The Other Side of Us (Harlequin Superromance) (15 page)

Oliver stopped and considered the walkway. They’d cleared over
half of the gravel, an effort she was more than happy with.

“Sure. We’ve made a good start.”

“Do you want a cold drink? I’ve got orange juice or mineral
water.”

“Water would be great.”

She headed into the house, aware of him following her, his
heavy tread echoing down the hallway. In the kitchen, she served them both
water. He leaned against the sink, she against the opposite counter. He
swallowed his in one big gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing. She told herself not to
stare and had to resist the urge to roll the cold glass across her chest to cool
herself down.

It hit her suddenly that there was no way she could handle
another hour of watching him do manly things in faded jeans. Not without an icy
shower.

“You know what? Maybe we should call it a day. We got so much
done I can probably chip away at what’s left over the rest of the week.”

Oliver rinsed his glass and set it on the drain board. Now that
they were in closer quarters, she could smell the strong, spicy scent of his
deodorant, along with a faint hint of clean, male sweat.

“If you’re whacked, I don’t mind doing the rest alone.”

“There is no way I could let you do that.”

“I knew you were going to say that.”

Her weakening resistance sent up a silent cheer. He wasn’t
going to fight her. Hallelujah.

“When were you thinking of tackling the shed?”

“Want to pencil me into your busy schedule?” His smile was
teasing.

“Something like that.”

“Let’s see how you feel tomorrow. If you’re not too sore maybe
we can tackle it then.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She swallowed the last of her water and
took the three steps necessary to take it to the sink. She was conscious of him
standing a couple of feet away as she rinsed her glass and set it beside
his.

“Your hair’s gone all curly on the ends,” he said.

She went very still as she felt the brush of his fingers on the
nape of her neck. Sensation washed through her—heat and awareness and an almost
animal sense of yearning.

It had been so long since she’d lain skin to skin with a man.
So long since someone had touched her with anything other than clinical
detachment.

Oliver was standing barely two feet away. All she had to do was
take a step and she’d be so close to him she’d be able to feel his body
heat.

There were a lot of good reasons to ignore that impulse. The
concerns that had kept her awake in the small hours hadn’t dissolved overnight.
As aroused as she was, as aware of him as she was, she still felt a panicky
sense of uncertainty when her imagination moved beyond contemplating what she
wanted to do to him to what he might like to do to her. It was one thing to
assert she was proud of and reconciled to her damaged body, and another thing
entirely to practice what she preached.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hand drop to his
side. She turned her head.

His gaze met hers. Her breath got caught in her throat as she
read the carnal intent in his eyes. He wanted her, still. Even though she’d been
such an idiot. All she had to do was reach out and he could be hers. All that
beautiful, intoxicating masculinity.

She didn’t move. Her arms felt leaden, her feet glued to the
ground, weighted by indecision and doubt. Eyes locked to his, she willed him to
understand and to make the first move for both of them, breaking this Mexican
standoff, forcing her past her own fear.

Kiss me,
she willed him.
Kiss me and make it all better.

The moment stretched. Oliver’s gaze dropped to her mouth.

He took a step backward. “Let me know if you don’t feel up to
working tomorrow, okay?”

Disappointment slammed through her as he headed for the
door.

Do you blame him, after last night? Why on
earth would he risk you flinging yourself against the nearest hard surface
to escape him again? Why would he put himself in that position?

She didn’t blame him, but it didn’t stop her from feeling
seriously disgruntled as she followed him to the foyer.

On the surface, it was such a simple equation. He was a
healthy, single, consenting adult, and so was she. There was nothing in the
world stopping them from acting on the attraction between them. And yet he was
about to walk out the door, and she was about to let him.

“Thanks for your help,” she said as they reached the
entryway.

“Don’t be too grateful. I plan on working you hard
tomorrow.”

“Bring it on.” She managed to produce a smile.

His gaze dropped to her mouth one last time before he turned
away. “You’ll have to tell me about Dr. Mary De Garis one of these days.”

“It would serve you right if I held you to that,” she said as
he exited.

He didn’t say anything, simply lifted a hand in farewell. She
watched until he’d disappeared around the curve in the driveway, then shut the
door.

If only he’d kissed her. There was no way she would have pushed
him away this time.

If only you’d kissed him.

But she hadn’t. She’d choked, pulled up short by her
self-consciousness.

She went to the bedroom and stripped before stepping into the
shower in her en suite. All the while she thought about Oliver, about that
heated, taut moment that had stretched and stretched and finally broken beneath
the weight of her uncertainty and doubt. A year ago, she would have bridged the
distance between them and let him know what she wanted. She wouldn’t have
hesitated. Not that she’d thought she was some sort of irresistible sexual
goddess before the accident, but she’d been around enough to know when a man
wanted her and to act on that awareness if the feeling was reciprocal.

Bowing her head, she let the water flow over her back. She
hated being afraid. Hated to think that she’d let fear be the deciding factor.
Hated to think that this was something else the accident had taken away from
her.

She didn’t want to be the sort of woman who let self-doubt rule
her world.

Then don’t be.

She lifted her head.

It was such a simple thought. If she took the time to pick it
apart, she could find a dozen different ways to debunk it. But maybe she needed
to stop thinking so much and start acting. Maybe she needed to seize the bull by
the horns and simply get over herself.

She laughed, the sound half scared, half amused as it bounced
off the tiles. Before she could talk herself out of it, she reached for the
razor. She shaved her legs and under her arms, then got out of the shower and
patted herself dry. She rubbed vanilla-and-orange-peel-scented lotion into her
body and spritzed perfume onto her breasts. Then she brushed her teeth and wiped
the condensation off the mirror and reached for her makeup bag, going all out
with the eyeliner and mascara.

She walked into her bedroom and spent considerable time pawing
through her underwear drawer, looking for something that wasn’t cotton and
practical. She found a matched bra-and-panty set made from see-through black
mesh, the panties high cut with lace detail in strategic places.

Sexy. She hoped.

She pulled the underwear on. Then and only then did she turn to
face the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door.

Her gaze gravitated immediately to the ugly scar that ran
between her hips and around her right side. Her focus lifted to the twisted mess
that ran from her left shoulder and around her upper arm. Finally, her gaze came
to rest on the dark puncture scars on her rib cage, relics from where her
fractured ribs had broken through the skin.

None of it was pretty. The scars weren’t old enough to have
faded, despite her religious use of rose-hip oil to promote healing. The scar on
her belly... There was no way a man could avoid contact with it if he was in bed
with her. It would be a very present part of any action that took place.

She forced her gaze away from her stomach, focusing instead on
her breasts. They’d always been small but the rest of her was, too, and she’d
never had a problem with that. Cupped in sheer black mesh, they looked perky and
dainty and, yes, sexy. She moved on to her legs. Before the accident, she’d
worked hours in the gym to tone them, but rehab had given her muscles that
ordinary gym exercises never could. Her legs would never be long and fantasy
inspiring, but they were slim and strong and they looked good to her.

So, nice legs and breasts, with some not-so-great bits in
between. Given that she’d been minutes from death out on that dark, rainy road,
she figured a bit of not-so-great was a light price to pay for being alive. As
she reminded herself every morning, she was lucky to be here.

She met her own gaze in the mirror, her chin lifting in
challenge.

Was she really going to do this?

She glanced at her body again, then remembered that moment in
her kitchen when Oliver had been standing just out of reach, golden and hard and
gorgeous.

So damned good...

Yes, she was going to do this.

She turned to her wardrobe and pulled out her skinny jeans and
a snug-fitting black sweater. Not siren stuff, but most of her fabulous clothes
were in Melbourne. With her black stiletto ankle boots she was almost certain
she could pull off foxy.

Technically, she wasn’t supposed to be traipsing about in high
heels—her back and pelvis simply weren’t up to it—but she needed the added
confidence they gave her and she figured the short walk next door wouldn’t kill
her. Plus, she didn’t plan on being on her feet for long.

She grinned at her own bravado as she zipped the ankle closure
on her boots. The smile faded as she stood and smoothed her hands down her
thighs and inspected her reflection one last time.

She tweaked the neck of her sweater to show more cleavage, then
nodded. She looked good. Her eyes were nightclub sultry and there was color in
her cheeks. The sweater hugged her breasts, the jeans molded her thighs. The
boots gave her a little bit of extra height and made her legs appear that bit
longer.

She was ready. Well, as ready as she’d ever be.

Butterflies did a river dance in her belly as she tip-tapped
her way to the front door. Smitty kept pace with her, his face turned upward,
his expression questioning.

“Sorry, buddy, but this is a solo mission.”

She was about to leave when she remembered something important.
She swiveled and walked back to her bedroom. Yanking open the bedside drawer,
she rummaged around, hoping against hope that the box of condoms she’d bought
eighteen months ago was still there.

It was. Better yet, the expiry date was good. She extracted one
condom and slid it into her pocket, then added another for good measure. Just in
case.

Feeling brazen and bold and terrified as all get-out, she left
the house.

CHAPTER TEN

T
RAVERSING
TWO
GRAVEL
driveways in stilettos prevented Mackenzie from dwelling on the
slightly sick/excited feeling in the pit of her stomach, but there was no
denying the swoop of adrenaline that washed through her as she climbed the
stairs to Oliver’s front porch.

She shook her hands, blowing out a breath.

He’s a good guy. Trust him. And trust
yourself.

She knocked. A beat of silence followed. Her throat was so
tight with nerves she wondered how she would keep breathing. Then footsteps
sounded on the other side of the door. She closed her eyes for a brief moment,
reaching for courage. The door was swinging wide when she opened her eyes.

Oliver stood there in his tank top and jeans, his feet bare.
Her gaze dropped to his hips. The stud on his jeans was open, as though she’d
caught him in the act of undressing.

“Mackenzie.” His gaze traveled over her face before dropping to
scan her body. A small, confused smile tilted his mouth. “You heading out?”

She opened her mouth to tell him why she was there—an
expurgated version, anyway—but nothing came out. Nerves squeezed her diaphragm
and chest. She felt a little dizzy.

I don’t think I can do this.

She could feel her courage draining away. Driven by
desperation, she reached out and clenched her hand into the fabric of his shirt.
Then she used her grip to yank him toward her. His eyes widened as they bumped
chests. She was already lifting her head, her mouth finding his unerringly,
instinctively. Her free hand landing on his shoulder for balance, she closed her
eyes and kissed him with all the urgency and need in her soul.

For a horrible, too-long moment his mouth was still against
hers, then his arms came around her and his lips opened. The hot, knowing slide
of him inside her mouth made her knees weak with lust.

He tasted like coffee and desire, and his stubble rasped
against her face as he angled his head and deepened their connection. One of his
hands slid down her spine to cup her backside, curving around it possessively
before pulling her into more intimate contact with his body. She felt his
hard-on against her belly, a thick, firm ridge that made her moan with
anticipation.

She needed this. Needed him. She wanted the mindlessness of
sex, the beauty of being in the now, the carnal joy of giving in to her animal
self. Her hands grasped at his tank top, searching blindly, desperately for the
hem. Once she found it she slid her hands onto the firmness of his belly, her
inner muscles tightening as she felt the shiver of need that rippled through his
body. His skin was still slightly damp from their yard work and she rubbed her
hips against his as she remembered how
good
he’d
looked, working and sweating on her behalf.

Vaguely aware they were still on his doorstep, she urged him
backward, not stopping until she had him pressed against the hall wall. Utterly
focused on getting him naked, she kicked the door shut and started tugging his
shirt up his torso. She needed to touch and see and lick him.
Now.

He broke their kiss, his hands finding hers to halt their
progress.

“Mackenzie,” he said, his voice thick and low. “I haven’t had a
shower—”

“Thank. God,” she said, kissing him again.

She wanted him hot and sweaty. She wanted him exactly as he
was.

He laughed but let her have her way, ducking his head and
lifting his arms obligingly so she could tug the top over his head. She let it
fall to the ground, eating up his shoulders and chest and belly with her eyes.
Her gaze zeroed in on the hollow at the base of his neck that she’d wanted to
lick earlier and she leaned close and tasted him. Salt and heat and man. She
wrapped her hand around his biceps and pressed herself against him as she tasted
him again.

He muttered something under his breath and the next thing she
knew she was moving backward, and then she was the one with her back against the
wall on the other side of the hall and he was pinning her there with his body
weight.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked her as he looked into her
eyes.

“I was trying to seduce you.”

“Mission accomplished.”

He kissed her, his body shaking with barely controlled need.
His hands covered her breasts, his fingers plucking at her nipples as he pressed
his hips against hers. She’d never been so turned-on in her life, every inch of
her skin screaming to be in contact with his. Desire was an ache between her
thighs, insatiable and demanding.

Her hands fumbled at his fly, dragging the tab down. His body
jerked as she slipped her hand inside his jeans and underwear and wrapped it
around his erection. He was incredibly hot and hard in her hand and she made a
needy sound in her throat.

His hands found the stud on her jeans and she bit his lower lip
encouragingly as he lowered the fly. His warm hand smoothed south, slipping
beneath the elastic of her panties. Way, way, way at the back of her brain she
was aware that this was one of many moments where he might hesitate or, worse,
retreat as he encountered the evidence of her injuries. That part of her was
silenced as his fingers slipped lower, delving between her thighs.

“Mackenzie,” he whispered as he discovered how wet and ready
she was.

Her hand tightened around his erection as he found her, his
finger working in delicate circles. She could feel her climax rushing toward
her, even though they’d barely started. It had been so long and he was so damn
hot....

But she wanted him inside her when she came, wanted to have the
hardness in her hand filling her, stretching her. She released her grip on him
and started pushing at his jeans.

He broke their kiss, his lips trailing across her cheek to find
the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “Not here,” he murmured against her
skin.

“Yes,” she insisted, pushing his jeans lower on his hips.

She wanted him now. Couldn’t bear to wait even as long as it
would take to find a bedroom. Pushing him away, she locked eyes with him briefly
before concentrating on his jeans, dragging them down his legs. It seemed only
natural to follow them down, to press her face against his flat belly before
taking him in her hand and pulling him into her mouth.

He swore, his hand coming to cup the back of her head. He
tasted like sweat and need and she closed her eyes and savored him. After a few
seconds he pulled away from her. He gripped her beneath the arms and encouraged
her to rise.

“You’re not getting off that easy,” he said.

He grasped the waistband of her sweater, pulling it over her
head in one swift move. His gaze swept from breast to breast.

“You put this on for me?” he asked, tracing the edge of her
lacy bra where it curved over her breast.

“Yes.”

“Good choice.” He reached behind her and her bra was suddenly
loose around her torso. “But this is much, much better.”

The next thing she knew, he had the straps down her arms and
she was naked from the waist up. He made an appreciative noise before lowering
his head to pull a nipple into his mouth.

The sharp pull of his mouth, the wet heat, the sight of his
head over her breast... She cried out, her hands gripping his shoulders as she
hung on for dear life.

“You taste good,” he said as he lifted his head. He kissed her
again, the force of his desire tilting her head back. She felt his hands at her
hips, then the tug of denim against her skin as he pushed her jeans and panties
down her thighs.

She was naked now, bared utterly to him, and a rush of anxiety
cut through her arousal. There was no way he could fail to notice the brutal
scar across her hips now. It was center stage, waiting for its moment in the
spotlight.

The thought had barely registered before he ducked in front of
her, tucking his shoulder beneath her body. Suddenly she was airborne, flailing
for purchase, one of his strong arms clamped around her waist, the other
gripping an ass cheek in a provocative, primitive way as he lifted her in a
firefighter’s hold.

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” he said as her shock
turned to laughter.

He headed up the hall, turning into the first room. He leaned
forward, then she was tumbling onto a bed. He wasted no time following her, his
gaze sweeping over her in hungry appraisal.

Again, she tensed, waiting for him to hesitate or backpedal or
comment.

“You look good enough to eat,” he said.

Then he lowered his head and licked his way down her belly
before pushing her thighs open. She forgot to breathe as he licked the seam of
her sex, her fingers fisting in the sheets. She almost levitated when he opened
his mouth and kissed her, a fully, earthy caress that made her forget
everything.

From that moment on she was gone, lost in her body and what he
was doing to her. The flick of his tongue, the gentle, insistent pressure, the
build of tension inside her...

Her hips lifted as she sought more, and he obliged by sliding a
finger inside her, then another. She was so close it hurt, her arousal a
painful, desperate ache. Any second now she was going to break....

“No. I want you,” she panted, her fingers clamping down onto
his shoulder as she tried to ease him away.

He lifted his head, his eyes dark with passion.

“Get up here,” she ordered, curling her fingers in his hair and
encouraging him upward.

His mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile as he relinquished
his position and came on top of her. His hips settled between her thighs and she
reached for him, positioning him at her entrance.

“Wait.” A chagrined expression came over his face.
“Condom.”

“Front pocket of my jeans.”

A slow smile curved his mouth. “You don’t do anything by
halves, do you?”

“Not if he’s worth doing.”

He laughed, and then she was watching his perfect, rounded ass
as he hightailed it out the door in search of her jeans. Five seconds later he
was back, the silver square of a condom in hand. He knelt on the bed between her
thighs and she watched through half-closed eyes as he smoothed the latex onto
his erection.

She couldn’t be one-hundred-percent certain, most of her blood
being south of her navel right now, but she was pretty sure it was about the
sexiest damn sight she’d ever seen. He stretched over her, his weight balanced
on one elbow. She felt the warm, hard press of him at her entrance, her hips
instinctively lifting to welcome him inside.

At the last second a bolt of panic made her grip his
shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this. I have no idea if
everything still works the way it should.”

His mouth tilted at the corners. “We’ll join the dots,” he said
confidently, and then he flexed his hips and slid inside her, a hot, hard
invasion that stole her breath and made her cry out.

He swallowed the rest of her cry with a kiss before withdrawing
almost to the brink before driving home again. The delicious movement of his
body inside hers was too much, too good, too fine. She rocked with him, finding
his rhythm, closing her eyes and getting lost in the world behind her eyelids.
He was so heavy and male and she loved the way he felt, the weight of him and
the urgent, demanding stroke of his body inside hers. Tension rose inside her
and instinctively she tried to bring him in deeper, arching her back, widening
her thighs. Pain shot through her hip, sharp and undeniable, and she
instinctively tried to pull away from it, pressing her thighs tight to his. He
stilled immediately.

“Mackenzie?”

The pain was fading already and she gripped his backside,
silently urging him to continue.

“What just happened?” he asked, stubbornly refusing to
move.

“My range of movement isn’t what it used to be.”

His face was concerned as he studied hers. “Okay. What if you
were on top?”

“No, no. This is fine. I can handle it.”

She needed him to keep going, in the same way that she needed
oxygen. She tilted her hips, trying to coax him into moving.

“It’s not supposed to be an endurance test.”

She gave a wordless cry as he withdrew, the loss of him a
profound, unwelcome shock.

“Oliver, I swear...” She curled her fingers into the muscle of
his hip, trying to stop him from leaving.

His arm came around her as he rolled onto his back, lifting her
at the same time so that she wound up on top, sprawled across his body.

“Do your worst,” he said as he grinned at her.

She stared at him, momentarily thrown by the easy, casual way
he’d made things right for her, even when she’d given him permission to simply
plow on, regardless.

“Thank you,” she said simply, because his generosity deserved
recognition.

“Don’t mention it,” he said as he slid his hands onto her
backside.

His erection surged against her belly, a potent reminder that
the best was yet to come. Slipping her knees either side of his hips, she
gripped him and arranged herself. In this position she could control the
extension of her hip and there was nothing but pleasure as she slid onto
him.

His hands gripped her as she started to move, his eyes dropping
to half-mast. She concentrated on the feel of him inside her, on the needful
pressure of his hardness against her softness, her gaze running over his chest
and belly and face.

He was so damned hot, his body so beautiful, and the way he
felt inside her...

She held her breath as her climax hit her, her head dropping
back as she rode it out.

“Yes. Come for me, Mackenzie.” Oliver’s voice was low and deep,
his hands a welcome anchor as he thrust into her.

She opened her eyes in time to see him come, the tendons
standing out in his neck, his lips drawn back in an almost snarl. She stared,
transfixed, then gasped as he slipped a hand between their bodies and found her
with his thumb. Two, three, four strokes and she climaxed again, his name a sob
on her lips.