Try Me (4 page)

Let go, and not kiss her until those dark, lovely eyes finally showed him something. Desire. Longing. Anything. Anything, so long as he knew how she felt about him.

No. He already knew how she felt about him, and he needed to leave before he made a fool of himself.

Again.

He stood. He’d make his excuses and get the hell out. He stalked around the corner to the kitchen—and collided full force with Erica. Erica, and two full glasses of water. She squeaked and fell right onto her butt. The water splashed into her face and cascaded down her face, throat, and breasts. Her mouth curved into a perfectly darling, startled O.

She blinked water from her eyes and swiped a hand over her face. He lurched down to his knees and plucked the glasses out of her lap. After setting them on the floor, he ripped his shirt off and dabbed at her face.

“I’m so sorry, Erica. I didn’t hear you coming.”

He dried the moisture from her cheeks, then patted her neck dry. Her soft skin underneath his hands made his fingers shake. He nearly forgot how to breathe, and made himself focus on catching every hint of water glistening on her smooth, touchable skin.

She gripped his forearms. “It’s fine. You don’t have to.”

He paused—yet she wasn’t what stopped him. The only thing left to dry was her chest. His eyes dipped down, past her neckline, lingering on a single diamond drop of water against the soft swell of her breasts. Her sharp intake of breath made them rise. Heat flushed his face, and he jerked his gaze to hers.

She stared at him, rosettes blooming in her cheeks. Something in her gaze drew him. Lured him. Coaxed him to do something he never thought he’d have the courage to try. It wasn’t mere desire. It was a compulsion, ingrained so deep he couldn’t possibly resist.

He leaned in. Neither spoke; his blood pumped, his pulse loud between them. Her lips parted, and he paused a mere breath away. Waiting. Giving her a chance to deny him, and refuse him the one thing he’d wanted for more than half his life.

Her.

Yet her eyes slipped closed, and the slight tilt of her chin was the only answer he needed. He pressed his lips to hers, gentle and so very careful, and cradled the curve of her cheek in his palm.

She sighed against his lips. He watched her with hypnotized intensity as he worshipped her mouth; her blush darkened, her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, and as he teased at her lips she opened for him, enticing him to explore, to press deeper, to take her as his own.

Her tongue touched his, and he groaned. Just a slant of his head, a little more pressure, and their lips fit together perfectly. He curled his hands against her waist—but as soon as his fingers touched the curve of her hips, she stiffened and pulled away.

Sucking in a deep breath, she jerked back. Away from him. Pain sliced through him. Of course. Maybe she’d forgotten who she was kissing, for a moment. No doubt she was horrified with herself, now. Sickened.

He never should have kissed her.

He stood and, reaching down, pulled her to her feet. He let her go as soon as she was steady, shoved his hands in his pockets, and muttered, “You should go change.”

Her lips were deliciously swollen. He lingered on them—especially when she avoided his eyes. Great. She couldn’t even stand to look at him. Was she so ashamed of kissing someone who was barely scum in comparison to her?

“Um, yeah.” Her voice sounded hollow. “Okay. I’ll be right back.” She took a shuddering breath and finally looked at him, her eyes guarded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“You’re sorry? I’m not.”

He stepped closer and ran a finger down her cheek. She shivered. He smiled with grim satisfaction, even if he felt more like screaming. No matter her shame, she wanted him. It was in every tremor of her lips, even if her gaze was still wholly closed to him. Even with the suspiciously damp sheen in her eyes, her feelings remained entirely masked.

“I want you, Erica,” he said. “I always have. Nothing has changed for me.”

She hugged his soaked shirt to her chest and bit down on her lip, as if stopping its quiver could hide her upset from him. “I—we can’t. I’m not…I…it’s just not possible.”

“It’s very possible,” he said. “And if you expect me to feel sorry for finally managing to kiss you, forget it. I want more than that kiss. Much more.”

She drew in a shaky breath and backed away. “We barely know each other anymore, and I don’t do one-night stands.”

“Is that what you think I want?” Anger made him bold. “I know you. I know what you do and don’t do. I know I want so much more from you—so much that one kiss just made me need you all over again, even if I don’t know if you hate me or just want to know what I’d be like in bed. God, here I am with stars in my eyes…and you think I want a one-night stand.” His jaw clenched. “Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t know me as well as I’d thought.”

Her teeth sank into her lip so hard he thought she’d break skin. “That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” he said. If life was fair, he wouldn’t be in this position yet a-fucking-gain, hoping the princess would look down from her ivory tower and notice him. “Get used to it.”

“You’re being childish,” she said, jaw tight.

He stepped back. “Maybe I am.”

She drew breath to speak, making her chest heave. His eyes dropped to her soaking wet tank top. Her
white
tank top. His gaze lingered on her breasts, and the clearly visible pink bra cupping them. He nearly forgot his anger. Need took its place. Need to take her into his arms, carry her up the stairs—

“Enough,” she blurted. He jerked his eyes back to her face, where they belonged. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks so red they looked bruised. “This discussion’s over. I’m going to get cleaned up. Stay here.”

He saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t,” she said, and turned away with a toss of her hair. “Don’t make this worse by being flip. I want to be friends, Jeremy.”

She ran up the stairs. He clenched his fists. Frustration scored through him.

“Sure,” he grit out. “Friends.”

He watched her until she disappeared. Friends. What a fucking joke. Tommy and Erica were the only friends he’d ever had. The only friends who’d ever seen through his bad-boy act, who understood that he wasn’t his father, and wouldn’t repeat his father’s mistakes. The only people who forgave him for his screw-ups. The only people who let him be a normal, flawed human being.

And he still wasn’t good enough for even them. Not good enough to trust, and not good enough to love.

That hurt more than any fight, any bullet wound, any loss. Erica had lost faith in him seven years ago. So why had she kissed him? Regret? Did she ever think back to that night, and wish it had happened differently? God, he hoped she did.

Because damn him, he couldn’t think about anything else.

Not to mention she’d be a wreck while he was gone, wondering who was shooting at him today, if he’d come home short one leg but with a little surplus shrapnel, if he’d never come home at all.

She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. She was getting ahead of herself. Jeremy was off limits. He deserved better. Deserved more. She was just a scarred, broken shell of the Erica he’d loved. She laughed and joked around with him, but only because he brought back old memories. Happy ones. There would never be long nights alone, wondering if her lover was under enemy fire, hoping and praying for him to come home safe.

Though that wouldn’t stop her from worrying anyway.

She rolled out of bed. She’d drop him off at his hotel, move on with her life, and only let herself worry in those quiet moments before sleep when she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. It had been fun seeing him again, but that’s all it was. Fun.

If she got rid of him now, she wouldn’t end up blurting out her secret like the blabbermouth she’d been in grade school. Wouldn’t have to see his face cloud over with revulsion. Wouldn’t have to dwell on that one sweet kiss…and how she’d reacted to it.

Though she’d never forget how he’d looked at her, in that moment before he kissed her. As if he’d loved her through the years, across the distance, and would love her through anything.

Wishful thinking.

She threw on a T-shirt and tucked it securely into a pair of khaki shorts before descending the stairs. Time to break the news that she wanted him out. Calm. Composed. It wasn’t like she was facing down a killer at trial. It was just Jeremy.

Somehow, that was even more terrifying.

It was only seven, so Jeremy was probably still passed out in the guest room—or so she thought, until she rounded the corner and practically collided with the scent of fried eggs and bacon. Her mouth watered. What was that madman up to?

She peeked into the kitchen and found Jeremy standing over the stove, barefoot and flipping eggs in a pan. He was topless save for his dog tags. Every time he turned, they swayed against his chest, drawing her eye unerringly to the dip between his pectorals and the taut stretch of muscle there.

The coffeemaker beeped as if announcing her arrival. He glanced up, caught her eye, and grinned. “Good morning.”

Erica stammered, frozen in place. He chuckled and turned back to the eggs. Another flip of the spatula, and his biceps flexed alarmingly. She closed her eyes, curled her fingers, and reminded herself to breathe.

Her voice was irritatingly unsteady when she managed to speak. “Bacon grease. I mean, um, you could get burned. By bacon grease. It splashes.”

Chalk one up for Captain Obvious.

He tossed another look at her, this one quizzical. “I’ll be fine.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you ended up with scars everywhere from third-degree burns,” she snapped. “You wouldn’t be so nonchalant then.”

“Jesus, you don’t have to bite my head off.”

He set the spatula down and turned to look at her, much too discerningly. She swallowed and tried to smile. “Sorry. I just don’t want you to get hurt. I’ll go get you a clean shirt, okay?”

He crossed the kitchen quickly and curled his hand against her elbow, his grip warm and gentle. “Erica, are you all right?”

His eyes probed hers. She looked away. “Yes. I’m fine.”
No, I’m not.

She tugged free of his hold, spun on her heel, and almost ran from the kitchen. She had to escape the allure that coiled around him like a snake. If she stayed too close, it just might bite.

In the guest room, she took her time digging out another shirt. By the time she returned to the kitchen, she felt more in control, and handed the shirt over with a rueful smile.

“Here you go.”

He pulled the shirt on, and she sighed as those perfectly rippled abdominals disappeared. He quirked a brow, and she coughed.

“Breakfast smells delicious.”

And strike two for Captain Obvious.

She wished he’d say something. Anything to make her feel less awkward. She brushed past him and retrieved two mugs from a cabinet. From the corner of her eye, she watched him…and wished she hadn’t. The hunger in his eyes made her shiver and avert her gaze.

“I didn’t know you cooked,” she forced out.

He shrugged and turned back to the stove. “I’ve been single a long time. If I don’t do it, no one else will.”

“Yeah, I get that.” She nodded and filled both mugs with steaming coffee.

With deft movements, he slid eggs, bacon, and silverware onto two plates, and turned to offer her one. His handsome face was a little less swollen this morning, a little more defined, and his mouth seemed a little less alarmingly red. He managed to grin without flinching, an improvement over last night.

“Erica?”

She shook herself. Crap, he was still holding the plate, and looking at her like she’d just started singing the national anthem in Swahili. “Um. Yeah. Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Nothing. Just…nothing.” She took her plate and both mugs of coffee, and led him into the dining room. “Thank you for cooking. It’s very sweet.”

“No problem.”

She set one of the mugs at her place, one at his, and slid into her seat. Jeremy dropped down across from her and dove into his eggs. Erica took a more cautious bite, then closed her eyes with a blissful sound. Not only was he gorgeous, but he cooked like a damned rock star.