to know what I do when I think those dirty thoughts?” he muttered in my ear, his breath hot and his voice hotter.
“No, thank you,” I breathed.
“You sure?”
I nodded shakily. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
His teeth sank into my earlobe, and I squeaked. “You have no interest in knowing what I do when I think dirty, filthy things about your body?”
“Nope.”
He laughed, louder, and backed away. “Okay.” He swaggered down the hallway, leaving me standing breathless and fighting the urge to beg him to tell me everything.
He stopped in the doorway to a bedroom on the right side of the hallway. “You coming?”
“Coming?” I jumped, blushing at the unintentional innuendo. “In—into your room you mean?” I said, my voice high and panicked.
He widened his eyes and nodded, a sarcastic expression. “Yeah…my room. Where my dresser is, which has my underwear drawer in it, which has your note in it.”
“Can’t you—can’t you just…get it and bring it here?”
He smirked. “I mean, I could. But what…are you scared of my room?”
“Nope.”
“You’re not scared of my room?” He leaned against the doorpost. “You’re not…nervous about seeing my bed?”
“Nope.”
“You’re not worried because you’ve had wet dreams about being naked in my bed? You’ve never daydreamed about being bent over it?”
“No!” I snapped. “I have not!”
He laughed. “Yeah, okay. Whatever you say.”
The sarcastic disbelief in his voice and on his face pissed me off—and loosened my tongue to an unwise degree. I stomped over to him, glaring up at him. “You want to know? Fine, I’ll tell you.” I stabbed a finger into his chest. “Yes, I have had inappropriate thoughts about you. Yes, I am nervous about going into your room, becau
se I know you’re trying to seduce me and yes, I am attracted to you, but no, I have no intention of letting anything happen. And you want to know why?” I stood up straight and tall, my eyes fierce on his. “Because guys like you are careless with the hearts of girls like me. You’d get what you want from me, and then it’d be over. I’m not afraid of getting hurt because I know I can survive it. The problem is, I’d have to be certain it’d be worth getting hurt over, and I’m just not sure it would be.”
He winced. “Wow. Okay.” He shook his head. “If that’s how you really feel.”
The anger and hurt on his face cut through me like a knife.
He stomped into his room, yanked open the top drawer, rummaged through it—and then stopped, abruptly spinning around to snarl at me. “No, it’s fine. If you’re not sure it’d be worth it, then you shouldn’t be here.” He went to the closet, flipped through hangers, and found a thick Patagonia fleece jacket. “Here. Take this and go. You can give it to Kitty to give back to me later. Better yet—just fuckin’ keep it.”
I entered his room. “Remington, wait. I didn’t mean—”
His eyes blazed as he set the jacket on my shoulders. “Not worth it. What the fuck? How do you know I’d be careless? How do you know what I want?”
“It’s obvious what you want!” I snapped, taking the jacket off and throwing it back at him. “You want to get me naked and fuck me. You’ve said almost exactly that.”
“Right. I absolutely, and without a single doubt, want to get you naked and fuck you six ways to Sunday—more than I’ve wanted just about anything else, ever.” He stood over me, staring down at me, the jacket dangling from a finger. “The question is more about what happens afterwards, am I right?”
“Yes, that’s exactly the question.”
He glared down at me with hard, distant eyes. “And you’re assuming I’d—what? Finish and tell you to fuck off? Get my rocks off and then never talk to you again?”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “That’s pretty much exactly what I’m assuming.”
“And like I’ve said before—you’re seriously underestimating me.”