It Takes Two (4 page)

He would make this okay. Whatever she thought was keeping them apart, he’d fix. He’d been fixing other people’s angst and worries since he was a kid.

“Isabelle, there’s nothing you can tell me that will change how I feel.” He ran a hand over the top of her head, freed the clips holding it up and let her hair fall. He smoothed his hand over it, loving the warm silkiness. “We’ll figure it out, whatever it is.”

She shivered under his touch and he smiled. He knew this woman, knew her body, knew her buttons. That was a shiver of pleasure. And he knew how to do a lot more of that.

“Living together is very different from dating. You might not like some of the…stuff I bring with me.”

He wanted to keep this light, show her that she was worrying over nothing.

“If you’re asking if I can live with a giant stuffed gorilla, the answer is yes. Do I have room for a massive collection of souvenir thimbles? As a matter of fact, I do. Do you buy ketchup in those fifty-five-gallon drums? I think that could save me a lot of time and money over the long haul.”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes, obviously not amused. “What if I have some really bad habits?”

Shane ran his hand up under her hair, sliding his fingers onto her scalp, massaging lightly and relishing her little sigh of pleasure. “I knew it—you buy avocados, forget to use them and they go bad in the vegetable drawer, right?”

She closed her eyes, but there was still a little crease between her eyebrows. “Maybe I’m talking about
actual
annoying stuff.”

“Oh, you’re one of
those
.”

She tipped her head back slightly, pressing closer to his massaging fingers. “One of those?”

“You take your socks off in the living room and leave them lying in the middle of the floor for days.”

She sighed, opened her eyes and lifted her head. “Shane. I’m talking about stuff that will affect you. Actual things that could drive you crazy.”

He still managed not to smile. It was fun, and sexy, riling her up. “Give me an example.” He ran his hand down to her ass and brought her closer to him, sure that she could feel the hard rock behind his zipper.

She gave a little groan. A very quiet little groan that made him feel confident that everything would be fine. They affected each other, in ways no one else did. That was worth fighting for. Even if he was fighting her.

“Vanilla sex.”

He tuned back in and blinked at her. “What?”

“That’s one of the things that’s going to happen if we live together,” she said. She arched closer to him, pressing against his fly. “And I don’t think you’re going to go for that.”

He was having a hard time keeping his hands resting on—okay, gripping—her hips and butt instead of pressing her up against the wall. Vanilla sex from Isabelle Dixon? The woman who had introduced him to the Position of the Day blog and insisted they try each one? He paused for a moment. God, he loved that blog. “Define vanilla,” he finally said. Maybe it wasn’t what he thought it was.

“In bed. No…paraphernalia. No pulling from the Position of the Day blog.”

He grinned. They were meant to be. But damn. Vanilla sex
was
what he thought it was. “Paraphernalia?” he asked. “You’re the one with the toy box, Iz.”

He didn’t need ’em, but when she brought them along he never said no. Sex with Isabelle was like knowing your friends were planning a surprise party for you—you knew it was coming, you knew it was going to be a lot of fun, but you weren’t sure
exactly
what was going to happen.

“Well, the toy box is staying at my condo,” she said firmly. “If we’re living together, we’re going to have only good old-fashioned, in the bed, lights-off sex.”

He shook his head. “Lights on.”

She sighed. “Fine. Lights on. But nothing…funny.”

Shane leaned in close, his lips nearly on hers. “Iz, sex with you is a lot of things. Like the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced. But it’s not funny.”

She sucked in a quick breath. Then said, “And no dirty talk.”

He chuckled. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re hot and sexy and creative now but if we live together I’m going to find out that you’re secretly boring deep down?”

She scowled. “Yes.”

“Uh-huh.” Okay, she was testing him. He didn’t know why or what she was trying to accomplish, but she was evidently trying to warn him, or push him, or something.

“And we’re going to watch
The Daily Show
together,” she said. “Every day.”

“I love Jon Stewart.”

“And we’re going to…play checkers. At least three times a week.”

That tripped him up a little. “Checkers.”

“Yes. I’m…addicted to checkers.”

“No you’re not.” That was ridiculous. No one was addicted to checkers.

“What if I am? What if I’ve been hiding it from you? What if I’ve been afraid to tell you because I thought you would think I was weird or boring?”

Okay, he saw what was going on here.

“I get it, Iz. You’re nervous about living together. You’re afraid I’ll be turned off by your morning breath.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Morning breath,” she repeated. “Uh, yeah. That’s what I was thinking about.”

“And you’re probably worried that
I
might have some weird habits.”

“Bad habits,” she corrected. “The term is
bad
habits. And I think I’m aware of a few. Being a know-it-all is a bad habit, don’t you think?”

He grinned. This was fun. He needed her to see that this was something worth joking about, that they could smile even through morning breath. They were going to be fine. “Don’t worry. I don’t collect anything and the only thing I buy in bulk is snack-sized chips.”

She stared at him.

He shrugged. “I like having the variety. Some days you’re in the mood for sour cream and onion and then the next day you might need barbecue, you know?”

Isabelle shook her head. “Wow. Well, hey, good. It’s all cleared up then and there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Isabelle knew she should be annoyed. Part of her was, of course, because he wasn’t taking this seriously at all. But he was effectively making his point.

From where he was standing, they didn’t have any insurmountable obstacles.

Even as they talked about buying chips and ketchup in bulk, she was thinking about how great it would be to open the cupboard and see those little bags of chips and think of him.

And the fact that snack bags of barbecue potato chips were suddenly a little romantic only proved how far gone she was over him.

She’d
almost
told him that her stuff didn’t include stuffed animals or strange collections. It was a lot bigger than that. It was going to make a mess of a lot more than his living space.

She’d tried to work up to it, mentioning the vanilla sex, alluding to the fact that there was even more to it. But, then, instead of anything about her fibromyalgia, she’d said
checkers
. Yeah, she was really worried about him not liking checkers. That was hardly a deal-breaker.

Why couldn’t she tell him? Why couldn’t she say the damned word? Fibromyalgia. It wasn’t even all that long or technical. But she simply could not get the word out of her mouth.

Because Emma’s words had hit her hard. Clearly there were a lot of emotions there for her sister—guilt, anger, confusion, fear, worry.

All of that would happen to Shane too.

When she thought of Shane, she thought of his easy grin, his big laugh, his inappropriate sense of humor, the way he made everyone around him feel accepted and happy. The way he made her feel like the sexiest, most beautiful woman in the world.

That was the Shane she loved. The Shane everyone loved. And she knew he loved being that guy. Being the good-time guy with the jokes and the sucky pool game and the cotton candy machine was who he wanted to be. And she wanted that Shane. Not a worried, guilty, angry Shane that would act awkward and
careful
around her.

That’s what she hated most about how Emma sometimes treated her. Like she couldn’t go on a shopping marathon or do Monday mango margaritas at their house or take a road trip to see the Goo Goo Dolls.

She loved that Shane would throw her over his shoulder, or push her up against the wall, or get creative on the living room floor. That was where the damned Position of the Day thing came from. She’d wanted to prove to herself that she
wasn’t
delicate or breakable. Sure, she felt some of it the next day, but she was
not
going to let her condition keep her from asking Shane to bend her over the back of the couch.

And speaking of some of her favorite positions…

Yeah, she was going to ease him in, all right. She wasn’t going to say one damned thing about fibromyalgia tonight. Screw it. One more night of denial wouldn’t hurt.

“You know…” Her gaze went to his lips and she felt the very familiar hot flush of desire. The things he could do with those lips should come with a warning label. “I had specifically planned on
not
kissing you in here tonight.”

“Is that right?” His hands curled into her hips and his attention focused on her mouth as well. “Why is that?”

“Because it never ends with kissing.”

Even the kissing was enough to make her willing and able to keep the part of her life away from him that she was afraid would turn him off. And the other stuff that the kissing led to… Well, she had no problem understanding why she’d kept up the act.

And if the sex was enough to inspire her façade, then everything else he was and did was enough to convince her she could keep it up long term.

Until she was away from him again.

He was like a drug. When they were together it all felt good and right and doable. When they were apart, she’d remember that this was never going to work long term.

“Do you want it to?”

Her gaze flickered back to his. What were they talking about? Oh, yeah, the kissing thing. “We never just kiss,” she said. “The first night we went out we had sex.”

His voice was a little gruff when he said, “I remember.” He pulled her even closer. “I also remember that
you
initiated the entire thing.”

She couldn’t deny it. The entire night had felt like foreplay. Which was a little crazy and a lot dangerous. They’d been at Trudy’s. Like they had been dozens of times before. They hadn’t even been there together. He’d asked her, for the third time, if she’d go out with him. She’d said no. Then he’d gotten up on the karaoke stage with Ryan and Cody and sung “Just a Gigolo” by David Lee Roth. There was something about him—the confidence, the big grin, the way he not only had a great time wherever he was but made sure everyone around him had a great time, something—that drew her in. She’d fought it to that point but after he left the stage, she’d asked him to dance. From there she was a goner.

“I remember too,” she admitted.

Shane lifted a hand and traced the neckline of her top, his finger sliding along the top swells of her breasts. “When you pushed me up against the side of my car in the parking lot and laid that first sexy kiss on me I was willing to beg for more on hands and knees. But I wasn’t about to suggest sex on the first date with a classy woman like Isabelle Dixon,” he said.

Classy. She’d quickly shown him her opposite side to that persona. “You didn’t have to suggest it, did you?” she asked, memories shifting through her mind like a kaleidoscope.

He chuckled. “No, I certainly didn’t. And trust me, I was very pleasantly surprised by the dirty mind and mouth behind the polished, sophisticated front you put on.”

Yep, she’d already shown him a little of her talent for switching personalities. And he’d been pleasantly surprised because it had gotten him laid. Well. Three times that night.

He lifted his hand to cup the back of her head and pulled her closer until their lips were a mere millimeter apart. She was a good six inches shorter than him, but she usually wore heels that put her at exactly the right height for things like dancing and kissing and for him to put her up against the wall, hike up her skirt and drive deep.

She wore skirts and thongs a lot when she was with Shane. For those very reasons.

“You want me to just kiss you, Iz? I can be happy with that.”

“You sure?” Her hand slid up the back of his neck and into his hair. He wore it longer than most of the cops, but he didn’t get any crap about it. She loved the way she could thread her fingers through it and grip it when he kissed her—wherever he was kissing her.

“Very sure,” he said softly. Then his mouth met hers.

They’d kissed in every way there was to kiss. Soft and sweet, hot and heavy, long and delicious, all over each other’s body. This was a combination of all of those and then some.

His mouth moved against hers, lip to lip, for a long time. He’d press, then retreat, change angles, open slightly, lick along her bottom lip, then back off and softly kiss the corners of her mouth.

Shane lifted his hands to her cheeks, cupping her face, holding her still. Then he kissed her forehead, her nose, her chin, the side of her neck, then returned to her lips.