“I don’t need shoes. I always carry ballet flats in my bag when I wear heels.” She took the clothes from him, and a line appeared between her brows. “But shorts? Don’t you have sweatpants or something?”
“They’re all going to be too long. Plus, it’s hot outside.”
Her lips rolled inward as she pondered the clothes. “I don’t wear shorts except at home. I have pretty extensive scarring on my leg.”
He winced inwardly. He hadn’t even thought about her leg injury or what scars she might prefer to keep hidden. He’d never seen her in shorts or a skirt, always pants. He should’ve realized she did that on purpose. “Hey, if you’re not comfortable, I’ll grab you some pants. Maybe I can find a pair that we can roll up.”
She glanced up, indecision in her gaze. “I don’t know. It is freaking hot out there.”
He considered her, seeing the hint of yearning there, the desire to take that leap of faith, but she was scared. He had no idea what she thought he would do if he saw her scars. Stare? Be turned off? Think differently of her? He knew none of those were options, but he hadn’t walked in her shoes. He didn’t know what kind of reactions she’d gotten in the past.
He took a breath. “Look, I want you to do whatever makes you feel comfortable, but please don’t cover up just because I’m here with you. We all have scars, some visible, some not. You’ve already seen a load of mine.”
She nodded. “I know. I just… I guess I like the way you look at me now.”
He lifted a brow. “And how’s that?”
A small smile appeared. “Like you’re always right on the edge of trying to convince me out of my clothes.”
He laughed. “That’s totally true. That’s pretty much a constant state when I’m around you. I’m obviously not doing a good job of masking it.”
“Don’t,” she said. “I like it. I’m not used to someone looking at me like that.”
“It’s not going to change, Bec. If that’s what you’re worried about. Your scars don’t scare me. They’re part of you. And to be honest, I’m really more of an ass man than a leg man anyway. And yours…is top-notch, lawyer girl. Grade A.”
She huffed and swatted him with the clothes. “Pig.”
He lifted his hands in defense. “Oink?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. But fine, I’ll wear the shorts.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. You may be a pig, but I don’t want to be a chicken.” She pressed her lips together in determination. “Now distract me because I’m about to overthink this.”
“Oh, we can’t have that.” He reached out to grip the lapels of her suit jacket and guided her to him. She came willingly and looped her arms loosely around his waist. He liked that things were so easy between them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so comfortable around a woman. So he didn’t overanalyze it, and instinct took over. He bent down to kiss her. He’d only intended a quick peck, a reintroduction to this new kissing part of their relationship after all the flirty phone calls. But when his mouth touched hers, fire licked up his spine and all his hell yes receptors went off like a string of firecrackers.
All because of the way she responded to him. Rebecca didn’t simply accept kisses. She didn’t sit back and let him lead. She leaned into it, stated her clear desire to be kissed more thoroughly. And when her lips parted and she made a hungry sound that he’d probably hear in his next erotic dream, he was a goner. His hand shifted to the back of her neck, her skin hot against his palm, and he deepened the kiss, their tongues meeting.
Her hands slid along his chest, her fingertips sending threads of awareness straight downward, and grappled for his shirt like she was going to tear it right off him. He was all for that. He backed her against the bookcase, rattling some of the items on one of the shelves, and aligned his body to hers. Every deprived male cell in his body rushed to the surface, and he had no shot at playing it cool. His cock grew hard and heavy, demanding things it had no right to, while her nails scraped him through his thin T-shirt. All the years of abstinence seemed to coalesce into one pounding fist of need in his gut.
He broke away, panting, and pressed his forehead to hers, trying to rein himself in. “We should probably stop this. Like right now. My bedroom is exceptionally close, and I’m losing my inclination to do the right thing.”
“The right thing?” she asked, breathless.
“Yes. Not rushing this. Not talking you into something and then falling on you like an animal. I haven’t been with anyone in a very long time. I haven’t wanted to.” His grip on her neck tightened, his control barely tethered. “But when you kiss me like that, touch me, I can’t think of anything other than stripping you down right here, putting my mouth on every inch of you, and then sinking deep inside you and making you scream.”
A soft gasp escaped her. “Oh.”
He closed his eyes and gave a humorless laugh, her startled response making him feel ridiculous. “And there I go, taking it too far anyway. I’m sorry.”
He shifted to pull away, to get some much-needed distance, but she reached out and grabbed the waistband of his shorts, hauling him back close. “Hey.”
He lifted his head, meeting her gaze, his blood still pumping hard. “Yeah?”
“Don’t apologize for that,” she said, voice steady. “For showing me you want me or talking dirty or any of it.” She wet her lips. “I’m not saying we should take that step yet either. This is new. We’re getting to know each other. But when you say those things and kiss me that way, when you look at me like you are now, I feel…”
“You feel what?” he asked hoarsely.
“Alive, Wes. Like every part of me is firing at full speed.” She pushed up on her toes and brushed her lips over his. “So please, don’t apologize for that. If I don’t want to do something, I’ll tell you so, and I know you’ll respect that. But don’t be afraid to be real with me or to say what’s in your head. I’m not that easily scandalized. Plus, it’s probably in my head, too.”
Heat spread through his chest and lower—much, much lower. “Oh yeah, lawyer girl. Tell me what’s going on in your head right now.”
She smiled innocently. “If I told you that, we’d never get the bus washed.”
He made a pained sound and tipped his head back. “You are a very mean lady.”
“I am the worst.” She stepped away from him and grabbed the clothes he’d lent her.
But as she walked into the bedroom to change, he had a very different opinion running through his mind. She wasn’t the worst.
No. In fact, she was turning out to be the very best thing that had happened to him in a long damn time.
Now he had to make sure not to screw it up.
chapter
SEVENTEEN
Rebecca walked into Wes’s living room in the borrowed clothes, bracing for the reaction. She knew that Wes would never say anything negative about her scars. He wasn’t a dick. But it didn’t make her feel any less self-conscious about her naked legs.
After the bad experience in college and years of gawkers in gym locker rooms and swimming pools, she’d developed a bit of a phobia about exposing her legs. She hated the sympathy, the curiosity, the questions—no matter how well intentioned. Not because the scars were so hard to look at. She’d had her knee reconstructed, which had left dark, raised incision marks on her pale skin, and there was a deep puckered scar in her thigh where a bullet had hit her. Her muscles on that side were smaller than the muscles in her other leg, but many people had worse. Her aversion to the scars was less due to how they looked and more because of what they branded her with.
Most people saw them as her mark of survival, but she saw them as a constant reminder of what she’d done to make Trevor want her dead.
Wes stepped out of his kitchen with two water bottles and smiled when he saw her. No flinch. No gaping. No look of pi
ty. “All ready to get Adele sparkling?”
Rebecca let out a breath she didn’t realize had gotten stuck in her throat. He wasn’t going to stare. He wasn’t going to ask questions. Something tight between her shoulders eased. “I hate to break it to you. I love Adele. But I’m not sure she’s capable of sparkling without a new paint job.”
Wes shook his head. “Ye of little faith.”
“Me of realistic constitution.”
He laughed. “Okay, sparkling may be a bit of a stretch. But who needs that? New and perfect is overrated. Adele has character. She’s been through a lot and has survived. She is going to be beautiful in her own quirky way.”
Rebecca smirked and crossed her arms. “Wesley Garrett, are you sneakily trying to make me feel better about my bared legs?”
He walked over, looking like sin on parade in his thin, white T-shirt and black workout shorts, his tattoos flexing with every swing of his arms. He set the water bottles down and stopped in front of her, taking her hands and lacing his fingers with hers. He held her arms out to her sides and gave her a full up-and-down scan, making her belly flutter with apprehension.
“No, Rebecca. You are not beautiful in a quirky way,” he said, his gaze pinning her to the spot. “You are flat-out hot. You need no extra polishing. A lot of sunscreen probably, but no polish.”
Her throat tightened at the honesty in his eyes, but she forced a teasing smile. “Me and sunscreen go way back. We’ve been BFFs since a traumatizing day in a kiddie pool.”
“I’ll throw a bottle of it in with the water. Now let’s get outside before you distract me with your wicked ways again.”
She laughed. “My wicked ways?”
“Yes. You’re a sorceress. With your business suits and your red hair all pinned up, I was already a mess. But now”—he released one of her hands and twirled her around—“now I get long legs and your Grade A backside to distract me while I try to do charity work. How am I supposed to focus?”
She grinned and poked him in the chest. “Hey, if you’re going to objectify me, then I need to be afforded the same right. This shirt of yours? It’s coming off, mister. It’s way too hot outside for that nonsense.”
He grabbed the finger she had pressed to his chest and nipped at the tip with his teeth. “Oh, I’m all for a no-shirts car wash. I assume this applies to you as well.”
“Then we’ll get arrested.”
“No worries. I know a great lawyer. Though she’s kind of expensive and, frankly, a little bossy.”
She pulled her hand away, laughing. “All right, outside or we’ll never get this done.”
“And this is a problem, why?”
“Wes!”
“Kidding.” He leaned in and kissed her quickly. She loved the little zip of pleasure that went through her at the simple contact. “That’s fine. But know that you’ve just written your own downfall. Me with no shirt? Wet? You know I’ve been paid for my shirtlessness. You’ve got no shot at maintaining acceptable behavior in public. You will probably just throw all your clothes at me the minute we’re outside.”
She gave a droll look. “I will try to contain myself, chef.”
He laughed good-naturedly and stepped away. As he strode toward their stuff, he reached behind to tug his shirt over his head. He tossed it aside and then tucked the water bottles in a bag. “Okay, let’s do this.”
But when he turned back to her, she’d forgotten what she was supposed to be doing. Wes had been joking around with her, but now she saw exactly why someone had thought of him for a Shirtless Chef gig. Long, lean muscle spread across broad shoulders, the tattoos on his arms snaked a little bit onto his shoulders and chest, and his torso was tanned, which meant he’d been without his shirt in public at some point—and it just wasn’t fair that she hadn’t been present in that public. The man was a sight. And she was staring.
“Rebecca?”
“Huh?”
“I asked if you were ready to go.”
“Right.” Yes. Of course. They needed to go. There was work to be done. “Sure.”
He cocked his head toward the door and she followed him, still gawking and only feeling a little guilty about it. He opened a closet door in the entryway, tossed a bottle of sunscreen in the bag, and then they were on their way.
When they got down to the parking lot, Wes gathered more supplies from his truck and set up everything next to Adele. The sun had risen higher in the sky by then, creating shimmering heat off the blacktop and promising to roast them if they weren’t careful. Spring in Texas was turning out to be just a summer preview. Rebecca dug around in the bag and found the sunblock while Wes connected the hose and filled two buckets with sudsy water.
She slathered a good layer on every exposed area, making sure she didn’t miss anything. She could get sunburn on long car rides just getting sun through the window, so she didn’t mess around. When she finished rubbing some onto her legs, she glanced up and caught Wes watching her. Her first instinct was to think he was examining her scars further, but the look in his eyes held something a lot different. Her neck warmed, and it had nothing to do with the sun.
She straightened and held up the bottle. “Want some?”
“Not yet. But let me know if you see me getting red.”
“You mean watch your body very, very closely in the name of safety? I’m on it.”
He laughed. “You are such a thoughtful friend.”
“Yep.” She was thinking thoughts all right.
He strolled over and held out a bucket and the hose. “Which would you like to be in charge of first? Getting things wet or soaping them up?”
Her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth as images of getting him wet and soaping him up were the first things that came to mind. She quickly reached for the hose. “Wet.”
She needed to turn that thing on herself and cool her damn libido.
He grinned and handed her the hose. “I knew you’d choose offense. I’m going to be soaked in about ten seconds, aren’t I?”
“Less.” She squeezed the trigger on the hose and shot him with a short burst of water, if for no other reason than to get some space between them so she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.
He cursed and jumped back, dropping the bucket and laughing. “You suck, lawyer girl.”
She arched a brow and held up the nozzle again. “What was that, chef? I didn’t hear you.”
He lifted his palms, eyes smiling and droplets of water dripping down his chest. “I said you’re wonderful and kind. A queen among women.”
“I thought so.” She turned toward the bus and dragged the hose closer before letting loose and spraying down Adele.
Wes worked alongside her, soaping the bus with a long-handled contraption that had a sponge on the end and could reach all the way to the roof. Once Rebecca had sprayed everything down, she took on the lower parts with a fat, handheld sponge.
Wes played an old-school rock station on his phone, and they sang along as they worked, in between talking about everything and nothing like they had each night on the phone. How he’d ended up a chef. What kind of law she’d originally wanted to practice. What bands they’d liked when they were growing up. And eventually the conversation devolved into a heated debate about the brilliance (her) or sacrilegiousness (him) of boxed macaroni and cheese. They’d had to end that one in a stalemate.
With all the joking around and friendly conversation, Rebecca had settled herself down and banked the dirty thoughts. Wesley was gorgeous, yes, but she was enjoying his company and the conversation as much as the view. He was easy to be around. She had male friends at work, but all their conversations were laced with unspoken competition and posturing, which could be exhausting. And the friends-with-benefits arrangements she’d had in the past had been a lot more about convenient benefits than actual friendship. Acquaintances with benefits more than
anything. She hadn’t kept in touch with any of them. But she could see herself forming a real friendship with Wes—with or without the benefits.
But her even-handed view of things didn’t last long.
An hour into their project, Wes had moved on to cleaning the wheel wells. Rebecca caught herself watching how his back flexed as he scrubbed at the stubborn dirt, a few droplets of sweat making a journey downward to the place where his shorts sank low and revealed the two indentations on each side of his spine. She wanted to catch the drops of sweat with her tongue and lick each dip in his back.
Which was saying something because she’d never had such an intense urge to lick another person.
But when she managed to drag her eyes upward, she noticed a pink tint on his neck that would quickly turn red in the blast of the Texas sun. “Shit.”
Wes turned, peeking back at her. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been bad about sunburn watch. You’re getting baked. I’ll grab the lotion.”
She dropped her sponge in the bucket and dried her hands before finding Wes’s bag and pulling out the sunblock. She walked it back over and Wes stood, hands dripping with suds. She lifted the bottle, ready to offer it to him, but then had a surge of boldness. “Want me to get it for you? Your hands are wet, and you’re not going to be able to reach your back.”
His gaze dropped to the bottle, then back to her, some invisible wire of electricity wrapping its way around her most sensitive parts. He wet his lips. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
Her thighs clenched like he’d just said, Take me to bed or lose me forever. But this wasn’t Top Gun. This was about sunscreen, so she managed to keep her expression smooth. “Turn around.”
She would start with his back. Backs were safe. Totally neutral. She could handle that. She squirted the lotion into her hands and stepped behind him. After taking a deep breath, she put her hands on his shoulders, and he flinched beneath her. “Damn, that’s cold.”
“Sorry,” she said softly, only half paying attention because the lotion was cool but his skin was hot and smooth beneath her fingertips. The scent of him—lemon soap, grass, and something uniquely him—hit her hard. And low.