Sweetest Mistake (Nolan Brothers #2) (8 page)

Noah laughed and Luke clapped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations again, you two. Let me know the details when you have them.”

He turned to go, but pulled up at the last second. With an exaggerated snap of his fingers, he swiveled toward Emily. “Oh, I almost forgot.”

She regarded him with dark mistrust. Smart girl.

“I have your panties with me. Would you like them back?”

She choked on the chip she’d just popped into her kissable mouth.

“You were in such a hurry to get dressed, you must’ve forgotten all about them.”

Her damnable mouth moved with little pinches and odd twitches while she struggled to find and form words. Insults she wished to hurl at him, most likely.

Except she didn’t.

In a flash of movement, she bounded from the booth and made to move around him. He shifted his weight and blocked her. Startled Tootsie Pop-brown eyes flew to his face.

He braced for her retribution. Would it be a cool dressing-down or a fiery tongue-lashing? He hoped the latter.

Instead, her expression crumpled and she shoved her way past him.

Disappointment sliced through him. He turned in the direction she fled.

“Hey.”

Luke looked down at Noah’s hand clamped on his arm.

“Are you two going to be able to play nice?” Worry shimmered in Noah’s dark eyes.

“No worries, brother.” A cruel smile twisted Luke’s lips. “I always play nice.”

E
mily banged through the back door and burst into the parking lot. A wall of humidity smacked into her. Clouds had rolled in with the night and a light, warm mist kissed her skin.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

She knew he’d followed her even before she whirled on him. “Wh-why did y-y-you do that?”

“Tell me why you don’t like me.”

“I didn’t start this, y-y-y-you did. Y-you’ve hated m-me from the b-beginning.”

His hard expression splintered. “That’s not true.”

“It is.” She loathed the ring of anguish in her voice. “Why are y-you so against m-m-m-me?”

His hand came up and she shrunk back.

He went still. His green eyes locked on to hers, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he showed her his palms.

She sucked large gulps of air into her lungs while her fingers grappled for the pendant around her neck. He made a soft, soothing sound and slipped closer. His hand slid beneath the curtain of her hair and kneaded her nape.

Rain began to fall in a steady patter. Soon, her muscles eased under his warm touch.

“I am not against you.” He spoke softly next to her ear.

“Y-you pulled me over three times in four days.”

A lock of his dark hair, now wet with rain, fell across his forehead. “I was curious about you. So I made up reasons to pull you over and talk to you.”

Shock siphoned the stinging frustration from her. The intensity in his eyes pulled her in, sweeping her out to sea.

Many long moments passed before she was able to unscramble any words. “W-will you stop?”

“Yes. I promise.” He untangled his hand from under her hair. “Is that it? Is that why you don’t like me?”

At the hitch of vulnerability in his voice, her heart constricted. She shook her head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

She startled at the snap in his tone.

“Please.” He took a measured step back. “I want to know.”

Her gaze fell to his throat. “Sometimes… you m-m-make me feel…”

“What? What do I make you feel?”

Her hand flitted over her collarbone. “Sometimes y-you make me feel s-s-stupid.”

She barely registered the slash of devastation that ripped across his face before he was on top of her, pressing her back to the brick wall.

“My God, Emily. How could you think that?”

“Y-you’re always laughing at m-m-me.”

A curse slipped from his lips and his shoes scraped across the gravel parking lot when he pushed away from her.

He shoved both hands through his wet hair so that it stood on end. “It’s just… teasing.”

She’d never seen him so serious. So distressed. A bone-deep weariness clung to the area around his eyes, and the feeling struck her that she was seeing him for the first time. The real Luke.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Please believe me when I say I’ve thought a lot of things about you, but stupid was never one of them. Not even close.”

His words shone like a light, banishing the shadow of pain from her heart.

“I b-b-believe you.”

A breath shuddered through him. “Thank you.”

She licked her dry lips. “Wh-what other thoughts?”

A wrinkle puckered between his eyebrows.

“Y-you said you’ve had a lot of thoughts… about me. Wh-what other thoughts?”

With a sardonic smile, he dropped his head and studied the ground. “You don’t want to know about those.”

“I do.” The words burst from her. “I really do.”

His gaze heated while he searched her face. “They’re bad thoughts.”

“Bad thoughts?”

“Downright wicked.”

A bevy of butterflies tickled her stomach. “Wicked?”

His eyelids grew heavy. “If I told you, you’d have more than enough reasons to hate me.”

“Hate you?”

“Why are you repeating everything I say?”

She gave another shake of her head. “I d-don’t know.” The lie fell easily from her lips.

It was a habit. A trick she’d learned early on to help her speak clear, stutter-free words, or to buy herself time when the words wouldn’t come.

But she didn’t want to talk about her childhood coping mechanisms. “I don’t think I w-would hate you.”

An odd mix of confusion and resolve played across his features. “I can’t stop thinking about you—picturing you—” His throat worked as he swallowed. “Naked.”

Heat swept through her. She searched his face for clues to any hidden meanings behind his words. “You’re doing it now? Teasing m-me?”

His perfect features softened. “No, Emily, I’m not teasing you now.” His fingertips brushed across her cheek. “I wish I were.”

Molten liquid spread from the tips of his fingers on her skin to her belly.

His gaze skidded to her mouth. His lips parted.

She slanted toward his warmth. Large raindrops plopped on her face when she lifted her mouth up to his.

He bent his head low and her heart thrashed against her breastbone.

Then his lips brushed hers in a feather-light kiss.

She held herself still, unsure what to do. His tongue licked at the corner of her mouth and her world tilted with a dizzying swoop. To steady herself, she clutched his shoulders.

He nibbled her bottom lip, taking soft little tastes of her. His tongue gave a gentle nudge, and when she opened for him, he licked inside.

Before Luke, she’d kissed exactly one man. Those kisses, from her college boyfriend, Joshua, were soft and warm and neat. They were nice kisses, if a little awkward.

What Luke Nolan’s mouth was doing to hers could not be described as nice. Or awkward. It was naughty, but tender. Part apology and part promise. A riptide of emotion whipped through her and conspired to drag her down.

She took her first, tentative taste of him with her tongue. A moan slipped from her at the delicious thrill of it.

The kiss changed and his mouth moved over hers with a possessiveness that wrenched her heart.

She didn’t understand what was happening to her, or why Luke Nolan was even kissing her at all. He didn’t like her, and truth be told, she didn’t like him much either. Except she really, really liked what his mouth was doing to her.

She didn’t understand how one simple kiss could make her forget everything that came before it. Or maybe she just didn’t care. As long as he kept kissing her like he’d die without her, she’d be content if he hated her for all eternity.

His large hand on the curve of her hip inched higher and slipped beneath the hem of her blouse. His warm, calloused palm smoothed up her side. She arched toward his touch.

He made a sound at the back of his throat and his hand explored further. He cupped her breast and she nearly cried out—with what, she didn’t know. Surprise and joy and a plea for more. The pad of his thumb skimmed across her nipple. Arousal spiraled through her and she pulled his tongue into her mouth, swallowing his moan.

Up to now, kissing, like sex, had confused her. Sometimes it was nice, but mostly it was awkward, and by the time it was all said and done, she was left wondering what all the hubbub was about.

She didn’t wonder anymore. Hunger seared her and she grasped at him, wanting to crawl inside of him, or on top of him.

On a ragged gasp, he broke the kiss. He cupped her head in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. They didn’t speak, but only breathed together.

It was the most special kiss of her life. The most special, intimate moment with a man that she’d ever experienced.

So naturally, he had to ruin it.

He pulled back. Smug satisfaction chased the heat from his face. “So, how do you like me now?”

She blinked while the haze of arousal burned away. With a hard shove, she pushed away from him, only to stumble over the uneven ground. He caught her elbow.

She resisted the urge to shake off his touch and instead arranged her features into her best imitation of bored disinterest. “You’re a pretty good kisser, I guess.”

“I’m a great kisser.” But his easy smile suffered a crack.

She shrugged one shoulder. “You’re all right.” She took a moment to enjoy his look of outrage. “Next time, try a little less sloppiness.”

She brushed past him.

He turned with her. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“I couldn’t speak with your tongue down my throat.”

“That kiss was better than all right, Emily, and you know it.”

She ignored how the way he said her name turned her insides to liquid. “If that’s what you want to believe, I won’t burst your bubble.”

His mouth took a cruel twist and dread stole over her. “No vibrator is going to kiss you like that.”

She bit down hard on the slash of pain. Her jaw clenched tight, she forced out words. Any words. “Your date must be wondering w-where you are.”

Finally, his stupid smile wavered.

She left him staring after her, a fierce scowl on his too-beautiful face.

H
is name was Max Foley.

“M-M-Max Foley.” Emily felt his name on her tongue. “M-Max. M-Max.”

Her first guest, he’d reside in a tiny corner of her heart until the end of her days.

Also, he was the perfect distraction from the memory of Luke’s hot mouth on hers, only three days ago. Or his hungry green gaze devouring her naked body.

As she readied the home’s largest bedroom, which boasted a fireplace with a carved wood mantel and a balcony with a panoramic view of Lake Michigan, she continued to practice enunciating Max’s name, and other phrases she’d likely need to speak to him.

She flung open the balcony doors to let in the summer air and performed a quick sweep of the bedroom to remove dust and provide fresh linens. In the garden off the kitchen, she’d gathered a bouquet of buttery yellow ranunculus and purple phlox, and arranged them in a white pitcher, which she left on the bedside table.

Downstairs, she removed a package of premade cookie dough from the refrigerator and arranged pieces on a cookie sheet while the oven preheated. Cookies baking, she moved to the living room at the front of the house.

“M-Max. Max. Max.”

Sunlight streamed in through the oversized windows running across the front of the house. She fluffed the pillows on the overstuffed cotton sofa and coordinating armchairs, and kneeled before the whitewashed wooden coffee table to arrange the stack of Michigan-themed picture books she’d found in the home’s library.

She’d bent to retrieve her dust rag when, with a thunderous crash, the front window exploded.

She dropped to her stomach on the floor and slung her arms over her head as a spray of glass rained down on her. Huddled on her knees, she peeked out from under her arms as a rock the size of a softball rolled to a stop a mere six inches from her face.