Josh met Madeline’s gaze, his heart beating at an inexplicably rapid rate. What did this attraction mean? All he knew was his desire to stay didn’t have anything to do with not setting a bad precedent for Ava.
Was this merely a shared taste in wine and respect for the work she was doing at the Kocher Mansion? Or because she was a foot shorter than him with brown hair and glasses? She was a close match to his idea of perfection. But he knew that even having an idea of perfection was beyond messed up. People came in all different shapes and backgrounds, and idealizing one type over another was wrong.
Still, knowing it was wrong didn’t change what he was attracted to, and Madeline pressed all his good buttons, and a few of the wonderfully bad ones. He lifted the glass from the coffee table and held it out to her. “I’d like to stay.”
Her eyes lit up, and she gave him a sweet, sexy smile. “Let me refill your wine, then.”
She returned with the bottle and poured them both a second glass, then dropped onto the sofa beside him, an inch or two closer than she’d sat before. She plucked an olive from the tray and popped it in her mouth, relaxed now. The tension had left her shoulders. “Want to see pictures of Trina from when we were in college?”
He startled, completely caught off guard by the question. Trina at twenty? He sort of did want to see that. But he shouldn’t. Wished he didn’t. He took a sip of wine as he searched for a response. “Hard to imagine Dr. Sorensen as an undergrad.”
“Right? But she was. Cute as a button too. I can prove it.” She rose from the love seat and crossed to a shelf full of photo albums. The woman had actual photo albums, with printed pictures and everything. He didn’t know anyone who still did that.
She returned to the sofa, and this time, she sat so close, he could feel her body heat. She placed the album between them. Opened, it was wide enough to cover both their laps.
“We met during summer term before our junior year. We were both taking history courses—her to get a jump on her major, me on my minor. The classes were small in the summer, and we shared notes and ended up pulling all-nighters studying together, quizzing each other.”
She flipped the pages, and there was Trina, looking exactly the same as she did now. When he first met her, he’d been surprised to learn she was thirty—she’d looked like she was twenty, twenty-five tops. Now thirty-five, she was still carded regularly. But in these photos, Trina really was twenty. She wore different glasses and her hair was longer, and she gave the camera flirty looks.
There were photos of the two women dancing, laughing, drinking. Playing board games. At an amusement park on Lake Erie called Cedar Point. As the pages turned, he realized the entire album was devoted to Dr. Trina Sorensen in all her moods.
He focused on a picture, tight on Trina’s face. She was beautiful, as always, but this photo said more about the photographer. He spoke his thought as it formed. “You were…in love with her?”
“Yes. For a while.”
He lifted his gaze from the Trina buffet. “And Trina? Did she love you?”
Madeline smiled and shook her head. “Not in the same way. We only kissed once. She…didn’t like it. I did.” She flipped the page, and there were pictures of the two of them in a restaurant, cheek to cheek, smiling for the camera. “It was thanks to my feelings for Trina that I realized I was bisexual. But she isn’t, so all we could be was friends.”
“Your feelings for her didn’t cause problems in your friendship?”
“At first, there was tension, but she wasn’t available to me in a very clear and final way. I had to accept that and figure out my own self. Plus, we didn’t pretend nothing had happened. We talked about it after the kiss that went nowhere.”
She smiled and leaned back against the cushion, lifting her arm to rest her elbow on the low back of the couch in the small space between them. “After that, every time she went on a bad date, she’d come home to our apartment and we’d watch a movie and eat Rocky Road ice cream, and she’d usually say something like, ‘Sometimes, I really wish I were gay.’ And I’d say, ‘Me too.’ But it was a joke, because I’d moved on. I dated women and men and did my best to figure out what I wanted.”
“And what did you learn?” His voice had gone husky at the intimacy of their position and conversation.
She leaned her head on the hand, bringing her face close to his. “That I can love both men and women, and betrayal hurts no matter the gender of the partner.”
“You’ve been burned. At least twice.”
“Yes.”
“Are you seeing anyone right now?”
“Nope. My last serious relationship ended a year ago.” She cocked her head. “So, tell me about you, Josh. What do you look for in a woman, assuming you aren’t gay?”
He smiled and leaned closer. “Not gay. Nor am I bi. In general, I like women who are short—like about a foot shorter than me. Brown hair. And who wear glasses.”
Her grin deepened. “That’s…very specific.”
“What can I say? I have a type. And you, Madeline? When it comes to men, do you have a type?”
“Tall, muscular. Maybe a bit badass and protective. Brown eyes. The kind of guy who will show up at a moment’s notice to help out a woman in distress.”
It was his turn to grin. “So, when you kissed Trina, did you ask first, or did it just happen?”
“I asked first.”
“Show me. How you kissed her. That one time.” His words came out in a husky whisper.
Her eyes flared hot, and she hesitated for the barest moment, then she leaned forward, closing the small bit of distance left between them, and pressed her mouth to his.
Her lips were soft as they brushed over his. Gentle. Welcoming but not demanding.
He parted his lips, and she did the same. The kiss started soft and languid, but the heat and taste of her lit a fire in him, and he cupped the back of her head as he took the kiss deeper, his tongue invading her warm mouth, stroking and tasting. He no longer thought of Trina or any other woman. Just Madeline, who tasted like a fine pinot noir and woke his body from a long coma.
His cock thickened, nudging at the photo album that remained open across their laps. He wanted to move the bulky item to the table, but didn’t want to end the kiss.
Madeline made the decision for him and inched closer, causing it to slide to the floor. He placed a hand on her waist and pulled her to him, until their bodies were as flush as possible given their positions on the couch. He left her mouth and ran his lips over her jaw and neck before finally raising his head and saying, “There must be something wrong with Treen, because you are a really excellent kisser.”
A laugh burst from her, her whole face alight. God, she was beautiful. He wanted to make her laugh like that again. Wanted to watch her face as he made her feel all sorts of emotions and sensations.
“Thank you. You’re a fine kisser yourself.”
He gripped the back of her hair and kissed her again, long and deep, resisting the urge to pull her onto his lap. He wouldn’t bring her into contact with his heavy erection unless she wanted to be introduced.
Her hands stroked his shoulders and moved down his chest, exploring. She made sexy sounds as she ran her hands over his pecs, then shifted to his biceps and triceps.
Damn, he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d had a surprise make-out session with a beautiful woman. He wanted to savor this like a fine pinot. Sip her slowly. Enjoy the bouquet and complex flavors. She was crisp, sweet, and hot. He chuckled as he kissed her, remembering the term hot when applied to wine meant overly alcoholic. That might be apt here, because the longer they kissed, the more likely he was to get drunk on this feeling.
“What’s so funny?” she asked as her hands made their way to his abs.
“You are even more fine than the pinot.”
Her laugh was light, joyful, and utterly sexy. “I wish I hadn’t blown Trina off when she suggested we meet.”
His lips grazed her neck. “Same. But we’ve fixed that now.”
Her hand inched south, and he took that as permission to do his own exploring. The hand on her hip shifted to cup her ass. She had generous curves—very different from his previous preference—and felt so damn good in his arms.
Her exploring fingers reached the waistband of his slacks. She pulled at the fabric of his shirt, untucking the button-down and sliding her warm hands up beneath it to touch his bare abs. He copied her movements, sliding a hand under her top and grazing her ribs on the way north. His thumb brushed over her bra, finding a nipple, when the phone in his breast pocket vibrated.
She felt it too, and they separated, removing hands from under clothes, as if someone had walked into the room and they were breaking some sort of rule. They were both out of breath, and God, he was so damn hard, his dick pressed against his belt. He’d been able to ignore the pain of the restriction when forward progress was in the works, but now he had to shift to relieve the pressure before he could check his phone.
Ava. Damn.
“Sorry. I have to take it.”
She nodded. “I understand.” She pulled back, retreating as far as she could into her corner of the love seat—which wasn’t very far at all.
He smiled at her, liking how she looked all disheveled. Her chest rose with a hint of heavy breathing and her hair was mussed, with headband skewed, thanks to his fingers. He wanted to take a picture to add to her photo album. This was how she looked after a sudden and intense make-out session. Imagine how she’d look after he gave her an orgasm.
He intended to find out.
He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. Time to be Ava’s guardian, not some rando who wanted to bang a woman he’d met less than two hours ago.
“What’s up, Ava?”
“I have a pain in my side, and I looked up the symptoms, and I think it’s appendicitis.”
He blew out a breath. This was a new tactic. “Describe the pain.”
“It started suddenly around my navel. It gets worse when I cough. Oh. And it…shifted to my lower abdomen.” Her words were stilted, like she’d read them online.
He closed his eyes. “Left side or right side?”
“Left. I mean right! Definitely right.”
“I’ll be home in an hour.”
“But—I have a fever. A hundred and four!”
“You should have led with that. A hundred and four is serious. Tell me, where did you find the thermometer?”
“It was in the drawer in your bathroom, with all the old man stuff like the Bengay, hair dye, and hemorrhoid cream.”
He laughed. She knew she was busted and was smart enough to deflect with humor. God, he loved her. His brother might be a dipshit asshole, but his daughter was amazing.
“I’ll be home in an hour.” He hit the End button and met Madeline’s gaze. “We should do a walk-through of your house, make sure you’re secure.”
She nodded. “She okay?”
“She’s fine, but I should head home. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. She comes first. I get that. And we can…pick up where we left off later.”
He smiled. “I’d like that. A lot.”
He regrouped and returned to full business mode as he checked out her home. It took twenty minutes, and he made several recommendations for both her home security system and general personal protection.
By the time they reached her front entryway, it was as if they’d never had a make-out session on the couch. “I’m more concerned about the back door than the front. I know light pollution sucks, but you need a bright light in the back—all night long—for the duration of this project.”
“Will do. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you called Trina, and not because you have amazing taste in wine. Listen to your instincts on this. Troy Kocher is bad news.”
“It means a lot to hear you say that. I spent the day wondering if I was nuts.”
He tucked her hair behind her ear. She’d taken off the headband after getting a glimpse of her hair in the bathroom mirror during the house tour. Free of restraint, her short hair had more curl than he’d realized. She was ten different kinds of gorgeous—sultry, girl next door, brainiac, to name a few. He liked every facet.
He gave in to impulse and cupped the back of her head, then stooped to kiss her even as he nudged her back to the wall. The heat level of the kiss went from spark to conflagration in seconds.
Without realizing how it happened, he found her legs wrapped around his hips and his arms beneath her ass, supporting her weight as he ground his erection into her center. She fit into his arms so perfectly, her short frame molded to his.
She moaned. He groaned. If he had a condom handy, he had no doubt he’d be shoving aside her panties as she opened his fly.
But he didn’t want a quickie by the front door. He wanted her spread out on his bed. He wanted his mouth on her. Her mouth on him. He wanted slow and hot and to act out every fantasy he’d harbored for the last five years.
He jerked back, the last thought a kick in the gut.
What am I doing?
He blew out a deep breath as he set her on her feet. “Lock up behind me. Call if you hear anything odd. I don’t care if it’s nothing. Better safe than the alternative.”
She looked up at him with those big, beautiful blue eyes framed in sexy glasses. She nodded and said, “Promise.”
“Good. Call me tomorrow night. I want a full report, and we can decide next steps for handling Kocher from there.”
“’Kay.”
He brushed his lips over hers in a soft goodbye, then opened the door and stepped outside into the warm summer night air. “Night, Madeline.”
Her eyes held a happy, sexy heat as her mouth curved in a warm smile. “Night, Josh.”
Inside the car, he pressed his forehead to the steering wheel. He liked her, a lot, but what if…what if she was just a mental replacement? Was he the kind of asshole who would use her that way?
The drive home took twenty minutes, and he didn’t have any answers as he pulled into the garage of the house he’d purchased with the help of his best friend and boss.
“Did you have sex with her?” Ava asked the moment he stepped into the kitchen.
He frowned at her and mentally counted to three. He would never yell at her, but he’d grown up in a house with parents who yelled—a lot—so the instinct was there. It was a default setting he had to remember to reset. “That is none of your business.”
“You did! You had sex with her! Otherwise, you’d deny it.”
“No. I refuse to answer inappropriate questions, and my sex life is not open for discussion with you.”
“You like her. That’s why you were gone so long.”
He fixed her with a look. “How’s the appendix?”
She crossed her arms. “I guess it was just something I ate.”
“Suuure.”
He sighed and took a step forward, then enfolded her in his arms. She went willingly and, a moment later, let out a sob. “You’re going to fall in love with her, and she’s going to hate me and be like every wicked stepmother ever and try to send me away, and you’ll let her because I’m not your daughter and love makes people assholes.”
“Ava, no such thing will ever happen. I would never let anyone send you into foster care again. You know that.”
“You say that, but you’ll feel differently once she gets her claws into you.”
He couldn’t help it, he laughed. “Why are you so certain she has claws?”
“It’s not funny!”
“It is. And if you’d met Madeline, you’d think it was ridiculous. She’s a nice woman who needed help. She’s working in the creepiest crypt and studying human remains that were looted over eighty years ago by a Nazi named Otto. And his great-grandson is big, mean, and intimidating. He wears a gun on his belt and spent all day, before I got there, standing way too close to Madeline. Imagine how that must have scared her.”
But Ava wasn’t ready to hear it. “Nuh-uh. You’re making that up. There weren’t Nazis in the US.”
“There were plenty of Nazis in the US in the thirties, just like there are Nazis here now. They call themselves names like Proud Boys, Alt-Right, or White Patriots, but they’re white supremacist, neo-Nazi hate-mongers just the same. And odds are Otto’s great-grandson, who was with Madeline in the crypt hovering too close and scaring her, is one of them.”
She pulled away from his hug. “You were stuck in a crypt with a Nazi with a gun? Does he know you’re Jewish?”
“Well, I didn’t point it out, but my nose probably gave me away.”
“You can’t go back there.”
“I can take care of myself, Ava. I was a SEAL, and I work in private security. I can handle one pathetic troll.”
“But it’s the trolls who are the worst. They’re the ones who’re most likely to shoot up a school.”
Josh knew the active shooter drills and false alarm lockdowns at her school had ratcheted up her anxiety even further.
He’d been in his early twenties and in the Navy when he first started training for that sort of thing, because it was his actual job. Ava had been eleven. Her job had been sixth grade.
“One of the trolls at school threatened Marcus last year,” she said softly. “The guy was suspended for the rest of the semester, but with the new school year, he’ll probably be back. If that happens, Marcus will probably homeschool, and I’ll be all alone.” Tears rolled down her cheeks again, and she swiped at them. “I mean, I know it’s selfish to think of me when Marcus could be in danger. He needs to be safe. But I—I can’t face a year of having lunch alone.”
Marcus was Ava’s best friend since second grade. Last year, he’d come out as a trans male and begun transitioning. Josh didn’t even know what Marcus’s cisgender name had been and didn’t need to know. He was Marcus, one of the few rocks in Ava’s life.
Not surprisingly, Ari—Ava’s dad—had been awful. Ari had forbidden Ava from hanging out with Marcus and had accused his daughter of turning him in out of revenge for that. Another reminder of why this girl needed Josh’s undivided attention.
There was so much damage to undo. Meds and therapy were helping, but they could only do so much. She needed Josh’s unwavering support more than anything.
The time he’d spent with Madeline—the minutes that hadn’t been about the job—had been among the most enjoyable he’d had in a long time. But that’s all it was. Sexual attraction. Fun. An escape. Things that couldn’t—shouldn’t—be a priority right now.
And the connection he’d felt, it could have had more to do with similarities rather than genuine attraction.
No matter how he looked at it, it was a mistake. He couldn’t pursue anything with Madeline Foster right now. Not until Ava could trust he wouldn’t let her down.
Ava needed to come first. Period.
Two hours later, Josh was in the master bathroom, stepping into his shower. What an insane day.
He’d finally gotten a prospective client interview with the big-man-billionaire CEO. Within thirty seconds, it had been clear that the man had hoped hiring Raptor would give him access to Senator Ravissant. When Josh made it clear that there would be no quid pro quo access, the CEO had cut the meeting short.
It was par for the course when the owner of Raptor was an extremely rich politician who refused donations of more than fifty dollars. Rav couldn’t be bought, so the rich and powerful searched for a back door and thought Raptor would be the key. But Rav was a firm believer in the Emoluments Clause and made sure there was no pollination between his role as a senator and the clients of the company he owned.
Josh had been irritated at the wasted time. The billionaire should focus on buying a senator closer to home. But then, this was a Senate election year for Oregon, so maybe Cliff Nielsen was hedging his bets.
Prior to that failure of a meeting, Josh had gone to his daily workout at the nearby gym—usually the highlight of his day—but that last hour with Madeline won today’s popularity contest, hands down.
Jesus. She’d been so hot and sexy, and the sounds she’d made as he kissed her… He could have come right then and there. The hot water from the shower sluiced down his back, and his erection thickened as he relived each touch and taste. He stroked his cock. He closed his eyes and saw Madeline’s face. His hand moved slow at first, but with her soft pants and her firm, sexy touch in his mind, he quickly passed the controlled, measured stage.
He imagined her in the shower with him. First, he’d drop to his knees and lick her. He’d stroke his cock as he was doing now, as he made her come on his tongue. Then, if he was very lucky, she’d be on her knees before him, taking his cock into her mouth.
He braced a hand on the shower wall as he thrust his hips as if he was fucking her mouth, jerking his penis with slick, firm strokes. His orgasm came hard and fast. Powerful.
He sagged against the shower wall. The hot spray washed away his semen, and he caught his breath. For the first time in years, the face he’d envisioned as he stroked himself to orgasm was not Trina Sorensen’s. Not his best friend’s wife. And that was a relief and release all its own.