“Ford, I…uh…I—” Color burst into her cheeks in a satisfying rush, but not nearly so satisfying as the color he’d seen in them when she’d been panting his name less than twelve hours earlier.
He raised a brow, watching as she struggled for something to say, her rosy lips trying to take shape around a few different words that refused to come. Finally, she let out an unsteady breath and swore. Skillfully, before trying to correct it with some benign PG alternative. Damn, he’d missed that conflicted mouth of hers.
There were a lot of ways the next minutes could go, some more predictable than others, but in the end Ford opted for the path Brynn would be least expecting.
“Want to see a picture of the baby?” he asked, holding out his phone in offering.
Maybe it wasn’t playing fair, tripping her up with Penelope’s wrinkled little mug, but then maybe fair wasn’t Ford’s highest priority.
“Oh my God,” she cooed in that reverent way females did when confronted with a tiny fresh one. “She’s adorable.”
His shoulder brushed against hers as he admired the one-day-old darling he was shamelessly using for personal gain. “She is. There are a bunch of pictures—scroll through if you want.”
Brynn glanced up at him, her eyes anxious and guilty. Not the look he wanted to see in them at all, so he leaned closer and, sweeping his finger over the screen, flipped to the next snap.
“Precious!”
Then she was flipping through herself, admiring a little puckered kiss in one, the shock of monkey hair in the next, what she called a Cheerio mouth, and—his personal favorite—the snap he’d caught of Penelope double-fisting her parents’ fingers. One in each hand, banded across the smallest belly he’d ever seen.
But then his attention shifted from the pictures he’d already looked at a dozen times that day to the woman he’d been hoping to find in his bed when he’d returned in the early hours of the morning. The woman he needed to understand better if he wanted a shot with her.
And he did. There was something primal about the way he felt with her. It was unreasonable. Irrational. And he didn’t fucking care, because that feeling was so good, the only thing that mattered was making sure he got more.
But instead of giving in to the instinct to make more happen by backing her into the closest corner and working that sweet spot beneath her ear until she pleaded with him to take her right there, or just as tempting but with fewer law enforcement ramifications, throwing her over his shoulder and carting her back to his bed where he’d start with the aforementioned sweet spot and work his way south until her fingers were knotted in his hair, he had the taste of her on his tongue, and she was begging him not to stop, ever—he was going to play it differently.
“You have anything real in here?” he asked, riffling through crackers, popcorn, and chips, finding nothing he’d even remotely associate with an actual meal. “It’s all snack stuff.”
Brynn raised a single shoulder in response, showing him the phone like he’d never seen the pictures on it. “She’s so itty-bitty in your arms!”
Yeah, she was. Light, too. And in truth, he hadn’t taken a steady breath until she’d been back in Tyler’s hold.
“You picking up anything for dinner?” he asked, starting to push the cart and smiling to himself as Brynn followed him into the next aisle.
“Maybe some pasta stuff—look at you guys with your Santa hats on. Love that Maggie wore the red stretch suit with that big belly.”
So she’d kept going past the baby pictures, which meant, mistake or not, she’d still been curious about him. “Yeah, she’s a lot of fun. Loved being pregnant, especially once she started getting really round.” Then, pulling over at the pasta section, he selected a jar from the shelf and added it to the cart. He added noodles. Moved to the next aisle and threw in a spring salad.
Brynn walked beside him, her focus no longer on the phone.
“I’m sorry about last night,” she offered, quietly, her eyes meeting his for only the briefest contact.
Stopping the cart, he turned to her. Tried not to get caught up in her eyes or distracted by her mouth—which was parted the slightest bit, teasing him with a hint of wetness where she’d moistened her lip. Christ. What he said now and how he said it would mean the difference between seeing Brynn again and having her jumping behind lampposts every time their paths crossed in the future.
“You mean because of the way you took advantage of me right there on the street?” he asked, fighting for a straight face when her chin pulled back in surprise. Not what she’d been expecting him to say—good. “Look, I wasn’t going to bring it up. But since you did, apology accepted.”
And yeah, definitely the right call on that one, because now the color playing around in Brynn’s cheeks was the kind that didn’t make either of them feel guilty or bad. And that smile pushing hard at her lips—yeah, that was all his.
“So I took advantage of you?”
Tongue pushing against a back molar, he nodded. “And then threw me away like yesterday’s news. Gotta say, I felt cheap.” He’d felt fantastic. Better than he could remember in years. Right up until he found her gone. “Used.”
“Dirty?” she offered, with a look that said she just hadn’t been able to resist.
He leaned closer, so his lips nearly brushed her ear. Voice low, he answered, “Very dirty.”
Those Irish eyes went wide and Brynn stared up at him, her breath unsteady, her body still so close.
And then, because he was right there and he couldn’t resist, he caught the brim of her cap and gently pulled it off. Streams of loose curls tumbled around her face and shoulders in a haphazard spill that had his fingertips tingling as he remembered the way all that softness had felt between them the night before. The years before.
That same feeling hit him again. This is right.
Another trembling breath and her eyes closed, her body swaying infinitesimally closer to his. He could give in to that urge building hot and hard within him, lean into the closing space between them and kiss her. God knew he wanted to—only some small rational part of him which miraculously hadn’t shut down with the rest of his brain function when he’d heard that too tempting shuddering breath knew it would be a mistake. And not just because they were standing in the middle of the Go Grocer—though as far as game went, he didn’t have to check the manual to know moves made in the refrigerated aisle scored negative points—but also because nothing had changed since the night before…and until it did, he wasn’t willing to risk what might well be his last shot with Brynn on it.
So instead of sliding his fingers deep into the thick mass of her hair and taking the kiss that would lead to all the more-than-kissing every part of him was begging for, Ford wrapped a single lock around his finger and gave it a light tug.
Brynn’s eyes popped open, a furrow digging its way between her brows when she realized he’d stepped back instead of closer.
“Hey, load some actual food into your cart here. I’m going to grab a basket and pick up a few things myself.”
“Oh, um, o-okay,” she stammered, looking adorably perplexed. And why wouldn’t she. Ford couldn’t imagine any guy in his right mind taking a pass on—well, shit, anything that Brynn Ahearne was offering. But that was exactly what he was going to do, because unless he wanted the same result he’d gotten last night, the next time he got Brynn anywhere near a bed…she was going to be the one dragging him to it.
Chapter 5
Okay, no way did that just happen. No way had she gotten so completely caught up in Ford Meyers standing close enough she could feel the heat coming off him, towering over her in the way she used to love, smelling so good, and all but growling “very dirty” in her ear…that she’d actually posted up for a kiss Ford wasn’t offering.
Oh yes, that burning sensation rushing over her was shame encompassing every square inch of her pathetic physical being. These were the moments she wished she lived in Buffy’s Sunnydale and the ground would m
ercifully open up a Hellmouth to devour her whole. If only. But as it was, she was pushing her cart over the mockingly solid floor of Go Grocer, ostensibly shopping for some “actual food” while Ford did the same somewhere else in the micro store. Grabbing dolmades and baba ganoush, she decided that was as much as she could manage and pushed up to the checkout, where Ford had already paid for his bottle of organic juice and apple.
Organic juice?
The only reason she’d picked this market was its assortment of healthier fare and her vivid memory of Ford devouring a bag of Funyuns while ranting about the horrors of some tofu burger his sister had tricked him into eating once. But obviously there were more than a few things about him that had changed in the past ten years.
“Got everything?” he asked, stuffing a few bills into the front pocket of his jeans and again stepping in closer than strictly necessary, providing her with another hit of the clean laundry and yummy guy smell that had scrambled her senses back in the refrigerated section.
She wasn’t going to lean into it. No matter how appealing it might be to burrow beneath his wool peacoat and find out where that scent was the strongest…whether the twill of his caramel-colored shirt would be as soft as it looked against her cheek, or if her arms would feel as right around his waist as they had last night.
“Looks good,” Ford commented casually, as he buttoned up for the cold.
Casual. Super casual.
Crazy casual.
This guy was completely taking the events of the night before in stride.
Like maybe she’d overestimated the connection between them and, really, Ford had so many girls tumbling into his apartment that a few getting away was no big deal at all?
She took in the broad shoulders and towering height. The boyishly thick, dark fringe of his lashes and all-man square of his jaw. The confident slant of his firm lips. Yes, it was totally possible.
Ooh and hello, new, unwelcome sensation settling like a jagged stone in her belly. That would be jealousy. Of the totally unjustified and completely irrational kind.
What the heck?
Brynn’s eyes narrowed on Ford as he took his bag of groceries and all four of hers in hand, cocking his head toward the exit. No. Not after what he’d said the night before about their connection, about her feeling it the same as he was. Unless that was just talk and—and Ford was propping the door open with a foot, holding it so she could walk through.
She followed him out to the street, where he grinned down at her and asked, “Which way?”
—
Back in her apartment, Ford set the bags on the pass-through between the kitchen and dining area.
“Thanks for the help with all this,” she offered, about to say something more when he shrugged out of his coat and her mind went blank. One broad shoulder rolled free and then the next, the muscles between flexing visibly through the pull of his shirt. His biceps bulging just enough to ensure the only thoughts left in her betraying mind were of the show-me-more variety.
He folded the coat over a chair and then circled back into the kitchen, where—yep, where she was staring, probably with her mouth hanging open and her ovaries doing some kind of exploding fireworks show.
This was crazy.
In her line of work, Brynn was surrounded by guys. Almost constantly. The production crew, the hotshots able to score seats in her zone, and the athletes—men who by all rights were at the pinnacle of physical perfection. But never, not once in all her years on the job, had she reacted to a single one of them the way she was reacting to Ford. Not even close.
And it wasn’t just that she considered the men at work off-limits. She’d never reacted to anyone this way.
Never with the kind of hot pull capable of melting away the rational parts of her that knew better. The parts in charge of saying “no.”
Sure, she’d dated some. A little over the years. There had been boyfriends in high school who’d been clumsy and oblivious. A couple of guys after Ford when she moved back to Milwaukee. And Carl.
She shook her head, wanting to clear his face from her mind before he had a chance to dig in, but he was already there. Reminding her why it was such a mistake to have Ford there at all.
Another smile flashed her way and then Ford was unloading the groceries onto the counter, asking her how she liked the apartment. Joking about the neighborhood managers having a secret handshake and did she need anything fixed or improved?
But they needed to talk. Not just joke and blow off what had happened the night before, because even if he could act like it didn’t bother him at all, she couldn’t.
“I shouldn’t have gone back to your place last night,” she began, her heart beating so loud she could barely hear herself think.
Ford propped a hip against the counter and crossed his arms, his dark eyes intent on hers, but his expression otherwise unreadable.
“Why’s that?”
She swallowed, her throat suddenly Sahara dry.
“There isn’t room in my life for a messy romantic entanglement. I know it sounds extreme, but the way I work and the hours I keep can be…intense. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for dates or bonding and I’m not the kind of woman interested in keeping a—”
“A benchwarmer?” he offered, a wry twist to his lips.
“Well, um, yes.”
And okay, so that wasn’t the whole truth. But it was a part of it. The part that had kept her out of romance’s way until she’d figured out a more effective method of avoidance. Only that wouldn’t work with Ford.
He uncrossed his arms and stepped closer, so there wasn’t more than a foot separating them and each breath she drew hinted of him. “Okay.”
Okay? That was all he had to say about it? For some reason she’d been bracing for the usual assurances the guys who’d come before offered. All the promises that they were cool with her schedule. That they could take it slow, just have fun.
Only Ford didn’t say any of that.
Picking up a jar of salsa, he held it in one hand and then the other. “Where does this go?”
She gestured to the cabinet with the pita chips beside her, then sucked in a short breath when he reached past her, offering more of his delicious scent and a prime view of his shirt hugging his lean hips and waist. The thick strap of his belt giving her ideas about hooking her fingers into it.
He was standing even closer, eyes still holding with hers. “What else?”
She blinked, trying to clear the clean laundry smell and dirty ideas that had started swirling around in her mind. “What?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up and he grabbed the granola bars and a jar of peanuts, shelving them with the rest. Then, leaning back, he caught a bit of her hair between his fingers, loosely twirling it around and around the way he’d done so many years ago. The gentle repetitive tension against her scalp almost hypnotic. “It’s not just your work schedule making you think last night was a mistake. What else?”
Maybe it was the way he was looking into her eyes, or maybe it was who he’d been in her life. But before she could think to say something different, another piece of the too honest truth slipped quietly past her lips. “You.”
Was that satisfaction in his eyes? And his lips?
“Are you smiling?” she demanded, snapping out of that hair-winding half-trance. “Are you?”
—
Hell yes, he was smiling. Because leave it to his girl Brynn to deliver a flat-out “it’s not me, it’s you” slam in that half-breathless and all heavy-lidded way—and did she even realize her hand was resting against his chest?
He offered a pointed glance down and, Ha! She whipped that limb back like it was on fire.
“So it’s me, huh?” he prodded, not entirely hating the sight of Brynn squirming in front of him. “Explain.”
She shook her head, grumbling, and then stepped away from him. Scowled and stepped back even farther.
This was going to be good.
“You remember what it
was like between us. How intense things got.”
“I remember.” How could he have forgotten when those months with Brynn had set the bar so high, he had to train himself to stop comparing everything that had come after? Because nothing came close. At least not until last night.
Hell yeah, he remembered, but what had his grin pushing past containment was the confirmation that she did, too. That, and the way every time she looked at him he could see the want right there in her eyes.
Unfortunately there was doubt there, too, and that was the part he was going to have to find his way around.
“I don’t have time for that kind of intensity, Ford. I can’t afford the distraction. It’s not just my job. It’s my life. Things are already complicated for me. It would be a mistake to add another complication when I ought to be trying to simplify instead. And you’re you, Ford. So nice. So good.” Her words were starting to come faster, the color rising in her cheeks as she spoke. “You don’t deserve the kind of garbage that comes with me, and I don’t want to feel like shit—crap—I mean bad for bringing it. I don’t want the guilt. I don’t need the mess. I can’t afford the risk—”
“Hey, hey,” he said, cutting her off as he pulled her into his chest, suddenly not finding any satisfaction in her words at all, because his girl was seriously panicking. “Shh, Brynn, it’s okay. I get it.”
She wasn’t ready.
Yet.
Abruptly, Brynn pulled out of his arms, wiping at her eyes and giving him her back. “And now I look like a total psycho.”
“No.” She looked beautiful. Vulnerable and confused. “You look like you need a break. Some dinner. And probably some sleep.”
She looked like the girl he used to love, and hell, maybe even after all this time he still did.
“I’ll let you get to it.”
Chapter 6
Deep in the belly of this too-swank-for-his-tastes bar, Ford sat across from a couple of suits working their asses off to woo him. It happened a few times a year, ever since Hibachi Cannonball became the top-grossing game for mobile devices in the U.S. Some megacorp would swoop in, pitching their shtick with an offer to partner up.