Barefoot in Lace (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 2) (10 page)

There, she fell to her knees and yanked the door open, gulping the first wave of refrigerated air. She didn’t remember being quite this hot in the warehouse, although she hadn’t ever been faced with a man built like a god and looking at her like…
that
.

She lifted the hair of her wig to get some of the refrigerated air on her neck.

“C’mon, Gussie. Take it off.”

His voice jolted her, and not just because she hadn’t heard him come down the hall. But because it was low and sincere and slid over her, as cool as the refrigerated air, only it did nothing to chill her body. Quite the opposite.

She didn’t answer, leaning closer to the cold air.

“It’s only the two of us,” he said. “And I’ve already seen what you’re hiding. I don’t want you to faint.”

Then he probably should stopping searing her with every look and burning her with every touch.

“I took my shirt off.”

Yes, that was a big part of the problem. “Not quite the same.”

“Sure, it is.” He was getting closer. She could tell without turning around. Maybe five feet behind her. “It’s hot as hell, Gussie, and you’d feel better.”

Before she took her next breath, he was next to her on the floor. She opened the door a little wider to share the cold air, but he reached in and grabbed a chilled bottle of water. He twisted the top and lifted it to her lips.

“Drink it. You’re flushed.”

“Of course I’m flushed. It’s a hundred and ten in here, and you’re”—hotter than that—“half naked.”

He laughed, pressing the bottle to her mouth. “That’s not why you practically passed out.”

“Didn’t help.” She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, letting him pour some water into her mouth. It was so icy cold, chilling her mouth and dribbling down the side of her cheek. She didn’t care, it felt so good.

“Ahh,” she sighed after the drink. “Have some. You need it, too.”

He leaned closer and flicked his tongue over the water on her cheek. “That’s all I need.”

She closed her eyes, heat that had nothing to do with the lack of air conditioning rising again. “More water,” she murmured.

He complied, giving her another big sip, then he pulled the bottle back but kept it tilted so the stream poured over her chin and neck and chest. Instantly chilled, she shivered, but kept her head back because it felt so damn good.

“I need more,” he whispered, coming right back to put his mouth over her jaw and capture a drop.

She stifled a laugh. “You could use the bottle.”

“Too conventional.” His lips followed the trail of water down her throat and over her collarbone.

“This is not making me cooler,” she said, eyes closed and fingers curling into the rough industrial carpeting. If she didn’t cling to something, she was going to grab hold of those ink-covered shoulders.

“My bad,” he whispered, shocking her by pouring more water down her chest, soaking her shirt.

She shrieked and laughed, backing up, but it was too late. The crop top was soaked. “What are you doing?”

“Getting a drink.” He looked down at the wet top, then lowered his head to lick right over her cleavage.

She couldn’t help it. She put her hands on his shoulders, squeezing for the pure pleasure of feeling the muscles, then dragged her fingers over his skin, under his sweat-dampened hair and then over his scalp, moaning a little as she finally got to touch his glorious hair.

Threading the silk through her fingers, she practically cried at the glory of it. “You cut one inch of this, and I’ll kill you.”

Chuckling, he planted deadly little kisses up her chest and throat, finally reaching her mouth, his tongue surprisingly cool as he traced her lips to start the kiss.

There was no way to stop him, no way she could possibly convince herself that this wasn’t the right thing to do. Instead, she tunneled her fingers deeper into his hair, angling his head to get him exactly where she wanted him, opening her mouth, and meeting every stroke of his tongue with hers.

Her body hummed with the clash of hot skin and cold water, his kiss divine on her lips while his hands were…on her wig. She clutched his head, and he did the same, easily slipping off the barrier that protected her from the world. He managed to get his hands in her real hair as he slowly pushed her onto her back and kissed every single drop of common sense right out of her.

So he had an expiration date? For one crazy second, Gussie couldn’t have cared less…as long as it lasted through the next kiss.

Chapter Eight

He wanted her wig off. He wanted her top off. Hell, he wanted her to
get
off, but Tom settled for losing himself in her natural hair as he laid Gussie down on the floor.

Body to body, heartbeat to heartbeat, mouth to mouth. Every part of him was growing happier and harder with each kiss. So he increased the pressure where his hips rested over hers and was rewarded with a soft, quick whimper of pure pleasure.

And another that was not quite so pleasurable, but strong enough that he lifted his head to get a good look at her.

“I’m not going to lose that damn bet,” she murmured, her expression taut, as if her body and brain were in the midst of a raging battle.

He frowned at the statement that made no sense. “What bet?”

“The one that will cost me Blue Raspberry Flipsticks. Look at this face,” she said, staring right up at him. “What do you see?”

Soft, natural, golden-brown hair spread carelessly around, pouty lips wet from kissing, green irises lost in pupils wide with arousal. What did he see? Someone he wanted. He shifted so his hard-on didn’t answer for him. “A beautiful woman.”

“Nice try, but this face?”

“If you start talking about not being—”

“This is the face of a Flipstick hoarder,” she said. “And I am not going to lose the bet. I mean, I want to lose that bet. You’re making me really want to lose that bet, but I know that isn’t smart at all.”

He had no freaking idea what a Flipstick was, but he got the gist of what she was saying. “You bet on me? On sex with me?” he surmised.

“On
not
having sex with you. I bet against you.”

He let out a soft choke of disdain. “What did I do to deserve that?”

“Nothing, but I’m not…” She let the words fade into silence.

“Interested?” he guessed.

She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “I’ve got eyes and a working female hormone system. And hands”—she tugged at the hair she still held—“and a body.”

“Quite a nice one, too.”

Torturing him, she rocked her hips a millimeter, enough to get a rise. “Yep, the interest is there,” she confirmed. “For both of us.”

“So what aren’t you? Willing? Free? Capable?”

She laughed. “I’m willing enough to make out on a warehouse floor. And I don’t have a man in my life, so I’m free. And last time I checked, everything worked fine, so I’m completely capable.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Look, I met you yesterday. We’re working together. And you…” She bit her lip, a sure sign she was trying to hold back what she really wanted to say. He was what? A drifter? A hedonist? A headache for a woman who wanted permanence and stability?

Instead of denying the truth, he relaxed against her, heading right back for that sweet spot under her ear he’d just discovered. “We can go really slow. We have all day.”

She half-laughed. “It would still mean we met yesterday.”

As much as it pained him, he rolled off her, and not only to give his erection a break. He wanted her to know he heard her, loud and clear. But he stayed on the floor next to her, casually picking up the water bottle and holding it over her.

“Still hot?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He tipped the bottle and dribbled more water right over her breasts, taking that as an excuse to stare at them, his mouth already watering and his hands itching. “How slow do we have to take it?” he asked.

She rolled onto her side, propping her head on one hand. “Do you always get the woman you go for twenty-four hours after you meet her?”

Most of the time. But he didn’t want to blow this one with arrogance. “If it’s meant to be,” he said, purposefully vague.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that…” His gaze dropped down to the water sluicing over her breastbone, forming a rivulet over her skin, and forcing him to reach one finger and slide through that sliver of transparent heaven.

Her eyes shuttered, but she didn’t collapse into him like he’d hoped.

“It means that when it feels right and it’s what we both want…” He trailed his finger up her throat so slowly he felt her swallow under his touch. “And there’s no good reason to stop…” He glided over her chin, her lower lip, and slipped his fingertip into her mouth. “Then I do what feels right and good and…” He leaned forward, replacing his finger with his mouth to kiss her again.

She let him, not fully returning the kiss, but not stopping it, either.

“You really are a pleasure seeker,” she said.

“Who isn’t? You’re a dipstick hoarder. Whatever that is, I bet you get pleasure from it.”

She laughed, her eyes dancing and her smile wide and inviting. “Flipsticks. They’re candy. Ari, the wedding set designer you met today? We both love vintage candy and have a weakness for a good bet. So we wager on things.”

“Like who you’ll have sex with.”

“Or not, as the case may be.”

He tipped the bottle again, letting only one drop fall on her cheek. It rolled toward her lips, and she licked it off with a quick flick of her tongue.

Which forced a little grunt of sexual frustration out of his throat. “How well do we have to know each other before the inevitable happens?” he asked.

She eyed him for a few seconds, letting the sparks ping between them. “Do you think it’s inevitable?”

“Don’t you?”

Her eyes fluttered closed when he said that, the way they would have if he had touched her somewhere sensitive and sweet. “I can’t…” She bit her lip. “Never mind.”

“No, not never mind. Why do you do that?” He leaned over her to look down into her eyes and freed her lower lip with one finger. “You start to say something and then don’t finish.”

“Because I remember why I shouldn’t and stop myself before it’s too late. Bad habit.”

“Yes, it is. Say what you’re thinking,” he chided.

“I’m just trying to show caution and restraint.”

“Caution is the death of a good shot, and restraint is a guarantee of boredom, and they both kill creativity. Why would you want to do that?”

“I can’t…” She bit her damn lip again, but her eyes were smiling as she realized what she was doing.

“Say it, Gussie. You can’t what?”

She put both hands on his chest and eased him back. “I can’t hop into bed with a guy I know I have…no…” She swallowed hard. “No real connection with,” she finished quickly. “It doesn’t feel right. And I don’t mean a forever kind of future, but a real connection.”

Was she nuts? “This is a connection.”

“A physical connection.”

“So? You never have sex just for fun?”

“Not…no, I really don’t.” She shrugged, as if she didn’t care how provincial she sounded. “I like to be in a relationship, which I’m going to guess is a word you like only slightly less than ‘caution.’”

He couldn’t argue with that truth. “Gussie, relationship and caution are up there with commitment, home, forever, family, and security on the Things That Tom Avoids List.” At the flash of disappointment in her eyes, he sat up. “I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, but I’m nothing if not honest.”

“Not an asshole, just a bad bet. I don’t like to make those.” She pushed up. “You’re honest, so I will be, too. I’m not the kind of woman who throws caution to the wind along with the rest of my clothes and screws your gorgeous brains out right here on the warehouse floor.”

He nodded slowly. “I respect that. I hate it,” he added, getting up slowly to end the almost tryst. “But I respect it.” He studied her for a moment, not even sure what the feeling was that wrapped around his chest and squeezed. Attraction, affection, yeah. He’d been through all that. This was something different. This was…

A
connection
.

Exactly what he never wanted to have. And she needed.

So he should have been thanking her for putting a stop to the inevitable. Because with a woman like Gussie, it might not end as easily as he’d like.

* * *

For the second time in one day, Gussie was thinking about…expiration dates. Only this one was stamped on the egg carton and had passed three days ago. Would it kill her to eat them? Because she was starved, and the cupboard—at least the refrigerator—was bare if she didn’t count old lettuce and some jelly. The pantry was full of nothing but candy and junk.

She lifted the edge of a plastic container that had once been a gorgeous chopped vegetable salad that Willow had made but was now a science experiment. She had to shop or—

Ari tapped on the kitchen door, opening it without waiting for an invitation. That wasn’t unusual. Since the three of them had moved into the triplex Victorian and each taken a separate apartment on a different floor, they rarely knocked.

“Should I have brought my Bit-O-Honey?” Ari asked with a teasing smile as she came in. “Or do I get Blue Raspberry Flipsticks for dinner?”

“Either one would be an improvement over anything else in here.” Gussie closed the refrigerator door and leveled a look at her friend. “Do you really think I did the deed at the warehouse? Have you met me?”

“You didn’t come back for a long, long time.”

“But I
did
come back, and you and Willow were gone.”

“We had to take Hailey and Rhonda over to Bud’s Buds for a last-minute check of the roses he got in, and then we zipped down to the Sweet Spot to talk cake issues.”

“What kind of issues?”

Ari waved a hand. “Name it. I tell you, everything that could go wrong for this stupid wedding has.”

“The mother of the bride is the only thing that’s gone wrong with this wedding. How did it go with Bud?”

“The world’s most miserable florist?” She pulled out a chair at the small eat-in table and slipped into it. “Somehow he managed to come through with blue roses that are not dyed.”