Tempting Meredith (13 page)

“More than four years.”

“Closer to five,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Charlie ran the place while I finished up my commitments at the law firm.” Blaine chuckled. “He came with the place. I wouldn’t have bought it without him.”

That helped explain their business relationship. “It sounds like an interesting story.”

“It is,” Blaine said. “But you’ll have to get Charlie to tell you about it. I’ve gotta go over my speech for the barbecue tomorrow.”

“Practice on us,” Charlie offered.

Blaine grimaced. “No way. Y’all are supposed to be having fun, not sitting through a deadly dull stump speech.” He stood, taking his beer with him. “Make yourself at home, Meredith.” To Charlie, he said, “I expect to be back late afternoon tomorrow.”

“Good luck,” Charlie said.

“Thanks.”

When Blaine left them alone in the kitchen, Charlie pulled her back against him and said, “What’s it gonna be? Stargazing or a game of pool?”

She wiggled her ass. “I can think of a better way to spend the evening.”

Charlie chuckled. “Oh, we’ll get to that. Believe me.” He slipped from behind her and tugged at her hand. “Come on. Give me a chance to beat you.”

She followed him reluctantly, annoyed that he’d rejected her advances. Well, not rejected really, but he certainly wasn’t in any hurry.

The beer affected her play so the game lasted longer than it should have and in the end, Charlie beat her. She took the loss gracefully, grateful that the game was done. Charlie racked their cues then leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. His smile gave her hope that they were done with pool for the evening.

“What now?” she asked.

“Let’s review for your test.” His voice was low and rough, the way it sounded when he had sex on the brain.

“What test?”

“The one you want. The one I’m going to give you as soon as I’m certain you understand the material.” His gaze was dark and determined.

Her breath caught and her heart began a happy dance. “Okay.”

“There’s only one question.”

“Go ahead.” As long as he didn’t ask her what kind of animal was hanging above the fireplace, she could probably answer it.

“Who’s in charge?”

Old habits told her to resist giving him the answer he wanted. But maybe new habits were forming, or maybe she was just drunk enough that resistance was futile. She lowered her gaze to the floor. “You.”

He raised his brows, no doubt surprised by how quickly she’d given in. “Good girl. I believe you’re ready for the test.”

Past ready.

He straightened from the wall and strode toward her, his gaze raking over her. He stopped inches in front of her, wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her over the rail before setting her on the table. The felt scratched her legs, but she wasn’t about to complain.

The spicy scent she’d craved since their first meeting teased her. It was an aphrodisiac, luring her in and stealing logic. His warm hands grasped her bare thighs and parted them. He slipped between her legs. He leaned forward, and his lips whispered against hers, sweeping from corner to corner. His beard tickled, causing her lips to twitch. She was tempted to open his fly. Didn’t help that she knew there was nothing between the denim and his cock. Did he know how crazy that made her? He was already hard for her. She didn’t need visual proof. She could smell his arousal as it mingled with his familiar scent.

She grasped his shoulders, trying to tug him closer. “I haven’t seen your room. Don’t you want to give me a tour?”

The gentle brush of his lips on hers stopped. He lifted his head. “I was sure you were gonna ace this one.”

She blinked through the trance of sexual need. What had she screwed up? She’d only suggested they go someplace more private. The game room of his friend’s house, his
employer’s
house, with the door wide open wasn’t the most intimate place for sex. “What’s wrong?”

“Who’s in charge?”

Her jaw tensed, and she ground her teeth together. Desire faded. “You are. But I was just suggesting we go someplace more private.”

“It’s not your job to suggest or request. That would require you to think. I don’t want you thinking. I don’t want you in your head. I just want you to feel.”

“I can’t. That’s impossible.”

His thumb slipped beneath the leg of her shorts and brushed across the damp crotch of her panties. That quickly, all thought abandoned her. Hers hips reacted instinctively, lifting into his touch.

His voice broke through the haze of pleasure. “So you’re telling me that when you’re reaching for it, when you come, you’re thinking?”

Bits and pieces of the science of sex flitted through her mind. As she grasped part of one fact, his touch chased it away. Before she could form an answer, the fleshy pad of his thumb slipped beneath the elastic of her panties and circled her clit. Skimming, teasing, barely there, but oh-so incredible, scattering the question and useless facts, clouding thought. Tension melted from her body, replaced with warm desire. Her head became too heavy for her neck and she let it fall back.

“That’s better.” The words murmured in her ear added to the languid desire spreading through her body.

He withdrew his nimble, talented fingers, and she whimpered.

“Meredith?”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She struggled to remember what he’d asked. Ah, yes. Thinking and coming. “No. But that’s different. I—” She grasped for words. “I’m incapable of thinking at that point.”

“Why?”

She groaned. Her body began to cool. This was so freaking frustrating. She’d suggested a change of venue, and he wanted a lecture on neuroscience. Seriously? What was wrong with him? Or was it her? The thought chilled her completely. She stiffened and lifted her head. Her gaze pierced his. “You want it in layman’s terms?”

“Just give it to me straight, Doc.”

“During orgasm, the lateral orbitofrontal cortex shuts down. I
can’t
think when I’m coming. Neither can you.”

“Hmm. Interesting.”

Really? Okay. “Did you know that the brain of a person having an orgasm resembles that of a person on heroin?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Her frustration decreased as her excitement for the subject increased. The brain was almost as fascinating to her as the universe. She’d had a difficult time deciding between neuroscience and astrophysics when she went to college. She’d decided on astrophysics, figuring she could always switch to neuroscience if she got bored with the universe. “Okay, so our reasoning center shuts down. Part of the brain stem called the periaqueductal gray, PAG for short, is activated, so our ‘fight or flight’ instinct disappears. There’s also decreased activity in the amygdala and hippocampus, both of which deal with fear and anxiety. The limbic system takes over. That’s the part of the brain that deals with emotions and relationships. I’ve seen MRIs of brains on orgasm. It’s incredibly beautiful. If you’d like, I can find a video online for you.”

He stared at her with a small smile.

“You’re laughing at me,” she said, embarrassed and hurt. She should have realized he wasn’t truly interested.

“No, I’m not. You’re sexy when you’re in professor mode. And it
is
interesting. Makes sense, too. In fact, it explains a lot. But I thought you were studying the universe, not the brain.”

She shrugged. “When something interests me, I research it. Why limit myself?”

He placed a finger lightly against her lips. “Exactly. Why limit yourself? That’s why I’m in charge. You can moan. You can groan. You can beg for climax. But you can’t tell me what to do unless I ask for your input. Because if you’re telling me what to do, you’re thinking. And if you’re thinking, you’re limiting yourself.”

“But if—”

He pressed his fingers more tightly against her lips. “Safe word?”

“I don’t understand,” she said, her stomach clenching. “I merely suggested we go someplace private, and you’ve turned it into a lecture on neuroscience and a discussion about safe words.”

He kissed her lightly then murmured, “We’re the only ones in the room. It doesn’t get much more private than this.”

“The door’s open. Blaine could walk by at any moment. We would be his
private
little peep show.”

Charlie’s grin widened as if the idea appealed to him.

Oh
,
hell no.
No
,
no
,
no
. She wasn’t going there again, didn’t matter how badly she wanted Blaine. Oh, fuck! No, not Blaine. She didn’t want him. She wanted Charlie. “This wasn’t a good idea.” She shoved at his shoulders so she could put her feet on the ground. “I’m leaving.”

Chapter Eleven

The phrase “Hell hath no fury” popped into Charlie’s head. He hadn’t scorned Meredith, but she was pissed. She tried to scoot off the table, but Charlie pressed against her.

“Hang on. Are you safe wording out?”

“Tonight,” she ground out. “I’m leaving tonight. Right now.”

“After you say the word.”

“Red. Okay? Red. Now let me go.”

Stunned, he didn’t immediately step back, but he stopped. He stopped teasing the corner of her mouth, stopped talking, stopped breathing. Disappointment settled in his chest, crowding his heart. He’d been so certain he could tempt her past her objections, her mind.

He released her, dropping his hands to his sides and clenching them. He took a deep gulp of air. When he finally stepped back, he saw the tears—not streaming down her face, but through what must have been a hard-fought battle, contained by the fringed banks of her eyes.

He lifted his hands in surrender. “See? It works.”

She slipped over the wood railing of the pool table. Her tennis shoes landed on the tile floor so gingerly that they didn’t make a sound. She edged along the table toward the door. She was running.

“Meredith.” Not wanting to startle her, he kept his voice low and gentle.

Didn’t work. She jerked. A single tear escaped and traced down her face. That lonely tear broke his heart wide open.

“I’m not gonna move, not gonna touch you.”

“I know,” she said, but her voice was shaky.

“I don’t think you do,” he said cautiously.

She straightened her shoulders. “I’m leaving. This wasn’t a good idea. I—” He waited for her to finish, but she shook her head. “It wasn’t a good idea.”

He lifted a hand toward her but didn’t touch, didn’t move close enough to touch. “You can’t leave. You’ve had too much to drink.”

She pressed her lips together, and her gaze darted to the open door. Freedom. He could see it in her eyes, a wild animal seeking escape.

“I’d like to make an alternate suggestion.”

She shook her head again.

“Just hear me out. It’ll only take a few seconds.” When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “Even if you weren’t tipsy, you know I don’t like the thought of you on the roads late. So stay the night. In your room, alone, door locked. I won’t touch you, won’t bother you...unless the house is on fire. We’ll have breakfast tomorrow morning—” Her raised eyebrows stopped him. “Or not. You can leave at first light if that’s what you want.” He wasn’t above appealing to her weakness for his breakfast specialty. “But I’ll make pancakes.” God, he sounded like Donkey from
Shrek
. He should have offered to make waffles and completed the soundtrack.

She allowed a small smile, and the pressure in his chest eased somewhat. He was tempted to ask her what had happened. What had scared her so badly? He didn’t. She’d bolt faster than a startled whitetail.

“You won’t follow me?”

“To your room?” he asked, confused.

“My room. Austin.”

“I won’t follow you.”

She studied him as if determining whether he was being truthful. He saw the decision in her eyes a moment before she gave a sharp nod. “Okay.” She started for the door again, keeping him in sight so he didn’t surprise her.

“One more thing,” he said.

She stopped.

“I’m sorry.” God, that was an understatement. “I don’t know what I did to spook you, but I’m sorry.”

She chewed her lower lip. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

He grimaced at the trite excuse.

“Yeah. Pathetic.” She shrugged. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He sure as hell hoped so. After she’d left the room, he walked to the door and watched her cross the den to the bedrooms, her back stiff, not an ounce of sway to that beautiful curvy butt. When she disappeared in the hall, he joined Blaine in his office. Upside down campaign signs in red, white and blue leaned against the wall under the window.
Blaine Bridges.
And underneath,
Sheriff.

“Need someone to listen to your speechifying?”

Blaine looked up from his computer. “Where’s Meredith?”

“She’s tired,” he lied.

Blaine glanced at his watch but didn’t say anything. Yeah, it was after eleven. Early for a Saturday night.

“I thought you might want to practice your speech on me.”

Blaine sat back in his chair, relaxed. “Nah. I’m good.”

Charlie leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He wanted to question Blaine about Meredith, maybe get some insight into why she’d freaked, but he didn’t know where to start or how to go about it without telling Blaine what had just gone down.

“What happened with the boyfriend?” he blurted.

“Dylan?”

“That’s his name?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah.”

“What happened with him?”

Blaine glanced at his computer monitor, then back at Charlie. “I don’t know exactly.” His gaze slid to the side. “And even if I did...” He shrugged.

“You do know.”

“I have my suspicions.”

“But you won’t share them.”

“Sorry. That’s Meredith’s story to tell.”

Charlie sighed. “That’s a conversation I don’t want to have. Not if it’s gonna hurt her.”

“Then drop it. It’s like you said—in the past.”

He wasn’t so sure about that. Not anymore. Maybe it never had been.

* * *

Meredith rolled from her back to her side. After a few minutes, she flipped to her stomach, then to her back again and stared at the ceiling. Counting sheep and reciting the digits of pi hadn’t worked. It was useless. She couldn’t sleep. Not surprising. Charlie had been so reasonable, so gentle. Hadn’t freaked or gone all macho when she’d shut him down. How had he done that—gone from sex god to caring friend in a microsecond? God, he was special.

She sat on the edge of the bed and raked her hair off her face. It was hotter than hell in here. After flipping the switch on the lamp by the bed, she searched the ceiling for an AC vent. Right above the bed. She stood on the mattress, and her steps bounced across it to the wrought iron headboard. Cold air blew from the vent over her skin. So the problem was her, not climate control.

The rest of the house was silent except for mechanical noises, everyone in bed. She’d just slip into the kitchen for some ice.

Her door opened quietly. The cool tile floor soothed her overheated soles. She flipped the light switch just inside the kitchen door and squinted against the glare. Bypassing the noisy dispenser in the door and going straight for the bucket in the freezer, she filled a glass with ice then added water. She took a sip and it slid cold and refreshing down her throat. Just what she needed. She flipped off the light and before her eyes adjusted to the darkness started back to her room.

“Rough night?”

She jumped, and the glass slipped from her fingers. She grasped at it but too late. It shattered in front of her. Cold water, glass and ice splattered her feet and legs.

“Fuck!” The epithet slipped out, but she did manage to keep from shouting. Bad enough Blaine had caught her creeping around the house. She didn’t need Charlie out here, too. Damn. She’d just wanted some cold water.

“Don’t move. I’ll get the lights.”

The source of the voice was a silhouette in the office doorway. Blaine’s shadow slipped through the dark room to the wall by the front door. Had he been there when she’d first come through?

The lights flickered on. Shards of glass surrounded her, mixed with the ice, so it was difficult to tell which was which. A few small pieces flecked the tops of her feet. Those were glass. No blood though. She glanced over her shoulder, ever aware of Blaine walking toward her. She wanted to step back, but there was glass behind her, too.

As if reading her mind, Blaine repeated, “Don’t move.” He was wearing jeans, a little long over his bare feet and frayed at the hem, and a threadbare white T-shirt, the remnants of the design so faded she couldn’t make it out. “I’ll get a broom.”

“Thank you,” she said stiffly.

“Least I can do. If I hadn’t startled you...”

He left her alone in the middle of the den. She tugged at the bottom of her cotton sleep shorts, suddenly feeling overexposed.
Silly
. He’d certainly seen her in less. The thought made her cringe. She searched for a way out of her shattered glass cage, wanting to move so badly the temptation tingled along her spine and scalp. It was driving her crazy. She considered risking a few cuts to her feet just to escape. What was Blaine doing? Harvesting the straw for the broom?

She kept glancing to the door leading to the bedrooms, expecting Charlie to appear at any minute. Maybe he hadn’t heard? Hard to believe. He wasn’t a heavy sleeper.

When Blaine finally returned, he’d put on boots and was carrying a broom and plastic dust pan. He worked quickly, quietly. She was grateful for both. The tingling decreased as the diameter of the splatter diminished. Any second she’d be able to move again. When a path cleared in front of her, she tiptoed out of her cage.

“You’ll want to wear shoes around here the next couple of days.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.” She stood uncertainly, wanting to escape to her bedroom, but something kept her there with Blaine.

He tilted the dust pan over the small trash can. The glass pinged and crunched against the metal.

“Well,” she said. “Good night.”

“Let me get you a refill.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. But thank you.”

As she backed away, a sharp pain pierced the sole of her foot. She immediately lifted it and took a couple of hops on her other foot.

“Hang on,” Blaine said. He scooped her up and carried her to the sofa before she could object and then sat with her feet in his lap.

When he picked up her foot, she found her voice. “I can do that.”

“I got it.” He was so gentle, so considerate, that she was thrown back to that night. How he’d taken care of her afterward. Wrapping her in a blanket, holding her, warming her.

His thumb skimmed the bottom of her foot. When he found the spot, she flinched. He plucked the sliver of glass from the ball of her foot and set it on the coffee table.

She tried to slip her feet from his lap, but he held them.

“Just a sec.” He ran his hands over the soles and tops of her feet.

“Are you a foot reader, too?”

His lowered head didn’t hide his grin. “Nah. That’s all Charlie. Just checking for more glass. You feel anything?”

Oh, yeah. She felt everything. His calluses. His heat. His gentleness. And anger. Don’t forget the anger. Hers, not his. The anger that had plagued her all night—the reason she couldn’t sleep. Anger mixed with desire. Because despite everything, he was still as sexy as he’d been eight and a half years ago. Dark blond hair, blue-green eyes that crinkled at the corners. That beautiful wide mouth that smiled even when he wasn’t smiling.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and mellifluous like wind through the trees.

“It’s not your fault. I startle easily.”

“Not about the glass. Although I’m sorry I surprised you. I didn’t mean to. I thought you’d seen me.” He lifted his head from his overly intense study of her feet. His serious expression made her more uncomfortable. “I’m sorry for that night.”

The apology surprised her. Sure, it had been the elephant in the room since she’d recognized him standing on the front porch. But she couldn’t believe he was actually bringing it up. Figured he’d avoid the subject at the risk of it going supernova.

She wanted to be nonchalant about it, wanted to say it didn’t matter, wasn’t a big deal, but the words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t. That night had changed her life. Maybe if she hadn’t gotten pregnant, she could shrug it off. After all, people got their hearts broken all the time. It was part of living. But most people didn’t end up pregnant and alone. Once again, she tried to slip her feet from his lap. This time he didn’t stop her.

“It’s a lousy excuse, but I was young and stupid. Selfish.” He sighed. “A coward.”

That last surprised her.

“We used you so we could—” he swallowed, “—be together.”

She blinked, not understanding. They’d been together—the three of them.

“Dylan and I.” He cleared his throat. “We used you.”

His meaning registered. It hadn’t been about the three of them. It had been about the two men. No, not men. Boys. Men didn’t use women. They didn’t hide behind a woman. “You and Dylan?”

He nodded.

She’d suspected, but she’d discounted her suspicions for one simple reason. “I don’t understand. You were roommates. You were already together. All you had to do was lock your door and fuck or make love or whatever. Why did you need me?”

He shrugged. “I can’t speak for Dylan, but I was scared. Afraid of being who I was. Afraid of admitting it to myself, much less anyone else.”

His confession sank in, and all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The puzzle she’d been trying to put together for more than eight years. She hadn’t had the right pieces. All this time she’d thought it had been about her. About a conquest. Another notch on their belts. But that wasn’t it at all. She’d just been a convenience, a conduit. Neither boy had had feelings for her. Dylan hadn’t loved her. Blaine hadn’t thought she was sexy. It wasn’t about her.

“It was wrong, and I’m sorry. If it helps, I’ve never done anything like that again.”

She jumped up and began pacing, her arms crossed protectively in front of her. Because they hadn’t had the courage to be who they were, she’d paid the price. She dealt with the heartbreak every day, the ache of relinquishing her daughter, of giving her to strangers to parent, of watching her grow up through photos and letters. “Well, if you learned your lesson, then I guess that makes it okay,” she said sarcastically.

“No, it doesn’t make it okay. I didn’t mean—I just—I’ve always regretted it.”

“Are you and Dylan still in touch...or anything?”
Please say no
.

He shook his head. “I moved out the next day. I haven’t seen him since.”

“What happened? He dumped me. Wouldn’t talk to me after that except to say it was over. And you were gone. You got what you wanted. Him. And then you just left. You could have been together again. With me. Because I was stupid enough to think I was special. But you left. Why?”