Ford licked at the corner of her mouth and she opened to him, gasping around the smooth stroke of his tongue and then meeting him with her own. Melting into the staggering height of him and wanting—God, wanting to hold on to this feeling she hadn’t had in so long for just a while longer.
Another firm thrust into her mouth and her fingers balled into the front of Ford’s jacket, clinging tight. He groaned, deepening the kiss until she was drowning in it. Until the need for air was as insignificant as her rationale for keeping Ford at arm’s length. All that mattered was more.
Her hands in his hair, inside his jacket, running over his jeans.
His arms holding her so tight against him, his breath hot at her ear with his deep rumbled warning, “Brynn, don’t count on me stopping this.” His teeth caught her lobe, sending chills skating over her superheated skin. “I’m not the nice guy I was ten years ago.”
She pulled back, meeting his dark gaze.
What a liar. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have warned her at all. “I think you are.”
Which meant she really, really, really had to stop.
—
Ford shook his head. Brynn was so wrong. If he were even close to the “nice guy” he’d been the last time they were together, he would have backed off the second he saw that look in her eyes—the one promising she was about to stake him to the ground in the friend zone. If he was lucky.
Or maybe he would have stopped after that first kiss, backed off long enough to let her decide if she wanted to take it further. But no, he’d ignored all those conflicted signals because he’d meant what he said in the bar. No way was he letting her get away that easy.
He wanted her. And despite all the indecision shadowing her eyes, she wanted him, too. Bad enough to score an R rating on the kiss it took all his “nice guy” reserves to keep from sliding straight into X right there next to the red telephone booth out front of the Pint Pub. And even before that, he’d seen it in her smile and eyes and the way she worried that gorgeous bottom lip between her teeth.
His arms tightened around her, pulling all those soft places he wanted so badly into closer contact. Still not close enough.
“Ford,” she sighed, sounding regretful and needy all at once, her hands clutching at his shoulders and—yeah, that wasn’t pushing happening. “This isn’t a good idea. I’m not—”
A nice guy wouldn’t burrow his face into her neck, intentionally rubbing the light scrape of his stubble against the spot it had taken less than five minutes to rediscover as Brynn’s weakness. A nice guy wouldn’t revel in the gasp that cut off whatever protest she’d been working up to, or exploit that weakness even further by teasing it with his lips, his tongue. His teeth.
“Definitely not,” he agreed. “We could get arrested for the things I’m thinking about doing to you right now.”
Another needy sound, and her head fell back that much more.
Invitation accepted. Gladly.
“Ford, I shouldn’t—”
“I know. You shouldn’t let me hear you make those little breathless sounds.” He burrowed deeper, opening his mouth over that handy little stretch of skin and sucked—but only for a second. Just until she clutched harder and shifted her hips against him. “They only make me want to hear them louder.”
Forget louder. Whatever that unintelligible sound was she’d just made—gasped—whimpered—hell yes, he’d take it. He’d take it all night long.
Only then she shook her head and pulled back to meet his eyes, and damn it. When she looked at him like that, pleading and half undone, he knew down to his soul there wasn’t a thing he could deny her. Including letting her go, if that’s what she asked for.
Her slim shoulders rose and fell with each ragged breath. She licked her kiss-swollen lips and blinked at the few snowflakes clinging to her dark lashes. “I—I can’t—”
His eyes closed, his head dropping forward until their brows touched. Fucking nice guy. He was going to have to let her go. No matter how good that connection had felt. How unique. How right.
He’d tried, but she couldn’t—
“Ford.” Her fingers slid up his neck, over the sides of his face, and into his hair. “I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.”
—
She’d gone crazy. Lost all sense. Or at the very least, lost the will to fight what had begun to feel a whole lot like the inevitable. Because it was that kind of pull between them. Insistent and demanding. And once she’d given in to that all-too-persuasive whisper wending through her thoughts—One night. Why not just one night?—it was like relief she’d never known buoying every part of her as Ford took her hand in his and, that criminally hot smile stretching wide, began pulling her down the street after him. Fat flakes of snow were drifting around them, catching in Ford’s hair and settling on the shoulders of his down coat. He was walking backward, as if taking his eyes off her would break the spell—maybe it would.
All she knew was she couldn’t look away. Couldn’t do anything but follow and laugh as Ford periodically glanced behind him to check their progress, sigh as he drew her closer to steal a kiss just the other side of “quick,” and moan when that kiss wasn’t enough and she found herself pressed against the bricks of an apartment building on North Honore just before the tracks. Until finally they made it to the gray stone building across from the park.
And now she was floating. Or rather stumbling. They were stumbling down the hall toward Ford’s bedroom, desperate hands pulling at clothes still in the way, feet catching together until finally, Ford wrapped his arms around her and straightened, pulling her up and against him. Completely off the floor.
She giggled breathlessly as he carried her the rest of the way.
“You’re strong,” she gasped, running her hands over his shoulders and back, finding muscles bigger than she’d remembered beneath his shirt.
“Yeah?” he answered with another one of those grins she kept getting caught up in. “You like it?”
She nodded, because what wasn’t to like? He’d had a beautiful body at nineteen, but this, now—she couldn’t stop touching him, running her fingers between the valleys and cuts delineating each muscle. Licking at the strong column of his neck. Pulling more at his clothes because she didn’t want her mind to have even a second to think about what she was doing and how bad a mistake it might be.
All she wanted was to feel. Just give in.
Something she never let herself do, but being with Ford was different. She trusted him. No matter how many years had passed.
Ford cut to the left, and they were inside his bedroom. His hold on her loosened, allowing her to slide down his body, even as their kiss continued. Her toes touched the ground and he bowed her back, his mouth burning a trail over her jaw and neck.
“Jesus, Brynn, I can’t believe you’re really here,” he growled against her tender skin.
She shouldn’t be, but before that thought had even a second to take root, to taint something so incredible, she shifted her focus to getting beneath Ford’s clothes.
Her hands roamed over his chest and stomach to where she gathered his shirt and pushed it up and up and—oh God, his body was so nice. Lean packed muscles that flexed and shifted as he raised his arms to help her get his shirts off, bisected by a narrow trail of dark hair, starting at his navel and winding down into jeans that hung just right. Jeans that were straining at the fly.
Her breath caught.
Straining a lot.
She didn’t know what she wanted to touch first. Where to put her mouth. How to make the most of the playground in front of her. But then Ford was pushing her sweater off her shoulders, helping her out of the T-shirt, and dropping to his knees to kiss the skin across her belly while he unbuttoned her jeans. He tongued her navel and her fingers locked into the dark silk of his hair, tightening when he groaned and licked again.
Her body was vibrating with need and tension, her breasts swollen and her sex wet. Backing onto the bed, she felt the tigh
t pulse between her legs at the sight of Ford crawling over her.
This was crazy. It was ten years since they’d been together, but when she looked at his face, into those eyes, at that smile—everything this man had meant to her was still right there. Even if that wasn’t what this night was about.
Stop thinking about it!
Ford met her mouth for another kiss, this one burning hotter than the ones that had come before. His tongue thrust past her lips, making her gasp around him as she felt that sexy, slick penetration all the way down to her toes. Her hips raised to meet the thick ridge still contained in his jeans and they moaned together.
Their bodies became a tangle of limbs, desperate and greedy.
He felt so good above her, but she couldn’t stop the voice in the back of her mind warning that he deserved better—
“Ford?” she asked desperately, aching to give herself over completely, but knowing she couldn’t like this.
His head came up from where he’d been devouring her neck. His hair was a sexy mess shooting in a hundred directions at once. It looked good on him, but she couldn’t let herself get distracted. He needed to know this was a one-time thing before they went any further.
“What is it, beautiful?” he asked, and then froze above her, his body going tense and his face blank.
She heard it, too, the faint strains of “Rock-a-bye Baby” sounding from somewhere in the apartment. Ford’s face broke into the widest grin she’d seen yet. He planted a hard kiss on her lips and started backing off the bed in a rush.
“I am so sorry about this, Brynn. Believe me, there’s only one thing in this world that could get me out of bed with you, and this is it. Maggie and Tyler Wells, the friends I told you about earlier—they’re having their baby.”
She remembered. It was the reason he’d had only the one beer, in case he needed to drive.
Responsible, reliable Ford.
She bet he never let down the people who counted on him.
“Oh Ford, that’s amazing,” she said, hopping out of bed and grabbing for her clothes, a nervous energy vibrating through her bones. Because she’d almost—and they shouldn’t—and as badly as she’d wanted to, it was so much better that they hadn’t. “I’ll be out of here in a flash.”
“No.” He stilled her scramble with a hand on her bare shoulder, the heat nearly searing her skin. “Look, I have to go, like now. I need to get the car and pull it around front and I’m going with them to the hospital. But you don’t have to leave.”
He rubbed at the back of his neck, letting his eyes rove around the room before meeting hers and holding. “You could stay. Sleep here.”
Her lips parted on a protest, but he was already going on. “I know that sounds nuts, I know it’s too soon and we’ve barely started to catch up. But Jesus, Brynn, I know you feel it, too. So…stay. I want you to stay. We can talk in the morning. I’ll make you breakfast.”
Not trusting her tight throat to words, she nodded, hoping her smile held up under the open, honest eyes searching her face.
It must have, because he leaned in, the smile not leaving his lips as he kissed her once and then started backing out of the room fast. “This is going to be good, Brynn. I’ll see you when I get back.”
Three minutes later, Ford and his friends had pulled away from the front of the building and five minutes after that, Brynn let herself out. A single sheet of paper lay folded on top of Ford’s pillow with the most honest thing she’d given him all night written in blue ink.
This was a mistake. I’m sorry.
—
Ford balled the sheet of paper and fired it across the room. He was beat, whipped from the roller coaster the past seven hours had been—the pure fucking happiness over seeing Brynn again, laughing with her and taking her in his arms; the rush of adrenaline pumping urgency and anxious tension while he waited to make sure Maggie and her baby were okay, the joy and relief when he saw with his own eyes they were, when he touched that perfect little head of dark hair and so-tiny fist—and then this.
A nut-crushing combination of disappointment, frustration, and just enough humiliation to ensure there was no way he missed it.
God damn it, she’d done it again.
Chapter 4
Brynn had spent the day hiding out in her less-than-a-month-old apartment, contemplating subletting the place and moving back to the South Loop where, through six years of living in Chicago, she’d never once run into Ford Meyers. Of course moving again wasn’t really an option. She did okay money-wise with her MLB and NBA shooting schedules, but after the last hit to her savings—thanks, Dad—and the money she was kicking in to cover her mom’s mortgage, she wasn’t comfortable risking a sublet falling through and getting stuck with two monthly payments or, worse, having to buy herself out of a lease. Which meant she was just going to have to suck it up and stay.
A hard truth that would have gone down a hell of a lot easier with a pint of Cherry Dark Chocolate and a Cousins Sub. Maybe a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. Or even a slice of toast. Anything, but she’d gone through her last package of ramen for breakfast and the sole inhabitants of her fridge—a four-day-old half-eaten Big Mac and the two-weeks-expired quart of milk she hadn’t braved up enough to face pouring down the drain yet—were off the table.
She’d planned on grocery shopping this morning. But that was before she realized Ford Meyers lived less than four blocks from her apartment.
Ugh.
Wrapping her favorite Milwaukee Brewers blanket around her shoulders, she pushed off her couch and shuffled to the window, squinting down West Le Moyne Street, and—yep, perfect, she was pretty sure that sliver of gray way down there was his place.
She could never go out again.
A plan she’d be totally on board with if not for the ominous grumble originating in her empty stomach, reminding her she was hungry. More like gnaw-off-a-limb starving, which meant she was going to have to go out.
Squinting harder, she wondered if she got a telescope if she’d be able to see Ford’s front door. Not because she was some kind of stalker, but just so she could keep tabs on where he was. Like, when he left the apartment. When he got back. Maybe take a few notes on his schedule, so she’d know when it was safe to risk venturing outdoors and not run into him.
Another plaintive cry from her stomach and she shrugged off her blanket in a huff, tossing it over the back of her La-Z-Boy recliner. She was being ridiculous. Ford Meyers wasn’t the bogeyman. He couldn’t be everywhere at once. Heck, Wicker Park wasn’t that small and she’d gone a solid month living there without seeing him, which meant chances were good she’d go at least that long without seeing him again. And worst case, even if she did run into him, so what? They’d kissed and she’d realized it was a mistake. It happened.
They’d be adults about it.
Mature. Totally mature.
That’s what she’d thought right up until the minute she’d been sweeping a shelf of snacks into her cart at Go Grocer and looked up to see Ford walk through the front entrance.
—
Shit, he was running on fumes. Barely functioning after no sleep the night before and dealing with his too exuberant sister, who’d been springing around his place all day, demanding information about the lipstick on his T-shirt from the night before and gushing over the sheer perfection of little Penelope Anne Wells. And yeah, the baby was cute as hell. But Ava bubbling away while he tried not to think about Brynn and the taste of her lips and the feel of her pressed so close to his body and those half-desperate little noises she made when he’d kissed the place where her neck and shoulder met—shit, he was doing it again.
And he really didn’t want to.
Because last night with Brynn had been good. And even though it hadn’t been more than a handful of hours, there was something about being with her again, talking and laughing with her, that just clicked. It felt right in a way things never seemed to feel right to him.
But apparently all that right-feel
ing goodness was just a mistake.
Fuck.
So he was beat, burned out in both body and mind. Too tired to hit a restaurant, too irritable to deal with delivery, too stir-crazy to throw anything together from his fully stocked fridge. Which was why he’d started walking—and ended up at Go Grocer.
And seriously, as wiped as he was, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed her if the blur of motion at the farthest edge of his periphery hadn’t stalled, going stone still, before doing this crazy sort of dodging left, then right, left, right, little hand flail and then jumping back to—and this was pure speculation, but he was pretty confident about it—hide behind the aisle.
At which point all that burned-out, beat, and wiped evaporated beneath the stylish overhead track lighting. His senses sharpened. His focus closed in, narrowing down to one…single…thing. That ribbon of red curl dangling free of the Brewers ball cap he’d seen just before it disappeared around the corner.
Brynn.
Ford stood where he was, arms crossed, debating whether to follow her to the back of the store or let her be and just head up to Olivia’s Market instead. Give her the break she’d obviously been looking for. Only then he thought about the way she’d been looking at him last night. When he first caught her in that bear hug from which he hadn’t wanted to let her free and while they’d been talking. And after, when he’d had her back at his place. Beneath him, on his bed.
“This was a mistake.”
Maybe it was. He turned for the front of the store, but instead of walking out, hung back as the curves he’d had his hands all over the night before skulked down the next aisle.
What was one more mistake when it came to this girl?
The cart emerged first with Brynn white-knuckling the handle from behind, her head ducked low to near Quasimodo proportions. And beneath her coat, another sweet tee. This one yellow, with a quote from the cult classic Donny Darko scrawled within that twisted bunny graphic.
Man, he couldn’t get enough of this girl.
“Hey, Brynn,” he greeted, not bothering to keep the “gotcha” out of his tone as he leaned over her cart, and, feeling just the slightest bit evil, added, “Almost didn’t recognize you there.”