Made for You (6 page)

Instead she clenched her fist around her keys and refused to give in to her soaring hormones, even if it was the best kiss she’d received in
looong
while.

Her mind flitted to James much too late, and her eyes widened in realization.

And guilt. Bone-searing guilt.

James.

She pushed at Will’s chest frantically. He pulled back and searched her eyes, and she gave him her most condescending expression. The one that said
That’s right, you just kissed me senseless and I didn’t kiss you back.

But oh God, how she’d wanted to.

Think of James
, she reminded herself.

But James didn’t kiss like that. No
nice
man kissed like that.

“Well…I’d say your price was a bit high, but I’ll consider us even,” she said haughtily as she pushed him aside and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Will didn’t move as she closed the door and turned on the ignition. She’d been expecting a gloat, but instead he seemed…thoughtful.

Nah.
Thoughtful wasn’t in Will’s wheelhouse.

“You’ve got a little issue there,” she said as she put on her oversized sunglasses.

He didn’t respond, so she waved in the direction of his crotch. “You, um, seem a little…aroused.” She didn’t bother to hide the gloat in her voice.

“What can I say? Bitchy, ungrateful women apparently do it for me,” he muttered.

She put the car in reverse. “Thanks for helping with the tire,” she called. “And thanks for making me feel like a prostitute to pay for it.”

Brynn gave one last jaunty wave before she began driving down the street. She hated that he’d probably leave the flat tire sitting messily in her driveway, but it was worth it to make the dramatic exit.

And she’d needed to get out of there, fast. Another second with Will pressed against her and she wouldn’t have been thinking about braces, or the mayor’s daughter, or James. Heck, she probably wouldn’t have even made it into the office.

Thank God she hadn’t kissed him back. She wouldn’t do that to James.

Or to herself.

She heard her phone vibrating in her purse, and reached for it as she pulled to a stop at a red light.

It was a message from Will.
You kiss like a houseplant. And you still owe me a favor.

All the smugness she’d felt a moment ago began to fade. Every instinct told her that being in Will Thatcher’s debt was very,
very
bad news.

S
he needn’t have worried about not making it to work on time.

The mayor and her daughter were fifteen minutes late, and neither an apology nor an acknowledgment of the tardiness was forthcoming.

Basically, she was indebted to the devil’s son over a flat tire for nothing. Awesome.

“But I don’t
want
braces,” Lizzie Blanton said, folding her arms over her thin preteen waist, and sounding more like a spoiled five-year-old than an eighth grader.

“I can understand that,” Brynn said with a reassuring smile. “Few kids that come in here
want
braces, but I can pretty much guarantee you’ll be grateful you had them when you’re grown-up.”

Lizzie gave a huff. “That’s ages away.”

Brynn and the mayor exchanged a commiserating glance over Lizzie’s head.
Not as far as you think, honey.
After her near breakdown in the bathroom on her birthday, Brynn knew all too well how fast time went. No matter how carefully you planned, no matter how diligent you were, time kept chugging along and soon you were thirty-one and falling rapidly behind on all the things you’d thought you’d have checked off by now.

She wished someone would have told her when she was twelve not to let any of your life goals depend on someone else. Because even the most perfect guy could drag his feet to the altar and then you were
screwed
.

“Dr. Dalton?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Brynn said, forcing her attention back to her sulky patient.

“I can wait for a couple months? At least until after yearbook pictures?”

“I don’t see why not,” Brynn said with a careful glance at the mayor, making sure she wasn’t contradicting parental preference. “My braces recommendation for you is primarily for cosmetic reasons at this point. You won’t be doing any harm to your teeth or jaws if you hold off.”

Actually, Lizzie Blanton’s mouth would be just fine without braces for a
lifetime
, but Brynn wasn’t about to volunteer that.

Still, the cosmetically fueled recommendation brought to mind Will’s accusations that her career choice was superficial and shallow.

He was wrong.

She knew firsthand that having straight teeth wasn’t always about vanity.

Sometimes it was about confidence.

Twenty minutes later, the mayor and her daughter were off to buy some frilly “fro-yo” milkshake the mayor had promised, and Brynn was in her office reading a mind-numbing article about some newfangled retainer.

But she couldn’t concentrate.

It seemed she couldn’t go two minutes without some flare of self-doubt creeping into her brain, and the latest offender was wondering why she’d busted her ass to get to work for such a mundane appointment.

Not that there was anything wrong with the daughter or the mother, but they’d been pretty standard patients. She waited for the zip of excitement that she’d just met the
mayor
. But…nothing.

Knock it off. You love your job. You’re just irritated because you let Will Thatcher kiss you.

And the kiss had been fierce and unwanted. And if she’d felt a little bit of a tingle, it’d definitely been irritation. Not lust.

Brynn jumped at a knock on the door, seeing her partner and friend standing in the doorway.

“So how’d it go with the pseudo-celeb’s daughter? Was she a total prima donna?” Susan Wee asked.

Brynn smiled in welcome, gesturing her partner into her office. As far as work relationships went, Brynn and Susan were perfectly suited.

They were both calm, and friendly without being bubbly. Most importantly, they were damn good orthodontists.

When Brynn had decided to start her own practice, she’d known a partner would be inevitable, but finding someone she could trust and who wouldn’t drive her nuts had taken longer than expected. Susan was younger than Brynn had wanted—only a couple years out of school—but her work was flawless and her chair-side manner was perfect.

The fact that the women had become friends was icing on the cake.

“I wouldn’t say Lizzie Blanton is a prima donna,” Brynn said, idly tapping her pen against her desk. “She is, however, a major brat.”

Susan shrugged as she dropped into the chair across from Brynn. “She’s twelve. Of course she’s a brat.”

“I don’t think I was,” Brynn mused, pursing her lips.

“Me neither,” Susan said cheekily. “I was a perfect child. And pretty perfect now, if I do say so myself.”

Brynn forced herself to smile back. It was a long-running joke between the two of them. Perfect jobs, perfect boyfriends, perfect lives…

It was supposed to be a point of pride, having crafted her dream life through sheer organization and hard work.

But today it felt…stale.

Damn
Will Thatcher.

Her wave of self-doubt should have been limited to one day of birthday blues, but instead her discontent had been hovering above her head like a cartoon storm cloud. His unexpected presence brought back too many memories of her less-than-stellar moments.

Like the time she’d keyed his car. Or the time she’d told his junior-year girlfriend that he was gay.

Or the time she’d woken up in his bed. Naked.

Don’t go there.
The man had no bearing on her future.

Maybe that was her problem. Brynn was a big believer in always keeping one eye on the future, but perhaps she was trying to focus on too much at once. Her life list had become overwhelming instead of being the beacon of focus it was supposed to be. Perhaps it was time to focus on just one item.

The most important one.

Marriage.

And James
would
propose this year. She was sure of it. And then her
next
birthday would be perfect.

Except…while focusing on the future
usually
centered Brynn, today it wasn’t working. Did she really want to spend her life merely ticking off days until her next big Life Event?

Wasn’t there supposed to be…more?

“You okay?” Susan asked, tilting her head to study Brynn. “You seem kind of off.”

“A little PMS,” Brynn lied. “And the Blanton meeting gave me a headache. The mayor seems so levelheaded on TV, but up close she’s a little…intense.”

“Aren’t they all when it comes to their darlings’ teeth? Slight overbites are the quintessential first-world problems.”

“Does it ever get to you?” Brynn asked. “The fact that the majority of our clients come in for cosmetic reasons?”

Susan lifted a shoulder. “I guess I sort of knew it coming into it, ya know? I mean, I know it’s not saving lives, but it’s good money, good hours…”

“But is it fulfilling?”

Susan blinked in surprise. “Of course. I love my job.”

Brynn loved her job too. At least, she was pretty sure she did. Sometimes it felt a little less like love, and a lot more like…
contentment
.

But that was good enough, right?

“I’ll grab our lunches,” Susan said, standing. “You bring a salad?”

“Yeah,” Brynn said distractedly. It was Wednesday; of
course
she’d brought a salad.

“Cool. I have some Midol in my purse. You’ll feel better by the time your one o’clock gets here.”

“Thanks, Sue,” Brynn said distractedly as her tiny friend walked out of the office with perfect posture.

Her smile slipped as soon as her friend was out of sight. Somehow she didn’t think Midol would fix whatever was bothering her.

B
rynn had spent an inordinate amount of time wondering what “favor” Will would call in for helping with the flat tire.

She should have known better than to ask him for help. Heaven forbid he just do the decent thing and help a girl out.

But a week had passed and he hadn’t done more than wave at her from his kitchen window or “accidentally” knock over her recycling bin with his lawn mower.

There certainly hadn’t been any mention of her supposed debt.

So she’d forgotten about it. Mostly. Sure, there’d been a few nights where she’d fantasized about the clever ways she’d turn down his undoubtedly crude suggestions. But for the most part, she hadn’t thought about Will.

Hadn’t thought about how much he annoyed her.

Hadn’t thought about how easily he’d agreed to help her out with the tire, even though she’d treated him like crap.

Hadn’t thought about the fact that they could be in each other’s bedrooms in under five minutes.

And she
certainly
hadn’t thought about what his hands had felt like on her on that night three years ago.

So when his face had popped up in her kitchen window on a Sunday morning as she’d been sipping a cup of coffee and daydreaming about what to do with a day to herself, she hadn’t expected it. And she screamed.

“Goddamn it, Will!” she yelled through the pane as she wiped coffee off her pale pink silk robe. Temper spiked at the sight of his smirking face and she slapped her palm against the glass. And that made her even madder. Now she’d have to clean up the coffee
and
the handprint.

He pointed in the direction of the back door that entered into her kitchen and disappeared.

Please. Like she would let him interrupt her productive Sunday routine. She had laundry to do. And then she was going to clean the fridge. And eventually she was going to alphabetize her bookshelf, which she’d really been putting off for way too long.

Brynn ignored the first knock at the back door as she cleaned the spilled coffee off the granite countertop.

She ignored the second knock as she got out her organic, nontoxic glass cleaner and returned her kitchen windowpane to its usual pristine state.

The third knock made her smile as she refilled her mug. Rejection would do Will Thatcher good.

But then she started losing track of the knocks because the fifth one turned into the eighth, and then the twelfth, and then there was no end.

Go upstairs and take a shower
, she ordered herself.
Do not open that door. Not when this robe barely covers your ass.

The knocking went from an insistent tapping to a strange rhythm.

Good God. The infantile moron was tapping out “Jingle Bells” on her door. Clearly he had a death wish.

“Go away, Will!” she called out.

“I love this song, don’t you?”

“Love it!” she hollered back.

…oh, what fun, it is to ride…

“Say, sweetie…I’m out of coffee…”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh? No longer welcome at Starbucks after sleeping with their entire staff?” she asked, wandering to the other side of the door so she wouldn’t have to yell as loud.

“Don’t be snobbish. There are a couple male baristas that didn’t interest me in the least.”

“Lecher.”

“Prude.”

…a day or two ago, I thought I’d take a ride…

“Will, if you don’t stop with that infernal Christmas carol, I’ll tell my mom that you were the one who finished off her favorite Cognac during winter break freshman year.”

“I already confessed. And now she buys me my own bottle every Thanksgiving.”

“Of course she does,” Brynn muttered.

…jingle bells, jingle bells…

“Come on, Brynny, you owe me a favor.”

She paused at that. He wanted a cup of coffee as his favor? Hell, she’d been imagining something a little more…torrid. If coffee was all he wanted, she’d give him the whole pot.

“Okay, fine. I’ll give you coffee. But then you’re leaving.”

The knocking slowed. Then stopped. The doorknob rattled impatiently.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. She swallowed dryly. His hair was slightly damp and he smelled like soap, having obviously just showered.
Yum.

“Wearing a shirt today, I see,” she said, closing the door behind him as he immediately headed toward the coffeepot. He found the cupboard with the mugs on the first try, and damn if that didn’t annoy her. He’d been gone for three years. He had no right to know how she organized her kitchen shelves.

He poured himself a cup before leaning back against her counter, eyeing her over the steaming mug. The scene was unexpectedly domestic and she resisted the urge to squirm under his gaze. His worn jeans and casual green button-down fit him entirely too well.

“You know, this is the first time I’ve been in your house since we became best friends and neighbors?” he asked.

“And the last time. Is the one cup enough, or do you need another to go?”

He ignored this. “I’m ready to call in my favor.”

She nodded in the direction of his coffee mug. “You just did.”

He held up the plain white porcelain cup in disbelief. “This? You think I rolled around on the hot pavement and wrestled a dirty tire for a cup of coffee? Please. I’ve got my own coffee back home.”

Brynn all but felt steam come out her ears as she realized she’d been played. “You said you were out of coffee.”

“Lied. I just needed a way to get in the door so we can talk about my due.”

“The only thing you’re due is my foot up your ass on the way out,” she snapped, opening the back door and making a sweeping outward gesture.

He sighed. “You and Sophie. Both cranky in the morning. Your poor parents.”

Will pushed away from the counter, idly shutting the door as he wandered into the living area.

“All-white décor. Shocker.”

Brynn closed her eyes in resignation. Short of forcibly pushing him out the door, he wouldn’t leave until he got what he wanted. And no way was she touching him.

“All right, let’s hear it. What do I have to do to even the scorecard? What sort of humiliating adventure do you have cooked up? Lap dance? Striptease? Orthodontist appointment?”

It wouldn’t be the last one. Will’s teeth were perfectly straight, perfectly white. Sharklike.

“Interesting suggestions, Brynny,” he said, idling toward her until there were just inches separating them, her back against the door.

Stupid, stupid, Brynn.
She knew by now not to let herself get backed into a corner with this guy. He
always
took advantage.

“So the lap dance is an intriguing suggestion, but I find I’m…” His eyes skimmed over her, on the coffee stain splattered all over her breast.

Brynn sucked in a breath, every
physical
instinct telling her to arch her back to push herself into him, even as every
mental
instinct told her to knee him in the balls.

“You find you’re what?” she asked.
Crap.
Her voice was way huskier than the situation warranted.

His eyes flicked back up to hers, his head inclining just slightly toward hers. “Not interested,” he finished in an equally husky voice.

She let out a hissing noise, and this time her mental and physical instincts were completely in sync. But he saw it coming, and grabbed her knee and pushed it easily away before she could make contact with his special bits.

He’d moved away before she could register the feeling of his fingers on her knee, giving her that classic Will Thatcher grin. The one that said
I’ve got your number
.

She straightened, primly tugging the hem of her robe into place, ignoring the brand his thumb had left on the inside of her leg.

“So, back to the debt,” he said, taking a sip of coffee as though nothing had happened. “Go get showered. The Marilyn Monroe getup won’t do.”

Her nostrils fluttered. “You’re calling it in
today
? I have plans.”

“What plans? Vacuuming your car? Ironing your sheets? Reading some boring biography?”

It was a little too close to her actual plans, and she kept her mouth shut as she moved to top off her coffee, instinctively topping his off as well just because he was there.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly. For some reason this quiet and unexpected bit of manners unnerved her even more than the flirty Will and she felt herself blushing.

“Spit it out already,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Well, actually, I already told you the other day, but you seem to have forgotten. We’re going furniture shopping.”

Brynn’s mug clanked noisily on the counter. “Furniture shopping?”

“Good hearing, Brynny. And yes, furniture shopping. I plan to have
lots
of female company, and hence I need a female’s opinion. You qualify. Barely. None of this white stuff, though,” he said, gesturing at her clean color scheme.

“Make Sophie do it.”

“She’s busy.”

“So am I,” Brynn ground out.

“Not with anything interesting. And you owe me, remember? Wouldn’t you rather get it over with?”

“I’d rather you’d have just changed my tire as a favor, not as something to lord over me until you could decorate your bachelor pad.”

Will drained his coffee before rinsing his cup and placing it in the dishwasher, in the exact right spot on the top shelf. Upper right corner, handle facing in.
How’d he know?

“I’m not shopping with you.”

He shrugged and then moved so quickly she barely had time to swallow her mouthful of coffee. He was on her in a second, his hips pressing into hers.

Don’t move. Do. Not. Move.
Why could she never breathe around this guy?

It wouldn’t have mattered if she moved. She could already feel him, hard and hot even through the denim of his jeans, his erection pressing into the flatness of her stomach.

“I can think of another way to return the favor,” he said, his eyes never leaving her. “One you might like better?”

His hips moved ever so slightly and Brynn bit her lip against a moan.
It’s just memories of before. That’s all.

“I’ll go shopping with you,” she whispered softly, keeping her gaze locked on a spot over his shoulder.

He moved away as quickly as he moved in, his grin triumphant.

Brynn didn’t know what bothered her more, that he’d won the battle, or that he was apparently more enthused about the idea of furniture shopping than sex with her.

“My driveway in thirty minutes?” he asked.

“An hour,” she said, setting her mug aside in resignation. So much for her quiet, productive Sunday.

He gave her a none-too-soft slap on the ass, like a coach swatting his second-string running back.

“Good girl,” he said, grabbing her elbow and ushering her in the direction of the stairs. “Go shower now, you look like hell.”

She probably did. God knows she was
in
hell.