Wrong Man, Right Kiss (6 page)

She wished she hadn’t pushed him away.

She wished she’d had the courage to face the music, so that he would have done the same.

But more than anything, she wished to feel again like she’d felt that night.

Garrett had broken down and revealed his feelings for her in an unmistakable way, and though Molly had gloried in his intimate touch and his incredible kiss, she’d gotten scared in the end.

She wished she hadn’t given out the message that she wasn’t receptive to more of his delicious kisses and touches. Because the more she thought of and relived that kiss, the more she was convinced that unique connection wasn’t typical and that she’d just found her
soul mate.

Without words, she’d been able to feel his love so powerfully that her own heart had sung inside her chest, and she ached desperately to be with him again.

Swallowing back a lump in her throat, she pounded the pillow and shifted to lie facedown on the bed.
Go to sleep, Molly, and tomorrow you can show Garrett what he’s missing.

But rather than give her comfort, the thought only made her realize that the one person who had been missing out on the best things in life was Molly.

* * *

Julian knew exactly why he couldn’t sleep, why he was feeling so cranky and why everything felt like crap lately.

It was all Molly Devaney’s fault.

She was driving him crazy in every possible way he could imagine.

First with the Garrett thing. And now just thinking about her sleeping next door made him toss restlessly in bed, frustrated beyond measure.

Tonight, it had been raining outside when they loaded up her suitcases. By the time Molly had stepped into his apartment, she’d looked so…wet. God, he’d really tried not to look at the way she needed to peel her shirt back from her breasts, but he lacked the willpower.

Lying back in his bed, he tried to cool down his roiling blood, his head swimming with the sight of her breasts, perfectly round, with those pointy nipples straining against the fabric of her top.

And when she’d kissed him upstairs, so happy to be painting the mural for him, it had taken all his willpower not to turn his face and capture that kiss with his lips, kiss her long and hard as if he’d wanted to back in her apartment—where she’d been flushed and gasping for breath after the silly little peck he’d given her. And those cherries. Goddamn the sounds she made as she ate those miserable cherries!

It had been a miracle Julian hadn’t lunged across the seat of his car, taken her face between his hands and suckled each and every cherry from her cool and sassy mouth.

Hell, this is the worst idea I’ve ever had in my life.

For years, Julian had grown up with rules that he’d tried to follow, knowing the only girl he’d ever respected and admired was out of his reach. Molly was the one woman Julian would want to be locked in a closet with. Stranded on a deserted island with. She was the only good and pure thing in his life, and despite some failed efforts, he’d tried to keep it that way. Unsullied and unsoiled, happy and protected.

Growing up, he’d always imagined they would have each other. Molly had never liked to date, and she’d always needed Julian. Julian had kept his hands off her and
on
just about anyone else in his efforts to keep busy, stay focused and more importantly, stay away from Molly.

But now—she wanted Garrett.

A Gage.

Julian’s stomach roiled with nausea at the reminder. God. He’d never imagined this could ever happen.

At first, he’d thought she was pulling his leg, or trying to make
him
jealous. In the back of his mind, he’d always imagined that if Molly ever fell in love with one of the Gage brothers, it would be…him. Dammit, him and
only
him. Because she sure as hell never seemed to look at anyone else.

Even his family had thought Molly wanted him, which was why every time he got close to Molly, all hell would break loose. His mother, Landon, Garrett, even Kate would pounce. Julian had suffered endless lectures from them all about being good to Molly, staying away from Molly, respecting Molly or finding another home. For the most part, he had been good. Really good.

But now, years and what felt like aeons later, the fact that Molly wanted his brother was a game changer. Julian had been living in this hell long enough, and he could no longer kid himself that the magic, the pull, the impossible chemistry between Molly and him was only due to friendship. He knew full well that when she made his groin throb with her smiles, they were not friendly feelings. Much less brotherly ones.

He’d been dreaming about her for
years.
Powerful dreams. Sexual dreams. Dreams that left him drenched in sweat and groaning in pain and reaching for the first pair of female legs that passed him.

Yeah, he’d thought if he’d had sex more often, his powerful reactions to her would diminish. But all it did was make him want her more—because none of those women were Molly.

No.
No one
could ever even compare to that effervescent little bombshell—no one.

Now he just needed to play his game right. Julian might have a long comfortable fuse where his temper was concerned, but when it came to Molly, his fuse had run damn short. If she kept this up he was going to do something reckless and stupid.

And he didn’t want to be reckless and stupid.

He’d been moving his pieces all in the direction of one goal so he could stake his claim on her once and for all.

Now he’d prove to his family that he did not need them, and that he would never hurt a single hair on Molly’s beautiful head. He needed them to see that he was worthy of her, that he wanted her for real and not just for sex—though of course when that happened, it was going to be damned amazing, too. But more importantly, he needed to show them that he would do whatever it took to have her. Even cut his ties with them
all.

If Molly was ever going to settle down with a guy, she was settling down with Julian. Whether they liked it or not.

And as for Molly…

He had to make her see that
he
was the man for her and always had been—and once and for all, he had to finish what he’d started the night he’d kissed her heart out at the masquerade party.

Four

Something about sleeping in Julian’s apartment made Molly restless.

Well past midnight, still tortured by the memory of Garrett’s kiss, she found herself tiptoeing down the hall toward the kitchen in the hopes of finding some sort of sleep aid in his cupboards. She had her heart set on Sleepytime Tea, but valerian root or chamomile would do, too. Hey, at this point, she’d take anything as long as it meant quieting her troubled brain and getting some rest.

But what she found on her way to the cupboards was a beautifully sculpted, seminaked man instead—and the sight of him was sure to give her permanent insomnia.

Wearing only a pair of white cotton briefs that hugged his buttocks perfectly, he leaned against the open refrigerator door, his head stuck inside as he surveyed the food.

Molly stopped in her tracks, her heart flying to her throat.

The warm fridge light silhouetted Julian’s magnificent form, shamelessly caressing every dent, every shadow and every sharp rise of lean, ripped muscle. Her breasts pricked unexpectedly. And suddenly he was not just Julian.

He was every inch…Julian John Gage.

Sexy playboy, dangerous male.

Not a hero, not harmless and definitely not just a friend.

A tremor rushed down her legs as her eyes helplessly drank up what was so blatantly on display, aided by the moonlight that filtered through the windows; she took in the sinewy arm folded above his head as he leaned forward, the broad muscled back, the lean hips and…the rest. His long, muscled calves and hamstrings, his hard buttocks under that snug white cotton.

Her temperature skyrocketed. Not because he was utterly sexy in a way that made her want to swim in ice right now, but because she was here. With him. At midnight. And he was about 90 percent
naked.
When it should be Garrett here, Garrett almost naked, Garrett in her head.

Her hormones clearly knew nothing of reason. They burst into action until she could feel the hot little pinpricks all over her body, to her utter confusion and despair.

Even her fingers tingled at her sides with a painful itch to trace the muscles on his back, determine the texture, the hardness, paint the thick ropes straining in his forearms. For a wild moment she kidded herself that it was the artist in her; it had to be. For she felt the same fever she did when she was gripped with the need to paint.

Except now she was gripped with the need to trace the length of Julian John.

With finger paint. All of him. She thought wildly that if he were a canvas, she would not leave an inch of him unpainted except his lips. He was just too masculine to wear them any way but bare.

But she could still trace them with her fingertips and find out what sort of power they held when they kissed her. She could explore the thick bottom one and then the top one and she might even kiss them again just to be sure her memory wasn’t failing her…

Molly, you love Garrett, you tramp!

Shocked by the untoward thoughts, she snapped back to the present and swallowed a lump in her throat. An awful guilt surfaced inside her. Had she actually been thinking of accosting Julian in his own kitchen? What was wrong with her?

Ever since that evening at the masquerade, it felt as if her entire life had been flipped over as easily as a pancake.

Now she could not stop thinking about kissing, touching, tasting, wanting. Garrett had awakened the desperate needs of a woman inside her, and Molly felt so hyperaware of her body now, even her reactions to Julian were uncommonly, embarrassingly…unsettling.

See what you’ve done to me, Garrett? Apparently I’m a nymphomaniac now.

“Um. Did you forget you have a guest here?” she blurted out from her spot a few feet away.

Julian’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. His head dropped an inch or so, that gorgeous mane with sun-streaked strands that were lighter than the others. “Damn—you’re supposed to be asleep, Molls.” He pulled his head out of the fridge, his chin dropping an inch or so as he faced her, his hair catching the light just right.

“People with insomnia don’t sleep, Jules.”

Molly should go back to her bedroom, she supposed, but being squeamish about a man’s near-nakedness did not go with her artistic persona. She had to treat it as a natural state of being, or at least that was what she told herself as she woodenly walked over and opened and shut cabinet doors in search of her tea.

“Here, have some milk, always works for me.” He shoved the carton he’d just drunk from in her direction.

Molly took it and set her lips over the place his mouth had been, trying not to get too hooked on that discomforting detail as she downed a big gulp. Swallowing, she said, “Ah, it’s cold,” and handed it back, all her efforts focused solely on not noticing how velvety smooth and hairless his massive chest was.

She had never felt five feet tall when she was with Julian until today. When he seemed to hulk over her, appearing for the first time in her life almost…threatening. Extremely male.

“I’m going back to bed,” he said, shoving the milk back into the fridge and shutting the door.

“Can I come sleep with you?” Molly blurted out to his retreating back.

Suddenly she just knew if she went back to sleep alone in her room, she would be haunted. By her masked man. And by Julian in sexy white cotton briefs. She desperately wanted to watch a movie with him and snuggle and sleep and get her best friend back. She ached for him to make her feel…safe. Like when they were kids.

“No,” he answered without a single backward glance.

“Don’t be a jackass, Jules.”

“I don’t sleep with women I can’t take to bed,” he yelled back.

“I’m not women. I’m just
me.
”

“Precisely.”

She scowled and said, “Just put some pants on and I’ll bring my pillow. Come on, don’t be mean.”

She heard silence, then receding footsteps down the hall.

“Julian?” she called back tentatively.

His laugh made her hope for a moment, but then he spoke. “Good night, Molls!”

And so Molly cursed him all the way to her room, climbed alone into her bed and didn’t sleep a wink.

She didn’t fare so well on the second night, or on the third, either. Even though she tried every night to get him to invite her for a sleepover, the man’s will was iron. She was surprised she couldn’t bend him to her plea at all, but she was more surprised by the amount of effort Garrett had been putting into stopping her from getting into a “relationship” with Julian. Which amounted to zero so far.

That was not the approach of a man in love!

Then again, Garrett had always been the most hardheaded of the three, so he’d probably need extra incentives in order to react to her provocations.

Molly fantasized about the sexy clothing she could wear to catch his attention. She was growing so desperate, she even imagined pulling out that stupid wench costume again—but what sane person wore that? Nobody, that was who. Only Molly Devaney on a
dare
from
Julian.