Every Little Kiss (19 page)

Except he couldn't just shut himself off. He'd had a switch inside him for as long as he could remember—but when it came to Casey Tanner, the damn thing just didn't work.

To distract himself, he unwound lights and an extension cord and got to work. He wasn't sure when, but at some point he was humming along with Christmas music—
when had Casey put that on?
—and the scent of something warm and spicy filled the air. He plugged in the lights, and the tree glowed in a kaleidoscope of colors. He heard a small gasp, and when he turned around, Casey was staring wide-eyed, a smile on her face. She was holding two ceramic mugs filled with steaming liquid. Hot cider. He crossed the small room to take both from her before she lost her grip. Her expression was downright dazed.

“I've always hated doing the lights,” she said. “I mean, I love the result, but the lights are always such a pain. Thank you.”

“Are there more?” Abe asked, setting the mugs on the coffee table. “Lights, I mean. If you want, I can put them up outside. I think you cleaned out the hardware store's stock.”

Casey bit her lip. “I got so excited. I pictured the house covered in white lights.”

“
National Lampoon
style?”

“Maybe not quite that many.”

“Let me help, then. I'll do outside.”

Casey stepped closer. “You've already helped,” she said. She gazed up at him, her eyes liquid enough to melt his insides. He liked her desire, but he also liked this side of her, too, this whisper of vulnerability. Like his help meant so much to her. Little things that maybe made her feel special. He leaned down and kissed her cheek, a soft brush with his lips that had her trembling.

“I bought mistletoe,” she murmured. She linked her arms around his neck, pressed her body against his. He swallowed, hardening for her. He wanted more than just her body.

God, but he'd take her body. If that was what he could get.

He brought his lips down on hers, and she responded with a hot little moan that set his skin on fire. She pressed herself into every surface of him, shimmying into all the curves and nooks and lines where they would be closest. He braced himself, worried he might lose it right there. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath and let his hands slide along her buttery skin, let his lips taste her sugar cookie scent. He would devour her if he could. He'd nibble her for days and hope never to get to the end.

She broke from him then, her eyes dazed. Her lips were kiss-swollen, her breath heavy. “I want you,” she said. And then, after a moment, she smiled and added “please.”

His heart lurched. Right then, he knew that he desired Casey Tanner with everything he had, but the only way to her heart was through her rules. Her parameters.

“Have you revised the list?” he asked, like he cared about what it actually said. “Is it clearer?”

“Crystal,” she murmured, her fingers trailing up his arm. “The first item still stands, though.”

“Remind me which one that is.”

To his surprise, Casey turned on her heel and left the room. He heard the rustle of a bag, and then she returned. She held a plastic bundle of mistletoe in her hand. “Start here,” she said, gesturing to the plant. “End there.” She jerked her head toward her bedroom.

Simple enough. He would do as she asked, and in the process he'd pry open Casey Tanner's heart little by little, inch by inch. He'd do exactly what she wanted, and in the end, he'd make her want more than just his body.

He pulled her to him, hard and fast. She gasped, and he covered the sound with his mouth. He kissed her like he was dying—breaking and cracking and she was the only thing that could bring him back to life.

Maybe a little bit of it was true. He didn't want to think what would happen if he failed. He tipped his head back when she put a hand on his groin.

And with that, every single thought emptied out of Abe's mind entirely.

Casey realized she still had the mistletoe in her hand when Abe picked her up and carried her to her bedroom like she was a seventeenth-century maiden and he was about to deflower her.

Which might not technically be the case, but the nervous churning in her stomach was worse than it had been when she'd lost her virginity to Miles. He'd been methodical and thorough. He'd been…fine, when it came down to it. Not rough, not hurried. But it certainly hadn't been this relentless—a jungle drum of feeling, pounding deep inside, and Casey holding tight to the edge of something she couldn't see or explain.

The springs of her mattress squeaked as Abe's enormous form followed her onto the bed. Oh, but there was so much of him. She thought of how big Abe was when she'd felt him, and she worried she might crack in half. Then thought maybe she didn't care if she did.

She let her legs fall to the sides as Abe settled between them, grinding into her with a delicious rhythm that reminded her of a thoroughbred galloping, pounding along the track in a blur of muscle and sweat.

She lifted her hips to meet his. His hands grabbed her ass, pulled her tight against his body. She saw stars, she panted like she was thirsty and would never drink again. She found her name on his lips. “Abe.”

“Tell me what you want,” he said, his hands unbuttoning her jeans, sliding them off her so she was down to her panties. Pink cotton. Unplanned. She hated it and then didn't care because Abe was pulling them off her. Plus she still had the condoms and the body oil and she still had Abe Cameron in her bed, asking her what she wanted.

“You,” she said, untucking his shirt and sliding her hands over the muscles of his back. “I want you naked. No fair last time you got to keep all your clothes on.”

“You
did
get more specific, didn't you?” he said, lifting himself so he could pull his T-shirt off. His skin was golden, his abs like smooth stones at the bottom of a stream. She placed her fingertips on him and he hissed in breath.

“Now you,” he said, and lifted off her sweatshirt in a single tug. Her bra was plain white—it didn't match her discarded panties and it was boring as hell, but from the way Abe was staring at her breasts, it was a wonder she wasn't wearing a Victoria's Secret negligee. Lowering his head, he kissed his way from her belly to her breasts, his hands palming her sides as he moved slowly upward.

Casey twined her fingers in his dark blond hair. She moaned as his rough whiskers rubbed against her flesh. “You're still wearing too many clothes,” she said, trying to find logic in the drunken pleasure that was threatening to overtake her. “Pants off. And”—she paused, licking her lips—“I want to watch.”

Abe lifted his head. His face was blank—too empty. There was a question mark in the air, hanging over them. What had she said? But then it was gone as Abe lifted himself off her. The absence of his flesh, of his heat, had goose bumps forming along her skin.

He climbed off the bed and stood. The late-morning light slanted in from behind the gauzy curtains. Casey itched to trail her fingers along the dark gold hairs on his chest. She watched, hardly breathing, as he undid his pants, taking his boxers with them, then kicking everything away.

He stood like a marbled statue, hands on his hips, baring himself to her. His thick penis, rock hard, pointed directly at her. His stance said
Here I am; this is my flesh
.

So why were his eyes the thing she couldn't stop staring at? The light was too filmy, his face angled into shadow. She fought to read his expression but couldn't.

Blazing in her mind's eye was the Christmas tree he'd painstakingly lit. The sidewalk he'd shoveled. The way he'd listened to her plea for Carter at Robot Lit. Her heart filled up her rib cage to bursting. Clouds shifted outside, and the light brightened in the room. And there, she could finally see—Abe's eyes were on her, locked and laser-focused and heating up emotions that bubbled like a tar pit. Not just lust, but something deeper, something older, like the bones of dinosaurs that made petroleum.

Except that's not what this is
, Casey thought desperately.

She sat up and unhooked her own bra. Abe made a noise deep in his throat as she ran her hands along her own body. “I can do this,” she said with a small smile, touching her own nipples, “or you can.”

He closed the distance between them in a fraction of a second. The back of Casey's head hit the pillow before she could blink. He was between her legs, the tip of him poised at her damp entrance, hovering there. His mouth bore down on her right nipple, then her left, sucking and biting on the thin, glorious line between pleasure and pain. She cried out, wrapping her legs around him.

He was gone, then. She had only begun to protest when he found her—or his
mouth
found her. His lips were between her legs, licking and kissing her folds, pushing apart her thighs to give him more access. She opened herself as far as she could go. He settled in, sliding a finger inside her, the notes of a Christmas song floating in the back of her brain. Her thoughts were far away, but the feeling of being this close to Abe Cameron was the most solid thing she'd ever known.

“Tell me what it's like,” he murmured into her skin. The words vibrated deep inside. Casey clawed at the inside of her skull, trying to find the words.

“It's beautiful,” she gasped, her body glowing like her Christmas tree—only hotter, brighter. She could hear an electric hum building in her nerves, and wondered if Abe caught the sound, too. It was in perfect harmony with the Christmas song—notes and bells and chords and a symphony that filled her up.

“You're what's beautiful, Casey,” Abe said. His voice was the music's bass, sliding along the lowest register. The perfect pitch to reach her. “You are exquisite.” He slid a third finger into her and she joined her voice to all the sounds. Her orgasm broke apart like the universe opening up. She arched her back and let the galaxy of feeling sweep over her with a million million stars.

“I've got you, baby.” Abe's fingers worked inside her as light flickered all around. She lost herself in the moment, knowing that Abe had her, knowing he would catch her as she settled back into the present. Slowly, as the world became real again, he kissed his way back up her body. His lips met hers and she could taste herself on them. She'd never known anything like that. Her body heated all over again.

But before she could demand anything from him, he was there. It was as if he knew what she wanted before she did. He found a condom and rolled it on. Then his tip was at her center, his weight carefully positioned. Slowly, achingly, he eased himself in. She gasped, biting his shoulder. There was so much of him. She inhaled, trying to breathe, even as the edges of the world warped.

“Am I hurting you?” His golden-green eyes found hers. His hand held her cheek.

“N-no. It feels…
everywhere
. I feel you in every single part of me.”

Abe kissed her, his mouth joining hers at the same time the rest of him slid into place. She swallowed back a cry. She was stretched to breaking, but on that particular edge, things were so new, so glorious, she wondered if it was possible to know them again.

She hoped it was. She wanted to repeat this experience. Forever.

She blinked.
No
, she thought.
Not forever. Just until my list is checked off.

Abe rocked against her, and her mind imploded on itself, every thought vanishing with the perfection of his hips squaring with hers, his lips murmuring words into her skin, his hands finding her center all over again. She relaxed into the tide of his rhythm, imagining waves crashing and surf roaring.

“You feel incredible,” he said, his breath in her ear. He ground against her anew, and she came apart all over again, her orgasm overtaking her so quickly she hardly had time to clutch Abe and hold on.

His name was on her lips, over and over. She opened her eyes in the hottest, whitest part of her pleasure and found him staring back at her, his eyes so filled with emotion that she wondered if he was tumbling through the same waves that she was. Their gazes locked as she contracted around him. He pulled her tighter against his massive form. His breath went ragged, his skin was aflame everywhere she touched.

He came with her name in his throat—a torn-up sound like a call she wanted to answer. She imagined crying his name in response. She pictured two wolves on opposite cliffs, howling their desperation for one another, deep into the night.

But of course that was foolishness. There were no wolves here. Only two people who had agreed to a checklist.

She closed her eyes, and held herself back from reaching for Abe when he rolled off of her. He kissed her shoulder, and she wanted desperately to curl into him. But instead, she turned onto her side.
This was only physical
, she reminded herself. The thought was hard and plastic, like her brand-new ornaments. She lay still, not daring to move or even to think, until sleep overtook her.

C
asey woke up feeling emptied out—in a good way. She stretched, wondering at the time. The light was bright against her curtains, and she could hear the shouts of neighborhood kids playing in the snow.

She reached over, curious if Abe was still there, but came up only with a handful of cold sheets.
It's a good thing he left
, she thought, swallowing back disappointment.
It's less complicated that way.

Never mind the tug in her stomach that wanted him all over again.

Her rag-doll body was testament to the fact that she'd enjoyed herself yesterday—several times, in fact, as the afternoon faded and the night rolled around them like a blanket. She was solidly on her way to checking most of those orgasms off her list. That part was amazing, but so was the fact that Abe had helped her get her ornaments and lights home, that he'd stayed and put all those lights on the tree, and that she'd been able to talk with him about Christmas, about work, about everything.

It was magnetic and confusing all at the same time. She didn't want to
converse
with Abe, for crying out loud. Did she? But every time they talked, she wound up laughing and enjoying herself. And technically she didn't need him to do any of the things around the house he was so good at, either—shoveling, putting up lights, getting a stand for her tree. But at the same time, she was so grateful for the result, and for the feeling that someone had her back.

It was brand new to her, this idea of having help in her life. For so long she'd shouldered every responsibility for herself and Audrey both. Audrey had of course tried to do what she could, but she was younger and just couldn't manage much, especially in those early years with Aunt Lodi. Casey had always done everything. By and large, she'd made things work—or mostly had, anyway—and it had been just fine.

She bit her lip, wondering what it would feel like to have a real partner in life. Someone she'd help, and who would aid her in return. Not like Miles, who seemed interested in only
his
end of things.

Was that even possible?

It seemed like a luxury too rich even to contemplate, like a yacht or a private home on a remote tropical island.

She shook her head, and that was when the scent reached her. Bacon. She sat up straighter. Bacon and…coffee?

She crawled off the bed and threw on clothes, padding her way down the short hallway to the kitchen. The strains of more Christmas music reached her. When she rounded the corner, there was Abe—in jeans and his white T-shirt, holding a spatula and cooking in her kitchen.

“Hope you don't mind. I made pancakes,” he said, his golden blond hair tousled and impossibly sexy. “And you had some bacon in there. Plus I brewed us coffee.”

He grinned and her heart hammered. Casey blinked with surprise.
He shouldn't be invading my kitchen;
this wasn't on the list
—but she found she didn't care. She was nothing except delighted. She could feel a grin spreading before she could stop it.

“Smart move. I'm starving.”

“We worked up an appetite,” he said, winking.

Casey feigned indifference. “I guess. It was kind of average for me.”

Abe grabbed a mug from next to the sink—
He already knows where the mugs are
, Casey thought—laughing while he filled it with fresh coffee. “If that's true, then that's some bell curve.”

“Do you have a problem with my curves?”

“Never. I'm
all
about those curves, bell or otherwise.”

She smiled as she pulled out a stool at the kitchen counter and took a seat.

“How do you take your coffee?” Abe asked, holding up her mug.

“Black. Like my heart.”

He arched a brow, handing her the warm ceramic. “Breakfast will be ready soon. I'm sure your other lovers had it prepared much more quickly. But bear with me.”

Casey snorted, then sipped her coffee and watched Abe find his way around her kitchen like he'd been there a hundred times before.

Because he's done this a hundred times before, just not in my kitchen.

The thought was so sharp it sliced through her mind before she could stop it. Because of course Abe would be practiced at making breakfast after a bout of hot sex. He had a long history of getting into—and out of—women's beds.

Casey pushed her disarranged hair back from her face. She forced a smile and told herself it didn't matter. That prickle of whatever it was in her belly—
Not jealousy; that's ridiculous
—would go away if she just sipped her coffee and watched Abe work.

Except the prickle only got worse. It was changing into jabbing needles every time she thought about his hands on other women, his skin against theirs, his whispers in their ears. Desperate to imagine anything except Abe spreading the whole town's legs, Casey brought up Robot Lit.

“So, Rolf and Ingrid and I met with Carter on Friday, and he even brought his journal.”

Abe transferred sizzling bacon to a paper towel. “Good for you guys, getting him down there to talk. Did he say anything particularly useful?”

“He wouldn't admit anything was amiss at school or in foster care. But when I read his journal, there was this crow that kept coming up.”

“A drawing, or what?”

“No, like text about seeing it. It started in November, about a week into foster care, and he was still spotting it as of a couple days ago. When I asked him about it, he kind of shut down. I think it's a clue to what's going on inside of him, but he won't open up about it. We're going to share it with his school counselors, maybe even the police.”

“Smart thinking. I wonder if we could all sit down with him and try to get to the bottom of it.”

“I could ask Ingrid if we could set up a meeting with all the concerned parties. Maybe at the school? Get you there from the firehouse, some Robot Lit staff, his foster parents, and see what he says.”

“If someone is hurting him, that's the group that can help get to the bottom of it.”

Abe handed over a plate with bacon and pancakes piled high. “It's hard to see kids in trouble like that,” he said, serving himself as well. He pulled up the stool across from her so they sat facing one another. “I don't think people are born bad, but I think there's only a small window of time where kids can get pulled out of a tailspin. Carter's right there.”

Casey speared her food. “You sound like you've given a lot of thought to the idea,” she said. “Carter. Kids in general.”

Abe stilled. “I suppose I have. Especially recently. I had a health scare that got me mulling it all over.”

“Is your health issue serious?” Casey asked, her stomach tightening with enough concern to surprise her.

“No. Just the opposite. Heartburn. Even so, it made me start thinking about what I wanted.”

“And my list came to the top of your mind?” Casey asked, grinning.

Abe smiled back, tenderly enough to have her throat tightening. The hard lines of his face were softened in the morning light. She wanted to put her hands on his chiseled cheekbones and kiss him.

“This has been fun,” he said. “There's no doubt about that.”

Casey tilted her head. Something in his tone was different. “Why do I feel like there's a ‘but' at the end of that sentence?”

Abe set down his fork and folded his hands. Casey shifted. The air in the room felt charged, but not with sexual tension. With something else she couldn't put her finger on.

“I like your list, Casey. It's fun. It's very, very enjoyable. But I also like you. A lot.”

Casey's stopped. She forced herself to swallow the hunk of pancake in her throat. “I like you, too,” she said lightly, trying to brush past the meaning she heard in his voice. “It would be hard to sleep together if we didn't at least like each other.”

“It's more than that, though,” Abe said quietly.

“Fine,” she said, winking. “I really like you. Is that better?”

“I'm not joking.” His voice was strong and even.

No
, she thought.
Don't say this. Don't ruin what we've got going on.

“Let me take you to dinner,” Abe said, leaning closer. “
White Christmas
is onstage up in Saint Paul. Live. We'll go to dinner beforehand, then we'll see the musical. You love Christmas, and I'll get you to love Manny's, my favorite steak house.”

He smiled, but Casey couldn't return it. He was asking her for a date. For more than what was on the list. She placed her palms on the counter to steady herself.

“And after that?” she asked quietly. “We have a date and let's say we get close. Then you want—what? What did your health scare convince you that you needed?”

“Nothing. All I'm asking is—”

“For something more than what we have now. Are you picturing a wife? Some kids? A minivan and baseball practice with Timmy?”

She hated the hurt that flashed across Abe's face. He tried to hide it, but she'd caught it, and it had slashed at her heart. Even though she'd wanted her words to be brutal. To make her point.

“You're jumping the gun. I'm not here with a ring. All I wanted was a date. Is that such a problem?”

“It is most definitely a problem.”

“Why?” Abe asked, his eyes flickering across her face. “Why is it so repulsive to you that we could have more than what's on your to-do list?”

Because I've been locked into commitments my entire life. Because I already raised my family. And because in the end this can only hurt us both.

Casey took a deep breath. “I can't give you what you want, Abe. Not if you're standing here telling me that suddenly you've had a health scare and you're looking to settle down.”

“It's not just that,” Abe said, his hand reaching out and covering hers. She tried to recoil but found she couldn't. “It's not just some random knee-jerk reaction. I want to be with
you
. Just you.”

Casey's stomach plummeted. She fought the urge to tear at her throat, where the words
Me, too
were dangerously close to bursting forth. “You can't feel that. We barely know each other.”

“I know enough. I'm not saying we have to buy a house and elope and start a family. But I want you to give me a chance. Give me more than five things on a list.”

Casey swallowed hard. “But you'd want kids, right? Eventually?”

Abe's jaw flexed. “We don't have to think about that right now.”

“Except why start the race if you know at the finish line there's only heartbreak? Because I don't want kids, Abe. I raised my sister and I'm done. I love her more than anything, but I don't want to spend my whole life bringing up kids.”

She pulled her hand away gently, hating the frigid motion of it, hating the fist tightening with pain at the base of her gut. This shouldn't be hard. There shouldn't be tears pricking at the edges of her eyes.

“This is good, Casey.
We're
good. There's something here, and you can't tell me you don't feel it. What happened between us in that bed isn't typical. And don't sit there and say it was just a good fuck. I
know
you felt it.”

The protest died on Casey's lips. Abe was right. She had felt something more than pleasure with him. There had been a moment when emotion had poured into her, filled her to bursting, and she'd experienced something beyond just an orgasm, just a hot lay. It was affection for this man. It was a lucid, light string connecting them both—delicate and steel-strong at the same time. It was the fibers of something like love.

Except, no.
She shook her head. “It doesn't matter. We want different things. We can feel whatever we want to but it doesn't change things. Practically speaking, we're a mismatch.”

Abe grimaced. “Practicality again. You say you want to let loose, but here you are, making more rules.”

“I thought you'd appreciate that. You're the one with the dream vacation to Freiburg.”

“I'm not the one fucking up something good,” he said.

“I just wanted the fucking part,” Casey said. “Not the other stuff.”

Abe shoved his stool away from the counter and stood. His eyes were dark with emotion. “Fine. Be a smart-ass about it.”

She caught herself before she could reach out to stop him.
Let him go
, she told herself. It was for the best. Even her aunt Lodi said sometimes relationships were like Band-Aids—best to rip them off and get it over with than drag out the pain, thinking it was somehow gentler that way.

Never mind that this wasn't supposed to be a relationship. Or anything like it. It was just supposed to be a list.

Sunlight striped the room, too bright and too warm for the cold ache that spread through Casey's body. She heard Abe pulling on his boots and coat, the faint jingle of keys as he grabbed them off the hallway table.

She wanted him to slam the front door. She expected it, braced herself for it. But instead he pulled it shut with a soft click.

It ripped her worse than if he'd shattered the molding in a hot fury. The sound was a knife. It slayed her with its gentle care.

Abe drove straight to Stu's house, the radio blasting and his Jeep wheels fishtailing on the powdery back roads.

He slammed a fist on the dash, uttering a string of curse words. He could kick himself for being such an idiot. Why had he pushed so hard for a date the second he and Casey had tumbled out of bed? What the fuck was wrong with him? He should have known better. He
did
know better, but he'd let his feelings interfere.

Dammit, he should have backed off, given her list more time. Given
her
more time. Patience never was his strong suit; his mom would say so in a heartbeat. God, but he was stupid. He was furious at Casey for being an idiot as well. Sitting there and denying she felt anything for him when he
knew
she did. He could see it in her face when they were in bed together, he could feel it in the way she bent to his touch, in how her eyes followed him everywhere he went in that kitchen.