All Over You (Unforgettable You, Book 1.5) (14 page)

“
Sorry about that. You’ll have to excuse the morning wood. It’s just part of the male condition,” he says in that sexy, still-half-asleep voice as he practically scrambles out of bed. I’m left more than a little shocked, horny and confused.

I think I’d made it clear that I’m in the mood. But my pride smarts over him excusing away his erection as part of the “male condition”. Is that his not-so-subtle way of telling me that I have nothing to do with it? Stiffening my chin, I try to hide the sting of his words. “Sorry about taking over your side of the bed,” I say as though I hadn’t been deliberately rubbing up against him trying to get something started.

When I glance over at him standing by the side of the bed, his body is angled away from me so I can’t see what’s going on in the front of his pajama bottoms.

“
I’m going to hit the shower.” The words are barely out of his mouth, before he’s gone. Through the door so fast, I’m pretty sure he left skid marks.

It’s only at the sound of the door closing that I allow my emotions to show on my face. Logically, I know what he’s doing. He’s removing himself from temptation, determined not to break my no-sex-until-I-think-we’re-ready rule. I mean the one thing I’ve been secure in is the knowledge that Scott wants me. Wants desperately to have sex with me.

But what if I’m wrong is the thought that pops in my mind as I flop down on my back. What if he’s not interested anymore? I mean, short of actually telling him—which I’d feel like a fool doing—hadn’t I been obvious enough about what I wanted? And if he wanted the same thing, wouldn’t he have—?

Argh! I’m going to drive myself crazy over-thinking the whole thing. I explicitly told him no sex during this trip and he’s just abiding by my decision. If I want to change the status quo I have to man up—or in my case woman up (if there is such a term)—and tell him if he’s not getting the hint.

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

R
EBECCA

After I make the bed, I give myself a final once-over in the dresser mirror. Blue jeans and a cream cable-knit sweater is as good as it’s going to get wardrobe-wise. This morning, however, I did put a bit more effort and time into my hair. Don’t ask me why as it’ll be plastered to my head ten minutes after we get to the slopes.

My hair is super thick so the most a half-hour with a curling iron can do is give me loose wavyish curls, but that’s enough. Turning my head, I view myself from several different angles and I have to say, all-in-all, I’m satisfied with the results.

When I open the bedroom door to leave, I give a little start when I’m met with a wall of solid chest.

My chin goes up and I’m staring into Scott’s vivid green eyes before treating him to a full-body perusal. He’s not wearing anything special, just your typical jeans and a gray cotton sweater with a quarter-zip collar. But God does he make them look good.

I inhale deeply through my nose. His scent, an intoxicating combination of soap, cologne and warm male skin, has me thinking of forgoing hitting the slopes today in favor of the sheets.

His heavily-lidded gaze runs up and down me a couple times before settling on my face. “You look good. I like your hair,” he says using the bed-sex voice, all throaty and low.

My body reacts like it always does, beading my nipples as a fire starts to burn low in my stomach.

“
So do you.” My voice is thready, more breath than sound.

Shooting a quick glance at the door, Scott’s mouth curves into a faint smile when his attention returns to my mouth. “Can I kiss you now that we’re not in the bedroom?”

Good one.
I would laugh if I weren’t so turned on.

I barely manage a nod before he’s towing me by the hand across the hall and into the bathroom. There he closes the door and I hear the faint click of the lock.

It’s a gorgeous bathroom. Done in navy and white, it’s big, the cream-and-tan, marble-like countertop running three quarters the length of the room, in it, double sinks sit an equal distance apart.

It’s there, in the middle of the sinks that he places me, lifting me up and setting me down like I weigh nothing. I seriously don’t mind his take-charge approach. In fact, it turns me on even more.

Without saying a word, he nudges my knees apart to make room for him as he steps in between them and plows his hands through my hair, tugging my head back and crushing my mouth under his. Instantly, we’re a tangle of tongues and hot, labored breaths. I feel the kiss everywhere but mostly between my thighs where his hard-on is pushing rhythmically against me, spiking the ache there to untold heights.

Pushing beneath my sweater and bra, his hands are all over my breasts, palming them, weighing them and tormenting the nipples until the pleasure becomes too much and I’m forced to break the kiss, gasping and out of breath.

“
Jesus, Bec, do you know how crazy you’re driving me?” he groans against my neck. To that, my thighs grip him tighter as my sex involuntarily contracts.

He’s not the only one. I honestly don’t know how either of us is leaving this bathroom
sans
orgasm because that would be considered cruel and unusual punishment.

“
Scott…” It’s all I can manage, wedging my hand between our lower bodies to squeeze the thick, hard length of him straining against his zipper.

“
Fuck.” He groans like he’s being tortured.

I squeeze him again.

Because he is.

But nothing kills the mood like an impatient knock on the door and a surly male voice saying, “Hey, let me know when you’re done in there.”

I never moved so fast, dropping my legs from around Scott’s hips and smoothing an unsteady hand over my hair, which from a quick look in the mirror, is a far cry from what it looked like ten minutes ago.

Hastily, Scott steps out from between my legs, his gaze still on me. Running both hands through his hair, he watches me hungrily as I put myself together, pulling my sweater down and fixing my bra back in place. After a moment of scorching silence, he helps me off the counter and leads me to the door.

Troy, clad in dark-blue sweats and a t-shirt, is waiting when Scott opens the door, a towel slung over his shoulder.

“
Sorry, man,” Scott mutters, keeping a possessive hand on my lower back as we step out into the hall.

My face is hot with embarrassment, and when we pass Troy, I look everywhere but at him. I’m not sure why since Scott
is
my boyfriend and we
are
sharing a bed.

“
Don’t you guys have a room for that?” Troy says in parting before he goes in and closes the door.

Okay, that’s why.

* * *

Two hours later, while Olivia and Zach are off doing what grownup skiers do—ski—the instructor is putting us newbies through the paces of lesson
numero deux
.

It’s obvious he has the hots for April. He certainly isn’t subtle about it, constantly finding any and every excuse to touch her. For crissakes the girl knows how to hold a pair of ski poles.
Everyone
knows how to hold ski poles even if they’ve never skied in their life. Don’t get me started about how we should move our hips. Talk about hands-on instruction.

But April seems to love the attention, batting her thick lashes at him and acting as attentive as any apt pupil. Troy, on the other hand, looks like he’s ready to deck the guy.

Interesting. Troy never struck me as the jealous type. Scott seems to find the whole thing amusing, chuckling under his breath and muttering things like, “Poor bastard.”

I wonder what he knows. Six months ago, a tipsy April had confessed she’d had sex with Troy. Great sex. Amazing sex. Afterward, he’d chocked it up to too much alcohol. She’d done what any girl with pride would do when your best friend, the guy you’ve been crushing on since your sophomore year in high school, says sex with you was a mistake. She agrees, calls it a day and tries to move on. But I know she’s having as hard a time of it as I did with Scott. I certainly don’t envy her. Troy is—or was—her best friend. It’s hard to unring that kind of bell once it’s been rung.

I’m sure Scott doesn’t know that, so what does he find so amusing about what’s going on? I’ll ask him tonight…in bed. I shiver in anticipation as I surreptitiously check him out. Catching my sidelong glance, he flashes me one of his crooked, sexy smiles.

Heat pools at the apex of my thighs. I’m so ready for tonight to come.

I have to forcibly wrest my attention from Scott and back to the lesson at hand.

“
Now it’s time to try it on your own. I’ll see you back here in an hour,” the instructor says in his thickly accented English.

Or maybe not. It appears the lesson is already over.

After he repeats the instructions in French, our small group of seven—the four of us, a French middle-aged couple and Julia, who is our age—begins to disband as we head to more adventurous parts of the kiddie slopes.

“
So you’re not with her? She’s not your girlfriend?”

I turn to see Julia talking to Troy. At a towering five feet two inches—at the most—she’s petite and cute with flyaway, light-brown hair. She’s from a small town in Ontario I’ve never heard of and speaks a smattering of French. Less than me. Perky and sweet, she’s the kind of girl guys like to take care of. Maybe that’s because she’s small enough to fit in their pockets.

“
Nope,” Troy replies with a firm shake of his head. “We’re just friends.”

I follow his gaze to April, who is watching the scene play out from her vantage point about twenty feet away where she’s still standing beside our super-attentive instructor. The jealous glint in her eyes isn’t hard to miss if you know what you’re looking for.

“
Good,” Julia exclaims, eyes alight with joy. “Then do you mind if I ski with you?”

Clearly she doesn’t care about appearing too interested, the whole veil of mystery thing apparently lost on her.

Behind me, Scott clears his throat, silently urging me to come on and mind my own business. I blithely ignore him, digging my poles deeper into the snow. It’s not being nosy if they’re your friends, and Troy and April are
very
good friends.

Tearing his gaze from a now glowering April, Troy looks down at Julia, wearing the first real smile I’ve seen on his face today. “I was just going to ask
you
.”

Did I fail to mention that Troy is also gorgeous with a capital
G
? Think a young Eddie Cibrian, dimples and all, with a more chiseled jaw, gray eyes, and a slightly more muscular build. His smile is enough to make me blink twice.

“
Rebecca!”

My head turns sharply in Scott’s direction when he barks my name. With an angry jerk of his head, he silently commands me to come on.

This time, I relent, and ski toward him, stopping a few feet away.

“
I like the guy. Don’t do anything to change that, okay?”

“
Jealous?” Secretly thrilled, I struggle to keep the smug amusement from my voice.

I have to admit, I like that he gets jealous sometimes. And I’m not talking psycho, the-guy-has-prison-in-his-future jealous like my friend Susan’s ex, who used to beat the crap out of every guy who even looked at her. No, I’m talking possessive-enough-so-you-know-he-cares jealous. The normal kind.

“
Don’t,” he warns darkly, his jaw tight, his eyes squinting against the glare of the afternoon sun.

“
I’m just teasing.”

“
You don’t tease like that when the guy is sleeping across the hall from you.”

Okay, he does have a good point.

“
How ’bout I make it up to you by letting you beat me to that tree?” I point a gloved finger to a large pine in the distance.

Scott lets out a huff. “
Let
me my ass.”

With that, the race is on.

Five minutes later, I reach Scott, who’s leaned back against the tree, hands folded across his chest, feigning boredom. I slide awkwardly to a stop in front of him, coming short of running over his skis with mine. I can ski fine. It’s the stopping part I’m still having problems with.

Smiling, he raises an eyebrow. “What took you so long?”

Cocky ass.

“
I let you win,” I lie, ignoring the stitch in my side as I try to bring my breathing under control.

He snorts. “Liar.”

“
At least I have an excuse. I’ve never been skiing before. You have. Didn’t you tell me your dad’s originally from some cold state where he played a lot of hockey and that he taught you to skate?”