The 48 Hour Hookup (Chase Brothers) (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

Claire had to admit she was impressed with Liam’s carpentry prowess. And his everything else. Three years ago, before she’d started fleeing altars, he was exactly the kind of guy she would have been attracted to. Not just because those green eyes were as brilliant against the wooden walls of the lodge as they were against the new fallen snow, or because he kissed like he had some intimate knowledge of her every fantasy.

He’d been light. Teasing. But he’d stirred something inside her that made her want to explore. Or be explored. She was so dizzied by him she wasn’t sure which. But not even the kisses—not even
those
kisses—meant as much to her as what he’d done with the tree.

He couldn’t know it, but he’d given her back a huge part of her life by putting up that tree. Losing her parents had been hard. Actually,
hard
was the most epic understatement of all time, and then her uncle was gone. She hadn’t been incredibly close with him, but he was her last living relative. The lodge was the only link she had to her childhood, and upon seeing it, having that tree in there had become important to her in a way she couldn’t begin to explain. Only that it felt like home, and that was the first time in a long time anyplace had. And for the first time in years, it felt like
Christmas
.

She took a deep breath of the evergreen scent that had permeated the lodge, chasing away the prevailing odor of dust. She had a lot of cleaning to do. And a lot of thinking. Preferably about something other than the way that man kissed.

When the power came on shortly after they’d finished putting the tree in place, she should have been relieved, but instead, the soft light from the lamps made the lodge cozier, almost romantic. It wasn’t a feeling she needed to associate with him.

For the tree, he’d made a simple teepee type stand that would anchor the tree from a point above the height of the bucket, and then he’d bombarded it from every possible direction with the only nails he’d found, which he’d declared inadequate.

“Are you sure that’ll hold?” she asked.

He glanced up, his expression incredulous. “I think I was the one who expressed concern about it holding.”

“And?” She glanced up, wondering if she should give the thing a wider berth.

“And now that the road is plowed, I think we should go into town tomorrow and find some more nails,” he said, “but I don’t think it’s going anywhere for now.”

She nodded. “We can check on your truck and grab some groceries. I hadn’t planned on meals for three.” As if anyone could plan for a cranky raccoon.

“I have a quick errand myself,” he said with a grin.

He had an errand? One in addition to checking on his truck? “Where to?”

“Post office.”

“Going to the post office makes you smile like that?”

“Lots of things make me smile.”

Was he referring to this thing between them? She wasn’t sure, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to ask. All she could think about was that very distracting kiss, and that did nothing to dispel the moment that had settled between them.

“I don’t suppose you have a shower I can use?”

She blinked. That had done it. Sort of. Because now instead of thinking about him kissing her, she was picturing him naked, soap running in rivulets down his body, everything hard and slick. She swallowed. “Upstairs. I’ve been using the first one on the left. It’s been cleaned out, and there are fresh towels and toiletries.”

“Should I wait for you?”

Yeah, that didn’t help. She’d gone from imagining slick, soapy skin to imagining touching it. Not the most effective shift. “To…join you?”

“I was thinking you might want to go first,” he said, at which point she pretty much wished she could fall through the floorboards.

“Please go ahead,” she said faintly.

He gave her an odd look. “If you need me, you know where I’ll be.”

Sure she did, and he’d be there naked, hot and hard with soapy rivulets navigating those deliciously cut muscles.
Great.
She thought of absolutely nothing else, at least not until he came back downstairs.

Shirtless.

Fortunately, he immediately tugged on a clean shirt. Less fortunate was the fact that she happened to be standing there when he pulled off his jeans. Her jaw may have actually dropped, which caused him to pause, pants-less. “What?” he asked.

“You’re just…not wearing pants.”
And incredibly gorgeous and that body should criminal.

“I forgot to take my clean ones with me.” He gestured toward his overnight bag, sitting against the wall. “Thought this might be a better option than strutting out here naked.”

Despite herself, she laughed. “You strut?”

“Only when I’m naked.”

Somehow she didn’t doubt that. “I’m going to take my turn now.” She was already breaking a sweat. This was ridiculous.

He just nodded, standing there in his boxers. Despite what he’d said, he didn’t appear in any hurry to dress. Not that she blamed him. Sleeping in jeans had to be on the brutal side, comfort-wise. Especially with the size of that thing that had nudged between them all night.

Quickly, she slipped into the shower, firing the water as hot as she could stand it. Knowing Liam had been standing there, naked, undid all the good work the hot water did to soothe her muscles, but washing away the dirt and dried sweat and chainsaw exhaust felt heavenly. So did smelling like soap again. Finally, reluctantly, she shut off the shower. She’d stashed most of her belongings in that suite, though she slept downstairs. Fortunately, that meant she didn’t have to go downstairs naked.

Fortunately
. Right. Because by that point, with the memory of his touch mixing with anticipation and lingering like the taste of him on her lips, all she needed was half an excuse. And half a brain would be great, but she’d pick that up on her way back to the city. If she went back.

She slipped into a pair of underwear no one’s granny would be caught dead in—just in case—and then a clean pair of yoga pants and a faded blue sweatshirt that matched her eyes. None of that for Liam. All for comfort. Because she’d be sleeping again by the fire.

Near the Hot HVAC Guy.

Who, despite not having slept with the catering assistant or having forged a relationship with her in an attempt to use her to get ahead, was very much the proverbial last man on earth. Because he, Liam Chase, was the one who had gotten past her defenses and made her crave that connection again.

Just to prove how very little that meant to her, she skipped the bra. Sleeping in one sucked more than having slightly less perky boobs, and frankly she didn’t care how perky they were. Well, that wasn’t true…but she didn’t care what
Liam
thought of how perky they were. If he found them droopy and distasteful, that would make her life a lot easier.

Before she went downstairs, she checked her phone and found a text from Jessie, the friend who had recommended Fusion.

How’s it going?
the text read.

Yeah, that was loaded question. Jessie couldn’t possibly imagine. Claire would need days to explain it. She’d probably need that long to process it herself.

I’m a disaster. He’s…hot.

She smiled as she hit send. Jessie would probably never make the connection. Not with that
disaster
carrot dangling.

What kind of disaster are you?

The kind who dropped a tree on his truck.

The phone remained silent for a moment, then,
Are you serious?

Yep. I’ll fill you in later.

She tossed her phone on the bed and immediately chased it down, thinking it better that she keep it close. Maybe it would ring at some point and save her from inevitable disaster.

Another text came in.

Wait, how hot is he?

Later
, she typed. Actually, she should probably get the conversation over with now, before there was anything else to tell. Not that there would be. He wasn’t
that
irresistible.

Only…he was.

She realized that as she descended the stairs to find a roaring fire and a bottle of wine. “Where did you get that?” she asked.

He grinned. “I hoped you’d notice that. Found it in the kitchen when I ran Stanley out, and then I got it open without spilling a drop.”

“You ran Stanley out?” she asked, because it was easier to focus on that than Liam being sweet or thoughtful or anything else she wasn’t sure she could handle right then. “He’s going to freeze.”

“He’ll be fine. How many bottles of wine did you bring with you, anyway?”

“Not enough,” she muttered. “Where did you get the stuff to make the fire that big?”

“Don’t ask.” He pointed to a spot on the hearth. “I found a couple of glasses, too. I even washed them out. You know, just in case you didn’t want to drink from the bottle.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s nothing wrong with drinking from the bottle,” she said. Yet another diversion tactic. Probably one that wouldn’t work. He was proving to be entirely too thoughtful. And while it was possible a guy could overdo that, maybe look like he was trying too hard, Liam only came across as genuine. She was stunned she could see him in a such a way as much as she’d been hurt. Stunned and wary. But not nearly as much as she should have been, because rather than backing away, she was lured in.

He shrugged. “I’m more of a beer drinker. We don’t drink straight from the keg.”

“Not outside of a frat house, anyway.”

His brow lifted. “Sounds like someone had fun in college.”

“Not so much.” She accepted the glass of wine he handed her. “You’re not having one?” Because
that
was what was missing. More alcohol. Two people drinking instead of one.

“I haven’t forgotten your warning,” he said easily. But he’d brought two glasses. He was asking permission, and she appreciated that. She fell for it.

She laughed. “You put my tree up. You can have anything you want.”

“Anything?”

Ah, hell. She’d stepped right into that loaded question with both feet. Rather than answer she walked over to the tree. It was upright, lending that wonderful scent of Christmas to the air, but the decorations were missing. That part made her sad, but overwhelmingly, her heart swelled and tears pricked her eyes and that lonely ache in her chest seemed to loosen.

“The tree wasn’t supposed to upset you,” Liam said. “If anyone gets to look at that thing and be sad, it’s me.”

“I’m not exactly sad,” she said, and realized that was true. “It’s just emotional.”

“I bet.” He walked over to stand by her. “Funny how many memories get tied up in these rituals.”

“We used to string popcorn,” she said. “And there were so many ornaments. They were the big, old fashioned ones. My uncle said they’d all been broken, but maybe I should look.”

“I’ll help you. Later. For now, I think you need to stop thinking about sad stuff.”

“What do you suggest I think about?” she asked.

“That thing that was happening in the snow before I opened my mouth and put my ski in it. That thing we both agreed was a bad idea and absolutely not going to happen.”

“You might have to remind me,” she said, turning to face him. She might actually be crazy, opening that kind of door, but she’d be just as crazy not to. Because she had a feeling he’d be an experience she wouldn’t soon forget.

“Well, in that case.” He gently, so gently, cradled her face and gave her the sweetest kiss. Just a taste of that tender mouth.

Grinning against him, she nipped at his lip and oh so lightly, casually, traced his erection through his boxers. The fact that he hadn’t bothered to put on jeans in the twenty minutes she’d been upstairs was officially his problem, but
she
had no problem gripping him, causing him to mutter a profane word or two. She felt ridiculously pleased with herself, considering she still calmly held a wine glass while his eyes were rolled back in his head.

“Please tell me you’re reconsidering the flinging,” he said through gritted teeth. “Because if you’re not, this is cruel.”

“I might be,” she admitted. She tugged again at his lip, but he was apparently done with games. He pulled her in, holding her gently but firmly while he absolutely wrecked her with an exploration of her mouth that left her shaking and needy. Apparently, he, too noticed. “Put that glass down,” he told her.

“Or?” She wasn’t so much the type to be coy, but he made it fun. Besides, she was so unsteady she’d probably dump it all out without his help.

“Or it might spill.”

“Are you telling me you can’t be gentle enough to keep me from spilling my wine?”

“Maybe the second time,” he said. “More likely the third. But considering you’ve already got your hand around me, I’m guessing you’re not the least bit interested in the fate of that drink, so I suggest you put it somewhere safe before you lose your chance.”

In the back of her mind, she knew what he was saying wasn’t remotely dirty, but considering she’d never been treated to more than a bored
you wanna
, by
either
of her fiancés, his demands were a huge turn on.

“Unless you don’t want a chance,” he added.

“This is not a good idea.” It was a weak protest. She was past the point of caring, and well into the territory of embracing bad ideas. She just needed confirmation he was on the same page.

“I’ve thought all day about how it’s not a good idea. And at some point, I realized maybe we just do this, so we both stop thinking about doing it, and then we go our separate ways and it’s not such a terrible idea after all.”

“Because we are definitely going our separate ways,” she murmured.

“We are absolutely going our separate ways.”

She let go of him to set her wine on the hearth. He took the opportunity to dig into his wallet for a condom and step out of his boxers.

“You know this won’t go anywhere, right?” She said it as much for herself as for him. Maybe
more
for herself. She needed the reminder, because closing the distance between herself and this gloriously naked man felt dangerous and thrilling and she could get addicted to feeling that way. And she couldn’t go there. Not for anything.