Can't Fight This Feeling (25 page)

He had to stop her.

His head broke the surface and he was already yelling. “No! Don’t!” But she was whizzing down the plastic tube, an unholy grin on her face. Despite that, he hoped she was praying, because this stupid idea of his might be the death of her.

Dog-paddling to keep his muscles moving, he watched her fly off the end of the slide. At her touchdown splash, he stroked in her direction, running through all the life-saving procedures he’d absorbed from a lifetime of living in a household of doctors.

Seeing movement beneath the water, he reached down and found something of her and pulled. She emerged, sputtering, and he realized he’d fished her up with her ridiculous frog scarf. “Are you okay?” he yelled at her, as if she was deaf instead of likely frozen.

She threw her head back and let out a howl. Then she grinned at him. “H-h-hypothermia is setting in.” Her teeth began chattering.

Clearly, the cold had gotten to her brain.

Instead of stopping to investigate that fact, he urged her toward shore. “We’ll get you warmed up.” His mouth was numb, as was most of the rest of him.

They stumbled onto the shore and water sluiced from their bodies and onto the sand as he grabbed her hand and moved them as quickly as he could to his truck, stopping to grab his keys and wallet he’d left on the picnic table. At the passenger side, he stripped her out of her dripping coat and tossed it in the bed before lifting her into the seat. His jacket went the same way, then he climbed behind the wheel. The key made it into the ignition on the fifth try and he nudged the heater to the highest position.

“Okay,” he said when he could feel his tongue again. “Dumb idea.”

“Great idea!”

Startled, he glanced over. She was grinning again. “Honey—”

“I feel alive,” she said, flinging out her arms. Her hand caught him in the side of the face, but he figured he deserved it—and he was too cold to feel much of the slap anyway. “Don’t you feel alive?”

He laughed, her exuberance catching. “Maybe. But more soggy and cold than anything else.”

“I
never
do anything wrong. We climbed over the chains that were supposed to keep people out.”

“Such a rule-breaker,” Kyle teased.

“You can’t imagine how good it feels.”

Yet he did. He fiddled with the vents so more of the heat blasted in her direction. With his undergrad degree behind him, the Scott family rules said he’d go to med school. The idea of it had felt like an anchor tied to him. He’d known he’d drown.

But when he’d partnered up with his roommate to go into business together, he’d finally felt as if his feet were on the right path.

Then he’d dropped into the work, determined to prove to his parents he could be a success on his own terms, and had become an all-work, no-play dull Jack. Not until he met Glory had he understood what he’d given up.

She was unwinding that silly scarf from around her neck. “I guess we should go,” she said, sending him a quick glance. There was something in it, something he couldn’t read in the gathering dark.

“Cold?”

“Getting warmer.”

“Let see what I can do to hurry that along.” Leaning close, he cupped her cheek and took her mouth in a kiss.

A hot kiss. They’d been sticking to public spaces before now. Meeting at local restaurants. So he’d only managed to go lip-to-lip in locations populated by people she knew. Which was virtually everyone in a thirty-mile radius.

This time he let his tongue plunge. Beneath his clammy clothes, there was suddenly so much heat he expected steam. Lifting his head, he drew in a gasp of breath. “Glory—”

“Again,” she demanded, her fingers sifting through his wet hair.

She tasted like fresh lake water and heaven. He nuzzled her throat while pulling air into his lungs and the coolness of her skin registered. “We need to get you warmer,” he said, as he felt her shiver.

But she turned her head to capture his lips again, the kiss urgent and edged with a desperation he found contagious. His hands found the sodden hem of her long-sleeved shirt and he drew it up, allowing the heat to hit her bare skin. She moaned into his mouth and then he broke from her again to drag the fabric over her head.

It was full dark now, the truck their private space that was warming by the second. He reached around for the clasp of her bra.

Her hands covered its cups as the closure released. “I’ve never done this, either. In a car, I mean.”

“Okay.” He kissed her eyebrow. Her ear. “Is it time to live a little or do you want to leave?”

“Live,” she whispered, and then her hands dropped. The bra fell to her lap and she whisked it away to her feet.

Kyle fought his own shirt and sent it flying over the back of his seat. Then her hands were on his chest and he groaned, giving himself up to her exploration. But his will only lasted so long before he had to have her naked breasts at his mercy.

He slammed up the arm of her bucket seat and leaned over the console, bending to touch her with his tongue, finding her pebbled nipple in the dark. Sucking it into his mouth, he reveled in her moan. Her skin was still cool and he warmed it by taking as much as he could into his mouth.

His hand plucked at the other hard tip and he felt the cab’s temperature rise another dozen degrees. His jeans were drying in the heat, strangling his cock in a grip that might do damage if he didn’t release it soon.

Afraid to move too quickly for her, he groaned against the flesh of her breast and lashed the nipple. Her hand dug into his shoulder—sweet pain—and going slow was impossible. Sliding his mouth across her skin, his hand went to the fastening of her jeans. Her belly hollowed out as he fumbled with the snap. She was breathing roughly and her hips lifted as he yanked on her zipper.

“How are we going to do this?” she asked, breathless.

“Do you want to?”

“Oh, God.” She groaned as he managed to insinuate two fingers beneath her panties. “I want everything.”

Vehicle sex was awkward. But Glory was a good sport, or maybe it was that he was doing a good job keeping her on the edge, dropping kisses to bare skin, caressing her as he worked at her jeans, praising her in rough whispers as she followed his instructions.
Lift up, good girl. Gorgeous, move here. Give me your mouth while you hold on to this.

Then he was bare-assed on her seat and she was kneeling over him as he took the foil-wrapped condom from her and rolled it over his pulsing cock. He gritted his teeth, then took her bottom in one palm and her hip in the other and drew her lower.

Her wetness brushed his tip and he leaned forward to take a nipple into his mouth. He gave it the tiniest bite and she jerked in his hold and then sank down on him. They both groaned.

He pressed his mouth to her throat.

“What is this?” she asked, wonder in her voice.

“It’s me,” he said. “It’s us.”

That last word echoed in his brain as she began to rock on him.
Us...us...us.
He crooned to her, more praise, and her movements sped up, taking his control with it.

“Glory,” he said, gripping her hips to slow down the rushing onslaught of pleasure. Sex wasn’t supposed to be like this. Before, it had been a function. Textbook stuff. The physical expression of the dry explanation of hormones and responses that his father had given him—complete with diagrams like something he’d draw on the paper covering of an examining room table—when he was ten.

Instead, this was more than his reaction to the female form. More than his biological response. This was about Glory, too, her small body enslaving his, her tight pussy sheathing him in an impossibly good vise. Not only did he want her to get off, he wanted her happy. He wanted her exhilarated and free, wearing that grin she’d given him after breaking all her rules and jumping into a ridiculously cold body of water.

It had taken his breath. Now
she
was taking it.

The little sounds she made now were aroused and almost a little anxious. He couldn’t read her expression in the dark, but he knew it was time to soothe her by sending her flying a little higher. He brought his hand to his mouth, wetting his fingers. Then they traveled down the center of her body to trace the place where they were joined. He shuddered, feeling his shaft being engulfed by the soft heat of her body.

His fingertips found the knot of nerves at the apex of her wet folds and he began stroking her there, short strokes and tight circles. She gasped, held up, and then she ground down on him. Harder. Filthier. Better than anything.

His other hand caressed her belly, then moved upward to brush her breasts, her straining nipples. He closed his eyes as she moved more quickly and he followed her lead, strumming her clit.

Her internal muscles were clamping down on him and he was dangerously close—so close—when she grabbed his free hand and brought it to her mouth. She took two fingers into her mouth, sucking on them as she ground down a final time. Rocking there, he felt the orgasm overtake her and it slammed into him, too, the release surging through muscles and sinew and blood.

Glory collapsed against him. He petted her, trying to take her down easy, even though he felt as if he’d expired in those final moments.

A definite ending.

When he returned to LA, work was never going to be enough again. No down-the-hill woman would ever be enough either, not after having this woman—Glory Hallett, mountain to her bones.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A
NGELICA
HAD
DISCOVERED
that while Brett was an early riser, he wasn’t a morning person. Not as much as she was, anyway. While she moved about his kitchen with quick steps, humming, he sat sprawled on a stool, staring at the surface of his coffee as if it was a television screen.

With a tiny shake of her head, she swiped up the carafe and topped off his mug. As she made to move away, he shot out his hand and arrested her movement by hooking a finger in the back waistband of her jeans. “Thanks.”

“He speaks!” she exclaimed, in exaggerated surprise.

“Ha,” he said, then freed his hand to lightly smack her on the butt. “Maybe you wore me out last night.”

Rolling her eyes, she headed back to the countertop to replace the coffee on the warmer. There was no way she’d worn him out...not when it was clear he was holding back. Yes, they’d had sex and he’d been solicitous, very careful to please her. Maybe because he still worried she was damaged. Maybe because he felt guilty for their scrap—
I have lousy judgment when it comes to women
—but she was beginning to believe it more likely that caution was a way to keep himself separate from her.

To not allow her close to him, the real Brett Walker.

Despite being aware of the ticktock of the clock running down on her time left in the mountains, she couldn’t fight the urge to shake things up.

Shake him up.

She buttered toast for herself, aware he wouldn’t eat until his second cup of coffee was gone. Though her days didn’t usually start as early as his, this morning she was heading into the hardware store hours before opening. There was some paperwork she could accomplish for Glory, a task she hadn’t completed because they’d closed early the day before.

Glancing over, she saw Brett was still in that zone where he was half asleep and half awake. “I had a text from Shay this morning.”

He grunted.

“I’m invited to a marathon viewing of one of those wedding dress shows. Jace is out of town for a couple of days, Ryan’s going to do something manly with Mason. A girls’ night with all the trimmings—wine, cheese and crackers, a gooey dessert.”

He didn’t seem to think it was weird that she’d been asked over for something chummy with his sisters. Or maybe he was mentally still snoozing under the covers.

“Shay said I should spend the night.”

Straightening, he opened his mouth, but then he subsided again, his eyes back to their study of his coffee. “You’ll have fun.”

Had he wanted to protest her being absent from his bed?

It gave her morning mood a little happy jolt. “I do enjoy all the nuptial hoopla. Shay and Poppy are so excited about their upcoming weddings. London, too.”

“Mmm,” he said, bringing his mug to his mouth. Then he set it down on the counter and looked at her with narrowed eyes. “I thought you weren’t a bridal enthusiast. You said you didn’t believe in happy-ever-afters.”

She shrugged. “I said I didn’t believe my
parents’
marriages would ever last. As for my attitude toward weddings themselves...it’s pretty hard to be scornful when your sisters are spinning with delight over the idea of getting hitched to their men.”

“Jace is the same,” Brett said. “Shay was thinking of a spring or summer wedding and he’s unwilling to wait that long.”

“Poppy said Ryan’s threatening to kidnap her for an elopement. He wants to be her husband
now
.”

Brett took a swallow of his coffee. “That’s kind of nauseating.”

“Oh, you!”

“Has anyone told you you’re a brilliant conversationalist in the morning?”

Well, he’d sure woken up. Angelica crossed her arms over her chest. “Admit this. You were thrilled to be asked to walk Poppy down the aisle.”

“I’m the oldest. Mom taught me I had to let the younger ones get their way once in a while.”

“You’re just being a curmudgeon to maintain your rep.”

“What rep is that?”

Angelica grabbed her purse from the counter and sorted through the items inside. Keys, wallet, phone. Glancing over at the clock, she realized she only had a few more spare minutes.

“Angelica? What rep is that?”

“Dyed-in-the-wool bachelor. Guy stubbornly clinging to the idea that a single life is best.”

“I am a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor—which by the way sounds like someone wearing a Mr. Rogers sweater. And while I wouldn’t say I’m stubbornly clinging, I do think the single life is best.”

“Knee-jerk,” she said with a dismissive wave.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he said, now sounding not only awake, but grouchy.

“Blanket statements about how being single is best are ridiculous. They’re knee-jerk remarks from the bachelor sans a sweater.”

“Okay,” he said, eyes narrowed. “I’ll qualify it. The single life is best for
me
.”

He was looking increasingly peeved and she was feeling a bit irritated herself. “How can you say that? Maybe you just haven’t found the right woman yet.”
Oops.
That sounded a bit too plaintive. “What I mean is, there are your sisters, with two of the best men on the planet panting to be their partners. Don’t you think they’ll be happy together?”

“I hope they’ll be happy together.”

His unconvinced tone got on her last nerve. “Honestly, you’re taking this whole skeptical thing just too far.”

He shrugged. “So I’m not sentimental.”

Okay, she had yet another last nerve. Digging through her purse, she found her phone, held it out. “You should call Mason.”

He eyed her warily. “Why?”

“So you can tell him there’s no Santa. Blow up his fantasy about the Easter Bunny, too. While you’re at it, tell him there’s no Tooth Fairy either.”

“And I’d do that because...”

“No sense letting the boy believe in anything, I don’t know,
sentimental
.”

“Angelica—”

“I bet it was you who told your sisters that nobody really came down the chimney.”

A ruddy flush edged his cheekbones. “I’m not convinced Poppy knows there’s no Santa to this day,” he muttered. “I bet she
still
believes.”

“Even more reason for you to break the news to your nephew that his mommy and his Duke will never be in love. Oh, and maybe you can get London in on the call, as well, and tell her that her father and her stepmother-to-be don’t have anything real either—”

He shoved himself up. “Angelica—”

“—no matter how that might shake Mason’s belief that
he
is loved or undermine London’s confidence that
she
is cherished.”

“Angelica.”

Ignoring the dark note in his voice, she raised her arms, let them fall. “Seriously. What does it take for you to acknowledge love when it’s staring you in the face?”

He leaped to come toe-to-toe with her, his stool toppling to the floor in the process. “And you’re an expert?”

“I know what I know. I trust my eyes.”

“Trust.” He spit out the word. “What the hell do you know about trust? The very people who you should have been able to rely on—your parents—have only abandoned or betrayed you.”

There was a high whine in her ears as she stared into his eyes—so icy cold they burned as they ran over her from head to toe and back to her face.

“As for love...who has ever given that to you, princess? How do you know anything about it?”

“Brett—”

“Tell me. Tell me who the hell has ever loved you?”

Her mouth opened, but words couldn’t make it past the sudden constriction in her throat.
Who the hell has ever loved you?
The heat on her skin chilled and, snatching up her purse, she ran. Away.

“Fuck. Shit. Wait. I lost my temper. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. Angel face...”

She was too fast for him. Or he didn’t follow after all. Because nothing and nobody stopped her from jumping into her car and pointing it in the direction of the village. She was breathing hard, and her hands trembled as she gripped the steering wheel.

The person shaken was herself.

Still feeling unsteady as she approached the back entrance of the hardware store, Angelica fished for the employee keys from her purse. The scent of cigarette smoke alerted her first, then she jolted back as a woman stepped forward.

Lorraine Kushi. The woman wore a black wool coat loosely belted over a gray dress. Her knee-high boots were gleaming black leather in a severe style that matched the dark wedge of her hair.

Pretend you don’t know her
, Angelica admonished herself. She tried donning a polite expression. But Brett’s attack had made her numb on the outside even though she was still a mass of raw emotion on the inside. For all she knew, she was wearing a scary, serial-killer grin.

Looking at it, the reporter took a quick, nervous drag from her cigarette.

Be cool
, Angelica thought. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Angelica Rodriguez?”

“This is Hallett Hardware,” she said, then immediately thought,
fail
. “I’ve got to get to my job.”

“I thought we could talk.”

“No time, sorry.”

“It’s a shame how the internet makes anyone recognizable.”

Angelica swallowed. The jig was up. “What is it you want?”

“We have a lot in common, you know.”

She tilted her head. “How’s that?”

“Brett Walker.”

“I don’t have anything to say about him.”

“Your father, then. Your circumstances. I can help you get your side of the story out into the world.”

Angelica’s fingers tightened on the ring of keys. “Why would the world care about my ‘side’?” Though of course her attorney had warned her of this very circumstance from the first.

Lorraine dropped her cigarette to the asphalt and ground it out with the toe of her dominatrix boot. “Don’t be naive. It’s human nature to be interested in the only offspring of a now-infamous fraudster. People want to know if you’re innocent or complicit.”

Innocent or complicit. Angelica felt her face flame. “I have nothing to do with my father’s business.” Or his Ponzi scheme. “That’s already been reported.”

“I’m aware of that. And he siphoned off cash from your own accounts, hoping, it seems clear, to make it to another day when he could recoup his losses. It was way too far gone for that, though.”

Angelica shrugged.

“But you acted as his hostess on occasion. Many times that was how he met new investors.”

In the first year after college she had arranged several parties at the Beverly Hills house. But he’d stopped socializing at home after that, preferring to take friends and clients to dinners at LA restaurants or the country club. She’d really noticed the change when he’d decided against his annual Christmas party. He’d given her no reason, and still hoping she could please him, she hadn’t pressed.

“It was those new investors that propped up the operation,” Lorraine continued. “As long as new money poured in, he could make payments to those who wanted their money out. When an imbalance occurred, more money being demanded than was coming in, the whole scam collapsed.”

“I have a degree in finance. I understand the fundamentals.”

“Which is yet another reason why the public wonders if you actually didn’t know...or if you should have figured it out.”

Tension wrapped Angelica’s neck like a strangling hand.
Should
she have known? Her father had been so secretive the past couple of years. Then, at the very end of spring, he’d insisted she take up residence at the lake house. There’d been renovations he’d ordered her to oversee during the summer months.

And she, still trying to win his approval—
who the hell has ever loved you?
—had driven up the hill.

“I won’t be the last journalist to find you,” Lorraine said. “For now, the press has been easy on you because you look blameless. But to keep smelling sweet and clean, you should get ahead of this.”

Angelica hesitated. The lawyer had mentioned that idea, too.

Lorraine stepped closer, as if sensing her waffling. “I’m your best bet. I asked around town and heard you’re buddies with the Walkers—working for one of the sisters, I believe? Brett and I are good friends, you know, and the two of us...we could be good friends, too, Angelica. I won’t lie to you, getting you in front of my camera would be a coup. But I’ll treat you right.”

Like she’d treated Brett right? Angelica’s roiling thoughts calmed. Lorraine Kushi, as Brett had remarked, was a snake, and Angelica certainly wasn’t going to reward her reptilian ethics. There was no way she’d believe the other woman would go out of her way to treat her fairly. Her priority would be gaining viewers, not reporting the truth.

“So...” She pretended to be mulling over the reporter’s proposal. “We should do this soon?”

“Today,” the other woman snapped out. “Word is there’s going to be a presser regarding your father’s case this afternoon... He’ll be all over the news tonight.”