Chapter Fourteen

Spencer paced the kitchen, waiting for Starr’s return. With a quiet house and no distractions, he should’ve gotten a lot of work done. Instead, incapable of thinking about anything but Starr, he’d carved a path in the already-worn linoleum. The smell of her lilac perfume, the feel of her body pressed against his. It went beyond a physical attraction. He’d offered to cook breakfast. He’d never so much as boiled water for a woman.

She wasn’t just messing with work now; she was messing with his mind.

He couldn’t let this happen. He’d worked too hard for what he had. He couldn’t give it all up, not for her or anyone else. Which was all well and good except that as soon as he was around Starr, all his logic and reason abandoned him, and he only wanted to get close to her.

He needed to get her out of his system, that’s all. He had a life, goddammit, and it wasn’t in Reno frickin’ Nevada.

She wasn’t the type for a one-night stand, but maybe he could change her mind. He’d make sure she wouldn’t regret it. One night: that’s all it would take to get his fill, he was sure. Then things would go back to normal. He’d be back in control.

Spencer watched Starr’s Jetta pull up the drive just as JJ ran through the front yard, released at the corner from his school bus. She’d timed that perfectly. Now she could dote on JJ and avoid one-on-one time with Spencer the rest of the evening, at least until JJ went to bed.

And that’s exactly what she did.

Though she didn’t avoid Spencer completely. In fact, she went out of her way to include him in her conversations with JJ, as if trying to prove she could. It was inconsequential chatter accompanied by what seemed like a fake smile. He hadn’t realized how her smiles, her real smiles, lit up her entire face.

As the evening wore on, the air got heavier, the electricity palpable. A spark would send the entire house up in flames. He was pretty sure Starr felt it, pretty sure that’s what drove her to fuss in the kitchen and reorganize the cupboards while he battled JJ on the Xbox.

He was also pretty sure JJ would never go to bed. But finally, the kid got his fill of creaming Spencer in multiple rounds of Call of Duty.

“You were off your game tonight,” JJ said as he waved good night.

“There’s always tomorrow. ’Nite, kid,” Spencer said, walking into the kitchen. Finally, he and Starr would be alone.

He stopped and watched her place the last of the spices, now probably alphabetized, back into the cupboard. Her perfectly toned muscles stretched as she moved. He imagined those perfectly toned muscles under his.

She noticed him staring and turned to face him, waiting, most likely for him to speak. What should he say? He cleared his throat and forced out words. “It was a gorgeous day today.” Weather. He’d had an entire afternoon to plan his words, and that’s all he could come up with?

“Sure was.” Out came the plastic smile, the one that didn’t reach her eyes. A distancing technique, one he recognized because he used it more frequently than he cared to admit.

He walked to the sink, to where the dishes were drying, and picked up a towel.

She nodded toward the dishes. “I was going to dry those next.”

He shrugged. “I ate, too.” Besides, it positioned him next to her. “Where’d you go today?”

She bit her bottom lip before responding. Did she realize how much that drove him nuts? “I took a drive. Went up to Mount Rose.”

“The ski resort?” Spencer looked outside at the bone-dry landscape.

“There’s still snow up there. Skiing will last through the month.”

He stopped drying and shifted toward her. “You went skiing?”

Panic flashed in her eyes. She blinked it away. “No, it was just a drive. I haven’t been skiing in… I’m on a break.” She glanced from the hall doorway behind him to the screen door. She was priming to run again. But she’d run out on him twice now, and he wasn’t about to let it happen a third time. Not until he found out why—and then maybe he could convince her to stay.

“Why do you do that?” He tried to hold her eyes with his, but her gaze kept flitting about.

“Do what?” She stepped back.

“Every time we’re alone, you run.” He eased forward, closing the gap. “What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid.” She met his gaze and straightened her back as if to prove it, maybe to herself as much as to him. “This”—she motioned between them—“whatever it is, won’t work. We’re too different.”

He wanted her; he knew that she wanted him. It wasn’t different—or difficult. “How so?”

“You are the same guy at the casino bar a few nights ago, right? The one who dumped his girlfriend so callously?”

He shrugged. “I made up for it when I agreed to help her.” A weak defense. Starr cocked her head in seeming agreement.

So maybe he’d been a bit curt that afternoon. Fine, he’d been an ass. But Kate’s incessant whining had finally broken him. She’d been the one dating three guys when they’d met, which he was totally fine with. It wasn’t until she’d figured out which of them was more successful, in money and connections—an honor he really wished he hadn’t won—that she’d become so clingy.

Something told him his explanation would get him little sympathy from Starr.

“First, she wasn’t my girlfriend. And second, maybe that guy, the one at the bar, maybe he was having a bad day.”

She licked her lips. He wanted to lick her lips and every other inch of her body. She crossed her arms, drawing his attention to her plump, enticing curves. “Are you saying I’m wrong about you?”

When it came to women, he might not be the demon she thought he was, but he was no angel—as his inability to look away from her cleavage attested. “I’m saying, there’s nothing wrong with two consenting adults enjoying each other’s company.” He wasn’t looking for a relationship; he wanted to have fun. Usually, once his spider-sense tipped him off that a woman might want more, it was fairly easy to keep his distance. Until Starr.

They weren’t two ships passing in the night; she was a lighthouse, and he was on a collision course that threatened to sink him. Everything about her told him to stay away, and yet everything about her drew him in. But at least he was being honest by admitting it.

“I’m not interested,” she said with even less conviction than her “we’re different” argument.

“You’re lying—to yourself and to me.” She wanted him even though she knew she shouldn’t. It scared the hell out of her. Just like it did him—only he was done fighting it. He stepped closer and brushed his fingers across her forearm, leaving a trail of goose bumps. Her eyes widened. “Are you sure this doesn’t scare you?”

“No.” Her jaw tightened.

“Good. How about this?” He reached up, twisted one of her blond locks around his finger, and then secured it behind her ear, his fingertips gliding over her cheek.

“Not at all.” Her voice wavered.

She was a horrible liar. “I’m not dangerous,” he whispered. “Not to you.” He continued to play with her hair, her earlobe, her neck. He wanted to let his lips follow the same path. Would she let him?

“I know.” She stared at him, her eyes swirling with confusion. “It’s still not good.”

He sucked in air, surprised at how her words kicked him in the gut. An overwhelming urge took over to take her in his arms and show her how good they could be together. He moved closer, watching her reaction and giving her time to move away. She didn’t.

His lips brushed hers, lightly, once, then again. Still she didn’t move away. He deepened the kiss. When his tongue probed, her lips parted, welcoming him. She tasted like chardonnay and honey. She smelled like lilacs.

God, he loved lilacs. He would never get enough.

He backed her up until her luscious backside hit the Formica countertops. He rested his hands on her hips, his tongue still tangled with hers, savoring her taste. Her hands slid up his arms to rest on his shoulders. He wanted to touch her skin, explore every inch of her body, and claim her as his. But he forced himself to go slow. She was safe with him; she could trust him.

His lips left her mouth and nibbled her cheek, her chin. His teeth grazed her earlobe. She moaned, a tremor running through her body, and then pulled him closer.

He complied, pushing against her, imagining himself inside her, while his fingers traced a path from her hips to her ribs, his thumbs teasing the underside of her breasts. She weaved her fingers through his hair, her lips finding his once again, her body shifting, rubbing against him. Dear God, he’d go out of his mind if he didn’t get her into his bed soon.

“Come to my room,” he whispered in between kisses.

“We can’t.”

His thumb grazed her breast, teasing. She sucked in a breath, and he drank it in, then nibbled her lower lip.

“Come to my room. Please.” He pulled back. “I promise you’ll be safe.”

Her doe eyes, steeped in passion, held his. “Okay.”

He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.