Break On Through (16 page)

“You wanted to get your mind off your neighbor, didn’t you?” Payne asked. “You didn’t say so, but I could tell. Bet you weren’t thinking of the lovely Cleo when we were doing doughnuts in the dirt.”

“Like hell. I was thinking about her and how my dead dick was going to be very sorry for missing out on its favorite activity.”

“Well, then I clarified things for you.”

Reed glared at him, then looked down at his arms, studded with thorns. He began plucking them from his skin. “Shut up.”

“Face it. You want the lady.”

“I don’t
want
to want the lady. I’m not what anyone would consider good relationship material.”

“Still.” Payne leaned against the overturned Jeep. “Take it from me, pal. She’s going to be stuck in your hide just like those stickers unless you dig her out.”

Reed looked up and narrowed his eyes. “Dig her out how?”

“One good fuck will get her out of your head, Reed. Take the mystery out of it, then walk away clean.”

Chapter Nine

Early Monday morning, Cleo stood in her kitchen and wondered if it was wrong to be thinking about sex while making chocolate chip cookies. Except she wasn’t making them for her boys—who were now at school. The jar on the counter was already to the brim with their favorite Snickerdoodles.

She was making the cookies for herself.

Scratch that. She was making dough. And then she was going to eat it, raw.

It was in celebration of the best climax of her life, delivered with raunchy talk and by the experienced hands and mouth of dark and deep Reed Hopkins.

All weekend she’d been unable to get him out of her mind. Of course, she’d had all the mother things to occupy her: laundry, new-sneaker shopping, a birthday party to which Eli had been invited. She’d stood with the other mothers when it was time to pick him up, the goodie bag swinging in her hand, chatting as if the day before a man hadn’t changed her status from celibate single mom to fully sexual being.

It was as if she’d finally come of age.

She suspected she’d been glowing because one of the other women asked her if she’d changed her hairstyle and another wondered aloud where she’d gotten her make-up makeover.

She’d been wearing only a single swipe of lip balm and her hair had been treated to its usual scrunch-and-go.

But Cleo had considered not wearing panties under her skirt.

Of course, she discarded that idea, tantalizing as it was, because she was a responsible mother and in October the wind could spring up fierce and hot, but still…

She’d actually paused in pulling them up her legs after her morning shower, struck by the memory of Reed taking them off. First, he’d lowered them halfway, baring only part of her, and that simple act had stolen her breath.

Nothing he’d done afterward had been simple though…it had been accomplished. Designed to make her wild.

Certain to make her orgasm.

Cleo stirred the chocolate chips into the batter, the amount half of what she’d usually use when making them for the boys. It was the buttery sugary goodness she wanted most.

No, most she wanted Reed.

Licking the spatula, she leaned against the countertop and imagined him in the kitchen with her once more. This time, they’d get to the full entrée they’d been interrupted before partaking. That would be enough—no. While she wasn’t imagining him as a partner in other senses of the word, she didn’t think she’d be satisfied with a single episode of him naked between her sheets.

Instead, she wanted to try with him all the things she hadn’t known about as a naïve and awkward eighteen. All the acts that she hadn’t had anyone to do with at twenty-five because her husband was gone or half out of his head. It made her pulse race to think of attempting those titillating positions she’d drummed from her mind since her divorce, when her focus had been on simply getting-by.

But now, in a new place, with the beautiful man on the other side of the fence… Well, she had a whole menu she wanted to experience and she wondered if Reed would be willing to partake with her, sampling each item from soup to nuts.

Her almost-hysterical giggle was muffled by batter and she had to quickly swallow before choking. Certainly she couldn’t put it to him like that!

But unless she asked, she might not get any further tastes.

Did she dare?

She took another deliberate dip from the batter. Of course she dared. She was a grown-up. A newly minted sexual being. A woman on a mission.

Considering exactly how to accomplish that, she crossed to the oven and set the temperature. Raw batter couldn’t be left in a mailbox.

So she baked a couple dozen cookies, packaged them, then penned a couple lines she hoped would hit just the right note of invitation. Holding up the paper, she read them aloud. “Boys are at school until 3. I have the proper cold beverage in my fridge if you’re interested in sharing—two percent, not skimp milk.”

Maybe it wasn’t the most seductive of propositions, but she thought he’d appreciate the eggcorn.

Post-delivery, she stood once again in her kitchen, mired in doubt. When would he discover what she’d left for him? She had no idea. Maybe he was out of town. Maybe he only checked the mail after 5. Maybe he wouldn’t get what she was inviting in that totally—now that she thought about it—gauche and obscure note.

Sexual being..hah! Finally come of age…hah hah!

Heat stole up her neck as she replayed in her head the lines she’d written. Cookies and milk! She banged the heel of her hand against brow.

But she could retrieve it, she thought, her arm dropping. At a dead run, she could be back at his box in four minutes. Another ten seconds and she’d have both the cookies and the note in hand. She might even leave the cookies.

On the countertop, her phone emitted its ring tone. It jumped and so did she, her gaze leaping to the device. Was it Reed—?

But of course it wasn’t. He didn’t have her number and the screen flashed that of her in-laws. Rubbing her chest to calm her heartbeat, she picked up the phone.

June answered with an apology. “I’m sorry we didn’t call the boys yesterday.”

“I tried you in the evening,” Cleo said, “but it just rang and rang.”

The hesitant pause on the other end of the line made her suddenly nervous. “What is it? Have you heard from Pete?”

“No, no. We’ve still not heard from him, nor has anyone else as far as I know.”

Cleo swallowed. “What’s wrong then? Where were you yesterday?”

“I don’t mean to alarm you, hon. It’s just that I had to take Don to the emergency room yesterday.”

Cleo grabbed the edge of the countertop and held on. “Is he all right?”

“Yes. We were worried, but his chest pains are due to that chili he gets at the diner during Sunday lunch with his cronies. His heart’s just fine.”

Her breath let out in a whoosh. “I’m so glad to hear that. We’ll call tonight and he can talk to the boys.”

“That would be wonderful.” The whistle of the tea kettle came over the phone and Cleo could imagine the older woman making herself a cup of her favorite herbal tea. “What’s new with you, dear?”

“Um…”
A beautiful man gave me my first partner-induced orgasm in years. Then I propositioned him—
Oh, no! In her flurry of concern over June’s call, she’d forgotten the cookies and the note. She’d meant to get them back.

“Cleo?”

“Keep talking, June,” Cleo said, rushing toward her door. “I’ve got to run around the corner but I’m on my cell, so we can chat.”

Throwing open the door, she stepped out and ran headlong into a wall—a wall of man. Her head jerked up and her gaze met Reed’s. As she watched, one of his eyebrows lifted. “Going somewhere?” he asked.

She gaped as a shiver ran down her back. He looked more dangerous than ever. His dark hair hung over his brow, there were faint scratches on the side of his face. He wore dark jeans and boots and the sleeves of a faded gray long-sleeved T-shirt were pushed up to reveal his powerful forearms, one also scratched. In his hand he held the box of cookies she’d left for him.

Her gaze shifted to his long fingers. They had touched her. Been
inside
her.

She pressed her thighs together as her inner muscles clenched.

“Cleo?” he said.

“Um, hi,” she said, sounding breathless. In her ear, June started speaking again.

“Hon, it sounds like you have company. We’ll catch up later—”

“No, no…” But June had already ended the call. Still, Cleo stood there, the silent phone pressed to her ear, her gaze now focused on a neutral spot of Reed’s wide chest. “Hi,” she said again, lamely.

So much for being a grown-up.

Then he plucked the phone from her hand, and the touch of his fingers on hers caused a hot snake of sensation to crawl up her arm all the way to her throat.

Okay, definitely a fully sexual human being. As he stepped over the threshold, forcing her back into the house, and said “Skimp milk?” all she could think about was that mouth with it’s sullen lower lip not forming words but instead kissing her, closing over her nipple, bringing her to completion.

He herded her into the kitchen and set the cookies on the counter.

Feeling drunk and dazed just on the very presence of him, on the promise that his appearance seemed to suggest, she swayed a little and had to grab the countertop for support. The package she’d prepared for him appeared unopened, but the note she’d taped to the top was gone. “Are you hungry?”

When he didn’t answer, she glanced up.

His lips twitched. “I’m trying to decide how exactly I should take that.”

At the low tone, her thighs pressed together again. He’d done that to her Friday night, held them tight with his knees and with his elbows when every cell had been clamoring to open for him. Her inner muscles clenched again and she felt swollen and hot there, her panties already turning wet.

Reaching out one long arm, his fingers wrapped her wrist to draw her closer. Then he bent his head and she stepped into his body, her mouth opening for him. His kiss was hard, assured, carnal.

Cleo sucked on his tongue as it slid against hers. He groaned and one hand cupped her butt, squeezed. She skated both palms up his chest, taking his shirt with it. Breaking the kiss, he gripped the cloth between his shoulder blades and yanked it over his head. Then his mouth was on hers again as he propelled her to the bedroom.

Inside, she fell to the mattress and he dropped on top of her. She moaned, writhing under his weight. He pressed one knee between her thighs and she shamelessly ground herself against the hard bone, her temperature soaring, her desperation jacking high along with it. Reed buried his head against her neck then nuzzled to find his favorite place behind her ear.

Her whole body shivered and the goose bumps that broke over her skin felt abraded by her clothes.

Too many clothes.

She ran her hands over his bare back as he continued to explore her neck with his mouth. Bucking against him, she slid her hands beneath the waistband of his jeans, her fingertips digging into the rise of his butt.

He grunted, then rolled. “We need you naked.”

Another wave of heat flashed over her skin. Her nipples were so tight they were throbbing. “Reed…” she said helplessly.

His gaze catching hers, he shoved his hand in his front pocket. He withdrew some condoms—she couldn’t bring herself to count the number—that he tossed on her bedside table. Then he urged her to sit. He drew off her shirt and reached behind to unclasp her bra.

Drawing it away, he leaned back and just looked at her.

Cleo suddenly realized it was daylight, morning brightness flooding the room. Self-conscious, she wiggled on the duvet and felt her whole body flush. “I…I think I should shut the blinds.”

The bedroom was screened from any outside eyes by a fence and foliage, but she was already inching across the mattress.

Reed snatched her wrist and dragged her close again, taking them both down so their heads were on the pillows and they were nose-to-nose. Mouth-to-mouth. “Okay?” he asked, and his hand stroked her cheek in a tender gesture.

A confusing mix of emotions swirled inside her. She felt embarrassed and scared and turned-on, all at the same time. There was worry, too, because she liked his gentle touch and that concern in his eyes just a little too much.

“I’m okay,” she said. “It’s just…daytime.”

He pressed his brow to hers. “People have sex at all kinds of hours, Cleo.”

She couldn’t prevent her shiver. Just the way he said “sex” was stoking the fire of her lust. But her inhibitions still clamored at her. “Can’t I darken it a little?”

Instead of answering, he got up and worked the shades himself. Still, it wasn’t close to the camouflage of darkness so when he slid back onto the mattress and drew her close again, she squeezed shut her eyes, willing away the silly discomfort.

She
wanted
this. So much so that her heart was trying to pound its way out of her chest as he removed the remainder of her clothes. That he was still half-dressed only made the situation sexier, and she began to tremble.

He took them both down to the mattress again, situating them on their sides. His nose brushed the hair at her temple. “I think someone needs a story,” he said in her ear.

Oh, God. His low voice, the puff of his warm breath against her was causing her private flesh to swell and ache. “A s-story?”

“Mmm.” He kissed her neck. “To put you in the mood to…go to bed.”

Oh,
God
. With his hand at the small of her back, he hauled her closer so her nipples brushed the rough patch of hair on his chest. He kept their lower halves far enough apart so they didn’t touch, and she wondered if he was as turned-on as she. Stealing a downward glance, she confirmed he was aroused, his erection thick and long beneath his jeans. Her stomach jittered.

“Let’s see,” he continued. “What’s the first type of job you can think of?”

At that moment, somewhere in the distance she heard the low noise that was the bass note of suburbia. A leaf blower. “Landscaper.”

“Perfect,” Reed said. “Now an object.”

She thought of folding chocolate chips into the cookie batter. “A wooden spoon.”