Breaking the Bachelor (Entangled Lovestruck) (Smart Cupid) (14 page)

“I want you, too.” His mouth slammed down on her lips, and he kissed her with the pent-up passion of a man who refused to wait any longer. The thought thrilled her, driving her need for him to new heights of illogical madness. She returned his wild kiss, angling closer. Even if tonight was just one night, she wanted him with a desperation she’d never felt before. Call it passion. Call it chemistry. Yes, damn it, fine, it was some fan-fucking-tastic chemistry. In this moment, Jane only wanted to satisfy her craving for the one man on earth who left her totally undone.

“Charlie.”

He tugged her head back with his fingers “I want you to ride me,” he said, his voice heated, but in control. “I want to look up and see you throw your head back as I move inside you. I want to watch you cry out my name when I make you come apart in my arms.”

Her eyes fluttered open to look at him. He looped his foot under the slat of the stool and dragged it closer, scraping it against the floor as his hands slid under her ass. He lifted her away from the granite. Her legs wrapped around his hips and she looped her elbows around his wide shoulders as he guided them back on the barstool. Her body melted in him, and she could feel the press of his erection against her stomach. His hands caressed her backside as she rose up to take him inside her slowly, inch by hot, hard inch, until he filled her near to bursting. He thrust up as she arched her body back. They fit together so perfectly, as if they’d been made for each other.

Moonlight streamed across their naked skin, illuminating the shadow of their connected bodies on the wall of her cozy kitchen. A soft whimper escaped her lips at the sight of his cock moving in and out of her, plunging her depths, taking ownership of her body. He was right. She’d never walk in here without thinking of him and the way he shattered her to pieces. She swallowed a second cry of sweet desperation. God, the feel of him, the warmth, the spicy, masculine scent of his skin, everything combined to drive her out of her mind.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” she whispered against his lips.

He moved deeper inside her, stroking her, coaxing her toward orgasm, pushing her to the limits of pleasure.

Clutching the edge of the granite, she arched her back and let her hips roll over him in a series of waves and thrusts that seemed to drive him wild. The pace of his movements quickened and he lifted his ass from the barstool, driving harder, pushing toward the moment when she’d do as he predicted and cry out his name.

“Come for me, angel,” he moaned.

Together, they rocked back and forth, reaching higher, escalating their desire with every move of their bodies. His cock found her perfect rhythm. His tongue matched it flawlessly and as she approached the edge of desire, he reached up to pinch her nipples into desperate peaks. She bit back a cry and held onto the counter for balance as she closed in on her own passionate release. With both hands on her hips, he drove her harder, thrusting upward as he tempted her body toward its final climax.

She threw her head back, crying out his name, as she reached a criteria list-shattering orgasm. She rode him harder as her insides shuddered and pieces of her heart and soul shattered like shards of colored glass. He slowed his pace for a minute, sliding in and out of her until she sighed with pleasure. Her hips slammed down against the now-quickening pace of his thrusts, until his strong body shuddered against her in pleasure and release.

“Janey.”

Not quite ready to face the emotions swirling around in her heart, she placed her index finger against his mouth and traced the line of his irresistible smile. “Can I get you a beer?”

She brushed a kiss across his lips, lifted her hips and eased away.

“I can think of one or two things I’d like more than a beer.” He tugged her toward him and the simple movement caused a play of spectacular muscles to ripple down his arms and across his chest.

Damn. She swiveled her hips away from his hands. “I’ll bet.”

Across the kitchen, she opened the fridge. His hot gaze on her skin burned a sizzling trail down her backside and she turned around slowly, her body outlined by the light from the open door. Leaning her hip against the cool steel, she let her curves do the talking. His gray eyes darkened as he rose up from the barstool in a fluid movement that was so damned sexy, she felt the familiar kick of desire in her stomach. He walked toward her, naked and glorious, moving through her cozy kitchen like some kind of sex god. She wanted to eat him with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and a spoon. She grabbed the beer, took a sip, and handed him the rest.

He took a long, slow pull. Even his Adam’s apple was sexy.

So unfair.

So totally unfair.

He stood there—mere inches away—drinking a beer, so casually perfect, so deliciously edible, naked in her kitchen, and damn, he looked so right. Like he fit. She smiled and ran her hands across his chest, loving the way he felt beneath her fingertips, all sinewy muscle and hard, strong man. On a groan, he pulled her toward him and slammed the refrigerator door shut with his shoulder. His hips pushed her back against the stainless steel as he poured some of the amber liquid into the dip of her collarbone and let it spill down her breasts, over her stomach, between her thighs. She drew in a shocked breath at the sensation of the cold liquid against her heated skin and arched toward him.

“Ready for another round, angel?”

Hell, yes, and if the second time felt as good as the first, her ability to recommit to her Ultimate Man List was in some very serious jeopardy.

Because she was having the ultimate night with the ultimate man.

He smiled and ran the smooth edge of the bottle over her shoulder into the valley between her breasts teasing the peaks as the hard edge slipped across her wet skin. He circled the edge of her nipple, first with the cool glass, then with his tongue.

Gaze locked onto her, he dropped to his knees in front of her and licked away the beer spilling down to her aching, desperate core. A moan escaped her as she held his gaze and watched him work her body with the magic of his tongue.

She gripped the edge of the refrigerator as her body began to tremble.

“Round two, here I…come.”

Chapter Thirteen

@smartCupid. Like it or not, love is a four letter word.

Jane woke up with the weight of Charlie’s warm, naked body pressed up against her back, his strong arm draped around her, all casually intimate and cozy. He was still sleeping, so she took the quiet moment before he woke up, before he could charm her with his knockout ways, to think.

Against her better judgment, despite her criteria list, the walls around her heart had cracked open and she’d fallen in love with him. Again.

Or maybe she’d always been in love with him.

Madly. Passionately. Bone-deep in love.

The fact of it scared the hell out of her. Made her feel as if she couldn’t breathe, as if she’d never breathe again. Made her flight instincts kick in hard.

Again.

She bit down on her bottom lip, listening to the even rhythm of his breathing. Predictable. Rule-abiding. Safe. He’d been safe when he was only a friend carrying around Life Savers. But last night, naked and in control of her body, her heart, and her mind, he was anything but safe. He was passionate and combustible, everything that sent her list-dependent heart into a vulnerable free fall. And she’d wanted that. Some part of her still did.

But she’d seen her mother all wrapped up in her father. Never quite at ease, never secure. That kind of vulnerability made her sick to think about. Even now, lying in Charlie’s arms, thoughts of falling completely created a baseline of fear inside her. She’d built Cupid to get out of Brooklyn, to be sure her world, her heart, was safe, and to give other, brokenhearted people a shot at the kind of safe, comfortable love that would endure. She didn’t want to free-fall, knowing she’d crash. Every kid that had ever fallen and skinned her knee knew that it hurt, sometimes it hurt like hell, and Jane had enough hurt to last a lifetime.

The irony lodged in her throat. She’d created the rules and her criteria list and her matrix, all to ensure that her relationships would be safe and risk-free. Yet, she loved Charlie.

But he was not what she needed.

Rule-abiding.

Predictable.

Safe.

Charlie was the antithesis of her list, wasn’t he? Surprising, rule-breaking, sexy enough to be a danger to her long-term peace of mind. No matter how badly she wanted to believe in this all-consuming chemistry, to believe it could lead to shared responsibilities and summer vacations, to happily ever after, to a life together, to
trust
, she didn’t.

In her experience, chemistry didn’t lead to everyday love. It led straight to pain and scars and wounds permanently branded on a person’s heart.

And that’s why she needed to cut and run. Their one night was over, and if she had any hope of surviving love, she needed to get back to her rules. Even if he felt amazing, even if she wanted him with all her heart. She slid out carefully from under his arm, hoping for a clean getaway. But his hand reached for hers.

“Stay,” he said.

The warm sound of his voice sent a thrill of pleasure and panic down her spine. A sexy smile touched his mouth, and damn if her world didn’t feel all topsy-turvy.

“Morning, big guy.” She hated the fact that she used the old nickname to create some distance between them, to protect her feelings. But she needed the distance. She drew in a shaky breath. No matter how fast her heart beat at the sight of him all rumpled and boyish and sweet, she was going to get her emotions under control.

His arms encircled her waist to draw her down on top of him. “Morning, angel.”

Angel
. God, she loved when he called her that, so sweet and familiar. A messy avalanche of emotion plummeted into her stomach. Desire followed by need and…panic…complete, total panic.
Need?
She couldn’t afford to need him.

“Coffee,” she said, struggling to stay calm and think. “Must have coffee.”

“Addict,” he teased, still reaching for her as she pulled away.

She pulled the chenille blanket around her shoulders. Don’t look back. Don’t look at him stretched across the bed like he belonged there.
Do. Not. Look. Back.

In the kitchen, she pulled out two coffee cups and pressed the red button on the Keurig. Thank God for Starbucks K-Cups, life savers when a girl needed a quick caffeine hit. And did she need one now. She was rattled and needed to pull it together and think. Think. Think. Think.

Charlie came up from behind her, wrapped his arms around her middle, and all rational thought evaporated from her passion-addled brain.

“I have a little addiction of my own,” he said, his breath warm against the nape of her neck. “Want to indulge it with me? In the shower?”

She gripped the edge of the counter to keep from melting into a puddle of longing on her kitchen floor. That particular addiction was mutual. Definitely mutual.

But addiction led straight to heartache. She turned around in his arms. He was still so naked. Damn, it was hot in her kitchen. She wondered if turning up the AC helped in this kind of overheated, that-man-owns-one-helluva-package type situation. Probably not. And, it was February. Maybe she should just open a window. Or, um, like every window.

His hands skimmed down her back to settle on her hips. “What do you want to do today? Because I have a few ideas.”

Her impulse was to cut and run. Cut and run. My goodness, she was so muddled she kept repeating herself. “I have to go to work.”

“Maybe I can pick you up for lunch. Take you to that little place across the bridge.”

Charlie, naked in her kitchen. Sex in the shower. Lunch. Her whole body was shaking, she couldn’t catch her breath, and her heart was pounding out of her chest. She was having a full-blown panic attack. Lunch. In Brooklyn. A real date.

She wanted a real date. She wanted love and passion, and the knockout kiss.

“Think about it,” he said, nuzzling that spot behind her ear. “I’ll get dressed and run out, grab us some of those bagels you love so much, and I’ll be right back.”

Be. Right. Back.

A kick of raw pain landed in her stomach.

Jane shoved it aside and closed her eyes, envisioning every day in his arms, a lifetime of loving him. She wanted it. All of it, love, chemistry, lunch in Brooklyn…a future.

The image was perfect. Too perfect. As perfect as every night with her dad. If he’d made a run at the tables, a big score, he’d come home, smiling, happy, arms loaded up with flowers for her mother, expensive presents for her, and Jake and Nick. His little trifecta he’d call them. Her mom would smile and make some fantastic dinner, with an icebox cake for dessert. Jane had loved those days.

Every one felt perfect, like a small piece of heaven in Brooklyn…until he’d left.

Be. Right. Back.

That’s what her father had said.

Be. Right. Back.

The thought of Charlie leaving, of never coming back…not this morning, but someday, inevitably…even the thought of it sent a shockwave of pain through her system, a pain so great she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. How would she survive when he left?

No, she wasn’t having lunch. Not lunch in Brooklyn. Not with Charlie. Maybe last night was for passion, but this morning was for answers. For smart, rational thinking. For logic. For self-preservation. Not for lunch.

“Charlie, we played the Brooklyn card last night and it was wonderful and everything, but now it’s time for reality.”

His body straightened into a long, tense line. “The Brooklyn card? Last night wasn’t a game, Jane.”

“I know, I didn’t mean…” Everything was coming out wrong. “Yes, okay, it’s true. Brooklyn felt like home and the whole night was so sexy…”

“Ridiculously sexy.”

She lifted her gaze. “Except I’m not that girl anymore.”

“What girl?” He relaxed and tugged her hips a little closer. “You’re not the girl who made love to me last night here on the kitchen table? Because if not, let me introduce myself.”

She pressed his hands away. “No, Charlie, I’m not that love struck Brooklyn kid. I’m a woman who matches people based on compatibility, on shared belief systems and values, on scientific data. Not so-called chemistry and passion.”

He let out a groan. “You’re killing me, Janey. I’m standing naked in your kitchen, talking about morning sex and you’re blindsiding me with science. Can’t we talk about this later? Much later.” Their gazes collided, and a sudden sizzle sent the temperature of the small space between them soaring. “When we’re a little less naked and ready for action.”

“No, we can’t.”

His lips fell to that vulnerable spot behind her ear. “I’d even be willing to discuss it while I re-introduce myself in the shower.”

She was shaking. Literally shaking. “Charlie, be serious.”

He kissed away her objection. “I
am
being serious. Last night was one of the best nights of my life. Correction: the best night.”

“But—”

“To hell with steadfast and reliable. I love the way your body reacts to mine, the way you crave the feel of me.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he just kissed her again. “No, Janey. After last night, I’m not letting you walk away. Not again. Not without a fight. I want to start the next chapter of our life together. Right now. You and me. Chemistry
and
compatibility.”

Part of her wanted to say, yes. Another part of her wanted to
run
. His passion took up too much space in her brain and in her heart. She needed a relationship to complement her, not take over. That’s why she lived by the Ultimate Man List. Her desire for Charlie consumed her, drove her wild with need, and destroyed her dedication to smart love. And she
needed
to believe in smart love.

“Chemistry isn’t part of logical compatibility.”

He tossed her a killer smile and brushed another sweet kiss across her mouth. “Let me be the man who blows your list of criteria out of the water.”

A killer smile and sweet kisses. The kind of combination that sent a logical girl careening down the emotional rabbit hole. She gripped the edges of the blanket. The kitchen seemed to be closing in on her, and for a minute, Jane thought she might pass out, her heart was beating so damned hard against her chest. This was exactly why she steered clear of gambling and emotional entanglements. The panic. The banging heart. The fear. The goddamned freaking fear.

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I
can’t
.” She pushed past him and rushed down the hall into her bedroom.

“You can’t what?’ he asked, following her and hanging back in the doorway.

Still half-wrapped in the blanket, she pulled on a pair of sweats and yanked a flannel shirt from the closet. “I can’t fall for chemistry.”

He leaned against the doorframe, all casual confidence. “I think we’re long past that.”

She let the blanket fall to the floor and dragged the shirt across her shoulders. “You do?”

“Yes, I do.”

Of course he did. He was a man secure enough to stand gloriously naked in a woman’s bedroom while she freaked out and lost her mind. “Well, I’m not. Brooklyn or no Brooklyn, and no matter how sexy last night was, I can’t fall for that kind of passion. I won’t.” She buttoned the shirt with trembling hands. “Besides, I’ve already got your next date lined up.”

“When the hell did you do that?” He chuckled, tugged her toward him by the hem of her shirt, and undid each button as fast as she could close them. “While I was sleeping?”

She yanked the shirt away.

“Janey, you’re just afraid.”

“Hell yes, I’m afraid. I admit it. I’m terrified of being my mother, of being that girl who gave up everything to catch passion like some form of lightning in a bottle, only to get burned.”

He grabbed his T-shirt and his damned Levis from the corner of the bed and dragged the jeans over his hips. “Talk about playing the wrong card.”

Her jaw tightened reflexively like she was preparing for a fight. “What card?”

“The ‘thanks for the great sex, but now it’s all about the matrix’ card.” He smiled up at her, all sweet and crinkly, and the chemistry between them sizzled as if on cue. “I’ve seen you totally naked. I’m not buying it.” A warm flush infused her skin and she looked away as he pulled on his T-shirt. “But, hey, you’re the expert.”

She flinched slightly at his words, but refused to let him get under her skin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re Cupid, right? You’re the one with the algorithm and the database and the screwed up dating app. But if you ask me, that stuff is all bullshit, because like it or not, love’s a gamble.” She made a move to walk out of the room, but he caught her elbow. “Your lists and apps don’t see everything. Here’re a few things you don’t see in your matrix. I run a foundation that funds a scholarship in my mom’s name so kids from broken homes can get an education. I’m committed to being there for those kids in a way that my father never was for me. Kids like Joe—the bartender from Temptation—the bar which I own, by the way.”

“You own the bar?”

“Own it, rebuilt it, brought your brother in on the deal, partly so I could employ as many of the kids as I could, and partly because the place was close enough to walk you home on the nights you came by. So I could make sure you got home safe.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “But you don’t know any of that about me, because you think of me in a certain way, and I don’t even know why.”

A charged silence grew between them, interrupted only by the sound of the outside traffic, or an apartment door closing down the hall. He turned back to look at her, square in the eyes. “Why did you leave the cocktail napkin?”

Her voice was whisper-soft. “The Rum Runner Girl.”

“Who’s Rum Runner girl?”

She crossed one bare foot on top of the other. “The bartender at the island—you know, the blonde—at the poolside cantina. I, um, it seems stupid now, but I thought you were flirting with her when you were showing her how to make a Rum Runner, so…”