In Bed with Mr. Wrong

Chapter Seven

The words blurred before Bri’s eyes no matter how much she tried to concentrate. She wished she could blame it on the fact that she was tired and hungry, but the source of her problems was the man currently hauling firewood into the cabin to build a fire.

Though he was easily six feet from her, she could barely draw a full breath. Smothered. That was the feeling putting pressure on her chest until her breasts ached with it. It must be.

Ryan stacked the wood and then grabbed paper from the pile next to the fireplace and stuffed it into the crack. “What the fuck?” Before she could ask him what the problem was, he reached farther into the fireplace and came back with a string of condoms. Her face flamed as he tossed them at her. “Someone thought we were going to be banging in some really weird places. There was some out in the firewood, too.”

“Lovely.” She toed them under the couch, wishing her mind hadn’t jumped to the ways they could utilize the newest batch of condoms—and the ones in the fruit basket.

He pulled out a lighter and lit the fire. Almost immediately, heat licked through the room, warming her when she hadn’t even realized she was chilled in the first place.

Before she could thank him or ask what he planned on doing next or any of the other words that sprang to her lips, he stood and moved to the kitchen. Maybe she should just stay silent. No one ever got into trouble by keeping their mouth closed.

She dropped her gaze back to her book, but the story held no more appeal than it had five minutes ago. With a sigh, she closed it in favor of looking around the room. The cabin really was cozy, the large windows giving a gorgeous view of the surrounding snow-covered trees that made her want to curl up with a flannel blanket and a cup of tea.

Except she wouldn’t be doing any relaxing with Ryan’s presence saturating the cabin.

He dumped a can of something into a pan and then grabbed a box out of the cupboard. As he started adding ingredients, she reluctantly climbed to her feet and went to investigate. There’s no other form of entertainment in this place. I might as well see what he’s up to. Her questionable logic firmly in place, she slipped onto the barstool across the island from him.

Bri stared at her fingernails, the dark-pink paint she’d put on for her blind date already starting to chip off. She wanted to make a smart comment, but nothing came to mind except how good he looked in that fitted white thermal shirt. It clung to his shoulders and biceps, highlighting them in a way that seemed designed to remind her of how his muscles felt under her fingers. So she went with a generic, “What are you doing?”

“You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

This was why she should have stayed on the couch. Every interaction they’d had fell to extremes—they either ended up fighting or throwing themselves at each other.

Not that she needed those particular memories at this moment. Bri took a tie off her wrist and pulled her hair up, mostly to give herself a moment before she went off on him. The extra five seconds didn’t help her temper any, but at least she wasn’t ready to throw something. “My friends are terrible people.”

Ryan glanced up from where he was dumping the mix into an eight-by-eight pan. “You’ve known them for a year and you’re just now figuring it out?”

“They haven’t exactly made a habit of stranding me in deserted cabins with strange men before now.”

“I hardly think I can be considered a ‘strange man’ since I’ve been inside you.”

She choked, air not quite making it to her lungs. “I can’t believe you just said that.” Even worse was her reaction to his words. Her nipples pebbled, rubbing almost painfully against her bra as she shifted, and her thighs clenched together, as if that would do anything to ease the unnameable feeling centering between them.

As she’d found over the last week, the only way to ease that feeling was to utilize her buzzy friend. It hadn’t helped that he seemed to know she’d been doing just that. He’d completely called her on it the day of Avery’s birthday party. Of course she’d pictured his face above her and his hands on her—he was the first man she’d been with in years. Her being borderline-obsessed with him was a perfectly natural response. She hoped. Because any experience she had from here on out would be compared to how things had been with him, and like it or not, he’d set a high bar.

Oh God, what if he really did ruin me?

Seeming oblivious to her mortification, he put the pan into the oven and then used a wooden spoon to stir the pot. “It’s just sex. What’s the harm in talking about it?”

When he put it like that, he made her sound like a frightened virgin. They needed to talk about something—anything—else. So she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I’m worried about my fish.”

Ryan frowned, his mouth twisting as if he wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. “Your fish?”

“Mr. Smith. What if he starves while I’m gone? I didn’t get a chance to feed him today.”

He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “Bri, your fish isn’t going to starve.”

“How do you know that? I’ve never left him alone for this long.” What if he gets lonely? Sure, she’d put the mermaid statue in the tank with him, but a statue wasn’t going to check in on him or read to him. She managed to keep that last bit inside. There was no reason to give him more ammunition to make fun of her.

He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “Fish are hardier than you give them credit for. Drew and I had a goldfish when we were kids. That thing went six years without being fed and it still managed to survive.”

“Six years?”

He shrugged. “We were kids. We left it bread crumbs when we remembered, but it wasn’t a regular thing.”

She should have been horrified at the neglect he’d just admitted to, but instead, she had to stifle a smile. “That’s terrible. That poor animal.”

“He had a good life. We took him on a few adventures, so he didn’t get bored.”

“How thoughtful.” They may not have remembered to feed it, but they made sure he wasn’t wasting away from boredom? It was such a little-boy thing to be concerned about.

Bri shook her head. She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Ryan being cute. “How long will you be in town?”

“I fly out in ten days.”

So soon. She couldn’t say why the news sent a pang of regret through her since she’d known all along Ryan wasn’t staying—and didn’t want him to, even if he changed his mind about Wellingford. This wasn’t one of her romance novels, and Ryan wasn’t the Prince Charming she’d always dreamed of. It just seemed strangely difficult to picture her life going back to what it’d been before he barreled into it. But she couldn’t afford to think like that right now—or ever. He was leaving.

End of story.

…

Ryan wasn’t sure what had brought about that lost look in her eyes, but he didn’t like it. Not when they seemed to finally have found a topic that didn’t lead to them fighting. Her damn betta fish, of all things. He’d buy her twenty more if it kept that smile playing at the edges of her lips.

As soon as he’d told her he was flying out next week, her eyes had dimmed and she’d picked a spot on the kitchen island to focus on. Even knowing he should leave well enough alone, he couldn’t help asking, “You love this town, don’t you?”

She shifted her gaze to him and smiled, the expression so sweet, it hit him in the chest with the force of a Mack truck. “I have a place here. It’s only been a little while, but it already feels like it’s become home in a way I’ve never had before.”

He wished he could see Wellingford through her eyes, but the thought of being forced into the role he’d grown up in, of seeing the pity in people’s eyes when his dad got in another fight at the bar or was found passed out somewhere public, made the walls feel like they were closing in. Having a place obviously mattered a lot to Bri, so he choked back his issues and rounded the island to stand before her. “I’m glad you like it.”

She frowned, as if trying to puzzle out his game. “What—”

He kissed her to chase away the lost look on her face, to add to the good memories she seemed to so desperately crave, to give her something of the present to focus on. At least that was the excuse he told himself. The truth was he’d been thinking about kissing her nearly nonstop ever since he’d taken out that goddamn traffic light.

So much of Bri was held in reserve, as if she were shielding herself from something. Her mass of gorgeous dark hair seemed to always be down, bangs a blunt edge that brushed her black-framed cat-eye glasses. Her clothing was strategically loose, conveying comfort without looking sloppy, but effectively hiding the body he wanted to memorize with his hands and mouth.

And those lips—the same lips softening against his own right now—were the devil’s own temptation, with their marked Cupid’s bow and full bottom lip that begged to be nipped. Ryan gave in to the temptation to do just that, and she gasped, her hands going to his shoulders as she swayed against him.

It was all the invitation he needed.

He sank his hands into her hair, angling their mouths so he could plunder hers. She tasted of wintergreen, so fresh and clean that he groaned. While he was distracted with relearning her lips and tongue, Bri started her own exploration, her hands drifting from their perch on his shoulders to his chest. He wanted to strip off his shirt so he could feel her fingers against his skin, but Ryan contented himself with stroking his tongue against hers. They already walked such a fragile tightrope. He wasn’t going to do anything to risk her doubts creeping in to put a stop to this.

But when she slipped her hands beneath his shirt, fingers brushing over his stomach, a shiver worked its way through his body, all the way down his spine to his cock.

That level of reaction from a single near-innocent touch almost made him pull back. What the hell was he getting himself into? Then she hooked the top of his jeans with one hand while she palmed him with the other and he decided he didn’t care. He held perfectly still as she stroked him, his muscles actually shaking from the need to yank her against him and rip off their clothes.

Bri broke away, kissing along his jaw and down his neck. “You need to tell me what cologne you use. I’m going to sue them.”

His laugh cut off when she unzipped his pants and took his cock in her hand. “God.”

She jerked back. “Did I hurt you?”

No, but she might if she stopped doing what she was doing. Ryan took her hand and maneuvered it back to where she’d been. “I like it when you touch me.”

“And I like touching you.” She cupped him more firmly, sending pleasure sparking through him.

He kissed her again, but this time he let himself return her touch, pushing up her skirt until he could get to her skin beneath it. He moved his hand up her thigh and pressed his palm against the thin barrier of fabric shielding her from him. She moaned and any plan he had of taking this slow and teasing her disappeared in a puff of smoke.

With a groan, he slipped his hand into her panties and, finding her already wet, slid a single finger into her. Her hand spasmed on his cock, and she began touching him with renewed fervor. The way she explored him was the most exquisite torture he’d ever experienced. Her fingers danced over his skin, thumb dragging up the underside and then circling the head.

He wanted inside her. Wanted it so bad he could barely hang on to the reason why it wasn’t a good idea.

Ryan dropped to his knees, already mourning the loss of her hands on him, but he wanted—needed—to taste her again. From the way she eagerly lifted her hips so he could slide off her panties, she wanted the same damn thing.

Seeing her spread out for him made a deeply hidden part of Ryan roar to the forefront just like it had on the porch. He wanted to follow through on his threat to ruin her for other men, so that no one could even come close to making her feel how she felt with him. Only him. He wasn’t proud of the possessive feeling coursing through him, but he wasn’t going to deny it. He wasn’t going to deny a damn thing when it came to Bri.

He dragged his tongue over her, savoring her taste just like he savored the feeling of her nails dragging over the back of his head, urging him on. Already, she rocked against his mouth, whimpers turning into his name chanted over and over again.

This was perfection. They didn’t need to talk. All they needed was the language created between two bodies. He sucked her clit into his mouth, using his lips and tongue to drive her crazy, until she went rigid and screamed his name. Fuck. A man could get used to giving a woman that kind of orgasm. He licked his lips and lifted his head to tell her just that.

Then the goddamn smoke detector went off.