All Wrapped Up (A Pine Mountain Novel) (16 page)

“Now it’s your turn.” Ava wrapped her fingers around Brennan’s cock, caressing him over the thin layer of cotton. “Show me what you want.”

She thrust her hips against the motion of her hand, using both to recreate the sensual movement that had sent her over
the edge. Brennan arched into the curve of her fingers, the push sending his rock-hard length over the damp center of her panties.

“Here,” he ground out, his voice mingling with her pleasured gasp. “I want to be inside you, right here.” He broke the space between them, but just enough to lower the scrap of lace from around her hips. “I want to fill you up so many times, you lose your mind. I
want to be here.” His fingers swept between her thighs, sliding home with a thrust that made them both moan.

“Then don’t wait.” Ava mustered the last bit of her composure to pull off Brennan’s boxer briefs, planting a string of kisses over his neck as he slid the condom into place. Rolling her back against the mattress, he pressed her thighs apart with his frame, and she arced up to meet him
as he thrust forward to fill her.

“Oh
.
”
Absolute bliss collided with sheer, sexual desire in Ava’s veins. Brennan levered himself forward to cover her, moving slowly until there was no space between them where they were joined. He started a sinuous rhythm, and she answered every thrust with one of her own until they rocked together so seamlessly, there was simply no boundary between where he
ended and she began.

“God, Ava,” Brennan bit out, his lips rough against her shoulder. “You feel so fucking good.”

Pushing back from her chest, he centered his weight on his knees, gripping her hips and lifting her from the heated sheets to hold her flush with his body as he filled her again and again. The need for release coiled deep in Ava’s belly, and she gave in to every impulsive demand
streaming beneath her skin. She tipped her hips against the strength of Brennan’s movements, the angle bringing him to the spot where she needed him most.

“There,” she gasped, her body tightening further in delicious demand. “Oh, God, right . . .
there
.”

Ava’s orgasm crashed through her, and Brennan’s muscular frame went bowstring tight at the sound of her reckless cries. Desperate for him
to lose control, she knotted her legs around his waist to deepen their connection even more. His eyes darkened, nearly black and utterly fierce as his thrusts grew faster, matching the intensity of his gaze. Brennan dug his fingers into her hips, holding her even closer as his motions became deeper and more frenzied.

Sliding one hand to Ava’s shoulder, he pressed his chest against hers, covering
her with heat and friction and closeness so fierce, her breath flew out on ragged gasps. With one final thrust, Brennan groaned out a curse, calling her name as he locked his hips into hers and shuddered over the edge.

They lay together until their heavy breaths turned into slower draws of air, the comfortable weight of Brennan’s body covering hers with sweet familiarity. The sunlight poking
in through the blinds had coalesced to the shadows of late afternoon, sending thinly lined patterns onto the carpet beneath the window. He brushed a kiss over her forehead before slipping from the room, returning a few minutes later to lie back down at her side.

“I’ve got to hand it to you,” Ava said, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him more fully. “You
really
know how to relax a
girl.”

Brennan laughed, his whole face softening as he turned to put them face-to-face. “I’m fairly certain that’s a mutual talent, but I’m glad you feel better.”

The dread that had overwhelmed her earlier threatened to take another poke at her chest, but Ava dodged it with her battle-tested moxie.
Please, please, just give me this moment
. “I do feel better.”

“You want to talk about it?”

The simplicity of Brennan’s question had the word
yes
burning hot on her tongue. Reaching out, she wrapped her arms around his waist to pull him close, but when her fingers brushed over the extensive scar marking the skin of his lower back, they both froze.

“Do you?” Ava whispered, concern welling in her chest as her eyes flashed up to his.

“Not really.”

The wide-open honesty on Brennan’s
face marked his answer as the truth rather than a cover-up or an excuse. And as much as she wanted to listen if he needed her, right now Ava understood the need to forget.

“Okay,” she said, using the momentum of her arms around his body to roll him deftly against the warm sheets. “I’m here if you change your mind. But in the meantime, maybe we should explore the true purpose of a Sunday afternoon.”

A single dark brow lifted. “And what’s that?”

Ava smiled, parting her knees over his hips as she leaned in for a kiss that left no uncertainty about her intentions. “Relaxing, of course. After all, if we’re going to chill out, we might as well go all in.”

Chapter Sixteen

Brennan flipped through the inventory sheets on the clipboard in front of the Double Shot’s walk-in fridge, absolutely unable to erase the crooked smile from his lips. The Monday morning produce order had arrived earlier than usual, but not even the lack of extra downtime could knock his mood out of the oh-hell-yes stratosphere.

After ten hours, three cartons of Chinese delivery
food, and one really long,
really
hot shower together, Brennan and Ava had redefined the very nature of the word “relaxing.”

“Well. That’s not your usual fare.” Adrian’s gruff voice met him from the alcove leading to the back entrance, and he reached up to swing the brim of his Harley-Davidson baseball hat away from his narrowed eyes. Brennan recognized his buddy’s bid for a more thorough examination,
but for once, he didn’t care how closely Adrian looked at him.

“What?” Brennan asked, adding a whistle to his grin. “I can’t be in a good mood?”

Adrian went brows-up. “It’s nine o’clock on a Monday morning. In a word, no.”

“If you say so.” Brennan signed off on the updated inventory, moving toward the drink station at the pass-through to the dining room. He scooped just enough coffee grounds
into the filter basket to resuscitate a hibernating grizzly bear, hitting BREW for Adrian before grabbing a Coke for himself.

“Hmm.” Adrian raised his scruffy chin in thanks, his expression quickly going sour at the Coke in Brennan’s hand. “You know that’s not natural, right?”

Nope. Not even a raft of crap from his army tank of a boss was going to flatline Brennan’s incredible mood. “What,
this?” He toasted Adrian and took a long sip. He’d become so used to drinking soda instead of coffee in the morning, that the quirky habit barely registered with him anymore.

Adrian shrugged out of his leather jacket, trading the beat-to-hell garment for one of the clean aprons hanging on the wall next to the alcove. “Yes,
that
. Have you got something against good, old-fashioned coffee?”

“There’s such a thing as too much caffeine, you know.” Coffee had always thrown Brennan into overdrive. Which would’ve been great if he’d worked a nine-to-five, and even better if he’d clocked longer hours on a regular schedule. But doing twenty-four-hour shifts at an adrenaline-soaked firehouse meant getting enough sleep—sometimes at weird-ass hours and always at unpredictable intervals—was necessary
to a guy’s survival. Brennan had quickly learned to swap coffee for something lower grade. Catching decent shut-eye in a bunk full of jacked-up firefighters was hard enough without the caffeine buzz.

Not that he’d had to worry about it for two and a half years. Then again, his system had seen more than its fair share of chemical manipulation, and Brennan knew all too well that the detox—from
both the highs and the lows—was a bitch best left undisturbed.

“I think we’re gonna have to agree to disagree on that one,” Adrian said, filling his cup to the brim. “How’s your reporter?”

Brennan smiled, welcoming his good mood back with open arms. “That obvious?”

“Seeing as how your facial expressions normally range from serious to scowling, I’d say the shit-eating grin is a bit of a giveaway.”

“Why does everyone think I’m so serious?” Brennan argued, albeit without heat. So he had a moderately functioning work ethic. Sue a guy for wanting to be busy.

Adrian snorted, grabbing a frying pan from the open-air wire rack by the cooktop and setting it over one of the burners with a
clang
. “Maybe it’s because you do things like supervise produce deliveries at ungodly hours on your morning
off.”

Okay. The big man had a point. “Fine. But you’re serious too,” Brennan countered. The only thing Adrian took to heart more than cooking at the restaurant was Teagan, and she went hand in hand with the place, anyway.

His buddy shrugged, knotting an apron over his jeans and T-shirt combo. “Yeah, but I belong right here in the kitchen. Always have.”

The implication winged between them
before settling in Brennan’s gut like a stone. “Are you saying I don’t belong at the Double Shot?”

“Fuck, no.” Adrian pegged him with a gray green stare that backed up the affirmation 100 percent. “If I thought you weren’t solid, you wouldn’t work in my restaurant, man. All I’m saying is I get the feeling right here you belong somewhere else, you know?”

Adrian brushed a hand over the brick
slab of his chest, his gaze lingering on Brennan’s for just a second more before he bent down to grab some butter and eggs from the lowboy at his work station. Brennan opened his mouth to launch the tried and true
I’m fine
he’d relied on since the day he’d landed in Pine Mountain, but the words stopped short on his lips.

He had belonged somewhere else once. And in less than two weeks, he had
to face the glaring reminder of what he was missing.

Not to mention what he’d lost.

“Yeah.” Brennan’s back muscles thrummed with a low, familiar ache. “It’s kind of complicated.”

“I get it, believe me,” Adrian said. “But there’s a difference between being serious about what you’re made for and being serious about
denying
what you’re made for. You’re a damned good bar manager, and Teagan
and I are lucky to have you. But don’t lose sight of the important shit, okay?”

The image of Ava, scantily wrapped in one of his bath towels with her eyelashes still spiky-wet from their shower yesterday, jumped to center stage in Brennan’s mind, and the throb in his back eased up by just a fraction. “Okay.”

Adrian grinned. “Good. Now do you want some of these scrambled eggs? Because honestly,
your breakfast choices so far are giving me the goddamn shakes.”

With the tension in his system at a temporary standstill, Brennan took a plate full of eggs up to the Double Shot’s office. Though Monday was normally his day off, he’d come in to handle the produce delivery and complete the schedule for the handful of days he’d be missing next weekend when he went back to Fairview. Once the paperwork
was complete and in a folder on Teagan’s desk, Brennan had just enough time to clock out and change for his PT session with Kat. As tempted as he was to blow off the appointment in favor of catching a much-needed nap, he’d used some pretty rusty musculature yesterday with Ava, and not just once.

Cue the goofy-ass grin. Not even twelve hours had passed since Brennan had taken Ava back to her
car at the marina after their evening together, kissing her good-bye three times before she’d actually disentangled herself from his arms just before midnight. Even then, she’d run back for one last lingering kiss, pressing her phone number into his hand and telling him to call her whenever he wanted to relax.

He palmed his cell phone and dialed before he could get halfway across the Double
Shot’s parking lot.

“
Riverside Daily
, Ava Mancuso.”

Jesus, even her voice was brown-sugar sweet. “Morning, Ava Mancuso. How’s today’s news treating you?”

Her laughter filtered right from the phone line to his sternum. “Well, I suppose that depends.”

“On?”

“Whether or not one considers the Riverside Elementary holiday pageant news.”

Brennan slung the bag with his jeans and clean sweatshirt
into the back of the Trailblazer before sliding into the driver’s seat. “Ouch. Your boss still isn’t offering up the plum assignments, huh?” Truly, the guy sounded like a grade-A douche bag. The story Ava had done on the fire had been spot-freaking-on. She really deserved more credit than to be stuck with small-time stories.

“I’m afraid not,” she said with a barely audible sigh. “But writing
an article on the holiday pageant is better than writing nothing. Plus, the teacher in charge of the event has worked hard and the kids were all excited at the idea of being in the paper, so that’ll at least make writing the article fun.”

“Want to tell me all about it over lunch?” The offer sprang from his lips before he could check it against his normally stalwart voice of reason, but come
on. It was an impromptu bite to eat, not a complete loss of composure.

“You want to talk about my coverage of the elementary school holiday show?” Ava punctuated her surprise with a chirp of laughter, but Brennan didn’t budge.

“Sure. I’m off work, and I’ve got an appointment in Riverside anyway. What time do you normally take a break?”

“I could probably make it out of here by one for a quick
lunch,” she said. “But you really don’t have to talk shop with me on your afternoon off. ”

He flipped the Trailblazer’s key to check the clock on the dashboard, and yeah, the timing was perfect. “I know I don’t. Why don’t you meet me at the medical offices next to Riverside Hospital? There’s a great pizza place right across the street. The calzones are insane. What do you say?”

Ava paused,
but then Brennan swore he heard the smile break over her voice. “Sure. I’ll be there.”

“Great.” His own smile took over, and damn, it didn’t feel half bad to give the expression a little air time.

“It’s a date.”

 

 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you were trying to kill me outright.”

Brennan counted out a slow exhale into the cushions on the therapy table as Kat did her
level best to dismantle the muscles cradling his lumbar vertebrae. He’d swear she was more four-hundred-pound gorilla than petite five-foot-two physical therapist, but saying so out loud would only make his life exponentially more difficult. Not only was she hot and heavy with the Double Shot’s sous chef, Jesse, but she also had Brennan sunny side down on the table, and the main space of the open-air
therapy room was empty of any potential witnesses.

“Please. Don’t be such a baby,” she scoffed, pressing the flat of her palm against his T-shirt-covered back with ease. “It’s soft tissue manipulation, not Chinese water torture.”

Still, Kat scaled back on the pressure, shifting her weight from her position at the side of the padded table to split the leverage with her other hand on his shoulder.

“You say potato, I say bullshit. Ah, that’s good.” Brennan relaxed into the firm contact of Kat’s fingers, willing himself to open up to the sensation rather than fight it.

“It’s not bullshit if it works, tough guy.” She paused, assessing his lower back with her hands. “You’re actually pretty loose all the way through L5. Whatever exercises you’ve been doing this week seem to be working.”

He coughed out a laugh, pushing himself upright as Kat finished her last round of acupressure. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Hmm.” She tipped her head in obvious curiosity, her ponytail showcasing various hues from strawberry blond to gold-toned butterscotch, with a healthy batch of hot pink streaks thrown in for good measure. “How’s your pain been this week?”

“Fine.”

“You know better,” she
said, flipping her hand palm up and wiggling her fingers in a
give it up
gesture.

Damn it, he really needed a better default position. “On a scale of one to ten, it’s a four.”

Kat’s expression flickered, likely because she knew in vivid detail what had given Brennan the ten that had set the ceiling of his pain threshold. “Any spasms?” she asked, crossing the open space where the three therapy
tables stood to grab a bottle of water from one of the cabinets by the exercise equipment on the opposite wall.

“One.” He might not have had a full-fledged spasm in a while, but that didn’t mean he had to get all gabby with his details. The spasm had been easily dispatched. Talking about it wouldn’t change anything.

Of course, Kat frowned, and there went his choice in the matter. “Could you
pinpoint the trigger? Any sudden change in movement or added stress?”

“Not really,” Brennan said, although the words felt like metal shavings in his mouth. The muscles that had just gone lax at Kat’s ministrations threatened to seize at the memory of the phone call from his sister, and he inhaled in an effort to relax them.

“You know, the stress doesn’t have to be a literal force, like lifting
something you’re not supposed to or staying on your feet for too long.” The armful of beaded bracelets circling her wrists clicked softly as she passed over the bottle of water with a knowing look. “Mental anxiety can contribute to back spasms just as easily as physical duress.”

“I know, Kat. But really, I’m good.”

She paused. “You’ve functionally recovered from both a devastating back injury
and an addiction to prescription painkillers, Brennan. That makes you more than good in my book. But it’s not your body I’m worried about.”

Before he could argue, Kat added, “I told you when we started that alternative therapy has to work from the neck up. You don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to. But you’re not supposed to need this on an extended basis—it’s my job to get
you through flare-ups and provide maintenance therapy, not treat you indefinitely.”

Brennan’s gut did a slow descent toward his cross-trainers. “I know I torqued things up a week and a half ago at Joe’s. But the pain’s getting better.” Not that he didn’t deserve a little pain. Checks and balances, and all that shit.

“Okay,” Kat said, tucking her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants. “All
I’m saying is it might do you some good to air out whatever’s bothering you to someone who makes you feel comfortable. Relax your mind, and a lot of times, your body follows.”

The words hooked into Brennan’s mind, settling in all at once. Although he hadn’t intended for Ava to stumble upon the back spasm in question, he
had
felt comfortable that day they’d done yoga, and that comfort had only
grown over the past week.

But telling her he’d suffered a back injury a handful of years ago was one thing. Copping to the circumstances that had led to it—not to mention the out of control need to destroy the pain that had so thoroughly ruled him afterward—was enough to make the most honest man hide.