Inside Out (2 page)

“This tattoo makes me so hot.” She nipped his side, and he leaned into her. His skin was salty; the taste filled her with craving and a sense of triumph at finally being able to touch him the way she’d wanted to for so long.

His scent curled around her senses, holding her there: the tang of his arousal, of his skin, the musk of his cologne, the citrus of his shampoo, all little sensual treats she’d picked up from being around him all the time.

Laughing, she pushed him back and scrambled atop his body, straddling his hips. He raised a brow at her, and she briefly stopped, fascinated by the jump of his pulse at the hollow of his throat. She leaned down to kiss him there because there was nothing else to do.

He was getting naked, and his hands were all over her. It was like Christmas and her birthday at the same time. Maybe even a bit of Halloween too, it was so good.

“Do you like bad boys, Ella?” he asked in a murmur caught between a purr and a growl. All while thumbing one nipple until she squirmed, breathless.

“I like
you
. And I like that.” She may have squeaked a bit, though she’d probably deny it if asked.

He grinned again as he raised himself up enough to reach the nipple he wasn’t already tugging. She rolled her hips, unabashedly delighting in the way the seam of her jeans slid against her clit, giving her just enough friction to make her gulp in some air, but not enough to satisfy.

Only the hands on her would satisfy. Only his mouth. Only the cock she currently ground against, still locked behind his zipper.
Stupid denim!

“Ella ...” His voice was tortured, laced with need.

“Please.” She didn’t know what she was begging for, only that he’d be able to give it to her.

“Ella? Hello?”

She blinked several times and nearly died as she focused on the man standing just on the other side of the counter.
How very special
. She’d just had a fuck fantasy about
him
in the middle of the café at midday.

Piercing blue eyes met her gaze. A grin, god,
that
grin, marked his mouth. Andrew Copeland stood two feet away looking amused by her lapse in attention as well as ten kinds of delicious bad boy.

And to answer the question her fantasy Cope had asked? Hell yes, she liked bad boys. But
his
kind of bad boy. Unfortunately, she’d had a real one, and that had been enough to land her in the hospital and then physical therapy for nearly a year. The mental scars would probably be there forever. Yeah, not so much fun,
those
bad boys.

She swallowed, feeling the burn of her skin as she blushed furiously, but managed to smile at him, because, well hell, look at him! How could you look at all that and not simply smile in thanks to whoever created such perfection?

“Hey, Cope, sorry about that. I was woolgathering. What can I get you?” The counter had never been cleaner than right then as she rubbed the cloth over it nervously, the taste of his skin still in her mouth.

She could easily get lost in those eyes. Everything about him attracted her. For years she’d thought him the sexiest guy in town.
Way
out of her league, but still beyond delicious. Besides, it didn’t hurt anyone to objectify him in her head, now did it? Plus he was a total flirt, which made it even easier to crush on him without really taking it seriously. He flirted as easily as he breathed. He’d probably like it if he knew. Not that she’d tell him or anything.

He leaned toward her, his movements slow and easy, but she recognized the strength coiled in those muscles, knew he was a predator. “You have the prettiest blush. Did you know that? Now, see, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were having a very naughty fantasy in your head just now.”

That voice
. Holy crap, his voice was like sex in a jar. Or whatever. But it was hot and sexy, and she heard it lots and lots. Usually when her eyes were closed and she was masturbating. Wrong. Bad, bad Ella! Not the place to think about that.

He chuckled then, cocking his head, and whaddya know, he looked even better like that. Man, she was hopeless. Hopeless and sex-deprived. She was even getting interrupted in her fantasies. How pathetic was that?

“You
were
, weren’t you? You have no idea how much I want you to share.”

“I don’t know you well enough to scar you with my nasty sex fantasies.” She winked and turned, hoping he didn’t see the blush heating her cheeks at that very moment. “I’ll make you an Americano instead.”

“Killjoy. If you have nasty sex fantasies, Ella, it would help if you shared them. Unburden yourself and stuff. It’s good for you. I’ll even share some of mine. You know, so you don’t feel so alone.”

She choked with laughter and embarrassment. Good thing she wasn’t looking at him right then. Or drinking anything. Then again, a drink sounded good. A stiff shot of tequila. Gah, not stiff! Um, yes, a shot of tequila might help.

Trying to get herself back together, she focused on getting his drink. He could tease with just about anyone. Normally, once she knew a person well enough, she could too. But he was different. For years he’d teased her but had kept it gentle. She’d often felt the warm slice of envy at the way he put the moves on women. He was so smooth and sexy when he had a woman in his sights. He’d never looked at her like that. Hadn’t ever given her the smoldering gaze she’d fantasized about for years.

Until . . . well, lately it had felt like he’d changed the tenor a bit. Felt as if perhaps he’d glimpsed her as a woman instead of his friend Ella.

Which was stupid, she knew. He teased and was casually sexy, but he couldn’t have had any idea she pined for him. He’d probably feel sorry for her if he knew. Their relationship would change; he’d distance himself to keep her from getting her heart broken. And she’d hate that, hate to lose the friendship and ease they had, even if she did want to lick him from head to toe. No, a playboy like Andrew Copeland was totally out of her league. She knew it, and he did too. That’s why it worked between them.

He was one of the few people who never looked at her with pity in his eyes. He didn’t ask how she was in a pained voice that told her the asker expected the answer to be sad. She was sick of being defined by something that happened to her nearly four years ago.

He let her be. Didn’t try to control her under the guise of helping her. Didn’t see tragedy when he looked at her. Which only made her want him more.

Cope watched her back, itching to beg her to tell him more. Wanting to hear her voice when she talked about sex—about dirty, fabulously filthy things she wanted him to do to her when they were naked and alone. It was his favorite way to drive himself crazy, thinking about Ella Tipton naked and in his bed.

He was fairly sure she was teasing about the sex fantasy thing, but her reaction was interesting. His cock crowded uncomfortably behind his zipper, awakened, as always, at the very thought of her. No other woman had caught his attention and his imagination the way she did. Which might have been a huge part of his fascination with her. It
was
a big reason why he knew she was different, had the potential to be far more than someone he dated. Ella had marked him already. Her determination, the way she aimed herself at goals and didn’t stop until she met them. What wasn’t to admire about that? What other woman could compete?

Damn, she was something else. Striking. Short, sleek fiery hair, big blue-green eyes, freckles across her cheeks and over her nose. Her skin was so pale she shone like a pearl. She was perfect in her imperfection. All her features, in and of themselves, were not pretty, but combined, they made her singular, the sort of face that drew the eye. And she had no idea how compelling she was, how people simply watched her move for the pleasure of it.

And funny in an odd way. He got her sense of humor. Offbeat. There was truly no one else like her in the entire world. Her voice made him laugh, sort of high-pitched, like a cartoon sometimes. He knew others teased her over it, but it fit her.

She was intelligent and diligent, loyal and brave. Braver than most people would ever know. His eyes swept to her legs, covered by a long, loose-fitting skirt.

She turned and handed him the Americano, made just exactly the way he liked it. She tucked an amaretto-almond biscotti on the edge of the saucer with a smile. “Made fresh today. I promise it’s good.”

He handed her the money, and she sighed when he waved away the change. “You deserve it for the biscotti. I need it this afternoon. I’ve had a long day.”

Instead of going to a table, he leaned against the counter and watched her work. The café his sister-in-law Erin owned and Ella ran was quiet for the time being, so he had her pretty much all to himself. He planned to take advantage of that fact.

“Are you all right? You mentioned your day,” she said when he must have looked confused. “I haven’t seen you around lately.” She bustled around the counter area, straightening, cleaning, polishing. Ella was rarely still; this fascinated him, though he couldn’t say why. It wasn’t a rare talent or anything.

She glanced up at him. “Ben said you were hiking. Was it fun?”

He knew she’d asked after him because his brother had told him. Still, it didn’t diminish the silly pleasure that she’d noticed his absence.

“A very good time was had by all, thank you for asking. Me and some buddies—Brody and Ben usually included, but they’re both a bit busy this year—hike Hurricane Ridge out in the Olympics.” He laughed, thinking of the way Erin’s belly had grown, of how she looked at his brother and their husband Todd like they were the best things on earth. “It was good. We were at a high enough elevation that we actually got a bit of snow, which isn’t totally unusual for early fall. I’ve seen snow at the higher elevations in the summer, even. It’s beautiful just now. Have you been?”

“You camped and hiked
in the snow
?” She shuddered, and he bit back a laugh. “Um, no, I’m happy to say I’ve not been snow camping because I’m not insane. I’ve been to the Ho Rainforest and I’ve done some hiking out there near Crescent Lake, but I’ve never camped and hiked like you do. Snow camping is just not a phrase I’d ever utter as a suggestion to how to spend my time. I love to ski, though I have to watch my knees now. I enjoy all that outdoorsy stuff, as long as I can escape it at day’s end. As in, hot toddies at the lodge in front of a fireplace, or cabins with high-speed Internet. I’m not much for roughing it.”

He laughed, but had the crazy desire to take her camping anyway. He could take her on long bike rides, show her the beauty of the Olympics in the fall. In the winter he was sure he could show her plenty of ways to keep warm, though he did agree with her that a hot toddy at the end of the day inside in front of a roaring fireplace was better than sleeping in a tent in the snow.

“I bet you’ve just never been with the right person. I promise you, camping is something you’d love with the right guide and gear.”

She raised both eyebrows. “It always sounds nice, but then that
crazy
reality comes knocking, and I remember it’s sleeping on the ground in a tent with nothing but less than an inch’s worth of fabric protecting me from bears and bugs. And random snow? Hmm. Can’t wait for that.” She wrinkled her nose. “Plus I’m the kind of girl who gets third-degree sunburn even after I put on sunscreen on. Then I peel and have eight thousand more freckles as a result. It’s a horrible cross to bear.”

She sighed and blinked, the corners of her mouth struggling to stay in place and not curve upward.

He laughed. “I like freckles.” He liked
her
freckles. He couldn’t say he thought about them much before he’d walked into the café that first time and laid eyes on her and those bewitching spatters of ginger all over that pale skin.

She looked him up and down, putting another biscotti on his saucer when he’d finished the first one. “Easy for you to say, since you have none.”

He wanted to lick her. Lick her freckles, taste the salt of her skin, hear whatever sounds she made when aroused, and he had a feeling she made them, though selfishly, he liked to pretend she hadn’t made them in a while. His mood soured then. He hadn’t seen her with anyone since that fuck brutalized her years prior. Just thinking about her ex made him want to punch something.

“You all right? You didn’t talk about your day.” She touched his hand, her thumb sliding over a knuckle and then into the indentation between that and the next. His anger slipped away, chased by the waves of pleasure spreading from the place she’d just caressed.

“Sorry. Some stupid work thing I thought of. You’re much better to think on though.” He flashed her a smile, and she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you have some hussy to harass?” Erin walked in with a jingle of the bells over the door. Erin was his sister-in-law and a friend. She was also about to expel nine and a half pounds of baby, and though he’d never say it out loud lest he take his life into his own hands, she looked it, around the edges anyway.

“I’ll have you know I haven’t harassed a hussy in years.” Cope pushed a stool back so she could sit down, which she did with a rusty exhalation of air.