Flip This Love (22 page)

Oh, the magic words. Had they ever failed? She pondered the possibility as he lunged for the nightstand and yanked open a drawer. Every slow-talking Southern man moved in double-time the minute they were spoken. Add in the heaping helping of Harley’s determination, and she got one hard, hot man suited up and sliding into home before she had a chance to second-guess the decision.

She moaned, tensing only for a moment as her body stretched and yielded to the invasion. He felt so good on top of her. Solid and sure. She loved the way the crisp, curling hairs on his legs and chest tickled her skin. The muscles of his back were smooth and taut. Giving in to the pure decadence of him, she closed her eyes as she ran her hands up and down the thick ridges on either side of his spine. During her time in New York, she’d worked with some of the finest silks, smoothest satins, and most luxurious wools, but none could compare to the texture of Harley’s bare skin. She wanted him to wrap himself around her, warm and secure, and cover her in every way.

He felt so damn good, she nearly lost herself in the pure animal instinct to take him into her, drain him dry, and keep him as part of her forever. But then, there was a condom between them. And something more. She opened her eyes and found him pressed up on his hands, his chest heaving with exertion as he pumped into her, but his gaze fixed somewhere over her head. Her confusion gave way to a small surge of pleasure when she noted the lines of strain creasing his forehead. Figuring he was running baseball numbers or reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, or doing whatever guys did to distract themselves during sex, she smiled and brushed her hand over his scruffy cheek.

“Hey, big guy.”

Harley growled low in his throat but didn’t look down at her. Instead, he raised his hips a bit higher and began to thrust into her from a slightly different angle. It drew the length of his cock over her clit with each stroke. For a second, she thought the change in positioning might work. He slid in and out of her as if they were two parts of a whole. But all she could hear was his ragged breathing and the wet slap of bodies. How was she supposed to get there when he wasn’t driving her crazy with the sexy nonsense that usually rolled off his tongue with such ease?

She had passed the point of diminishing returns and the realization hit her like a bucket of ice water. A sob of frustration rose in her throat. This wasn’t fair. Poor Harley was slick with perspiration. She wanted this. Her hands slid over his sweat-streaked back. She wanted to come. Feeling like a failure, she watched as the proof of his valiant efforts beaded on his lip and forehead. She needed him to look at her. But he wasn’t. Wouldn’t.

A tiny little, “Oh,” slipped out as a giant fist squeezed her heart.

It was enough to make him step up the pace. Wincing, she closed her eyes. This was clearly one of those fake or break moments. She could either put her acting skills to the test, or risk cracking his confidence by telling him outright she was a non-starter. She’d never been a big believer in pretending to get off. Frankly, she’d never cared enough about any man she’d been with to worry overmuch about his feelings in such a situation. But she cared about Harley’s. Cared way too much to be dishonest with him.

Lifting her other hand, she bracketed his cheeks, commanding his attention. “Harley?
Cher
?”

When his gaze met hers at last, she sucked in a sharp breath. It wasn’t lust or hunger darkening his eyes to the color of the stormy sea. Anger. Anger blazed in those gorgeous eyes. Laney'd grown so used to seeing warmth, desire, or even amusement there. Frustration and irritation, yes, but never outright anger. She stared up at him for a moment, frozen. Harley was angry with her. The realization stole the breath from her body. He was pissed, though God only knew what gave him the right to be ticked off when he was the one who betrayed her, and he had the balls to fuck her anyway?

Oh, hell no.

She forced her muscles to go lax, then met his gaze again. This time, with some fire of her own. But her voice was cool, oh-so-cool, as was the polite smile she graced him with before giving his shoulders a hard shove. “You might as well give it up,
sugar
.” She took a petty little pleasure in watching his mouth tighten when she used his favorite endearment on him. “This isn’t gonna happen.”

To her shock, he simply nodded and pulled out. “Nope. You’re right, it isn’t.”

And with the same lightning-fast agility she’d admired a few minutes earlier, the man was up, wearing the snug gray boxer briefs she liked too damn much, and tossing the condom into a bedside trash can. One he kept there for that purpose for all she knew. Indignation flared inside her, heating her cheeks and making her heart beat a rumba. Crossing an arm over her breasts, for no real reason other than she didn’t want to give him a smidge more than she already had, she rolled off the massive bed. Her bare feet slapped wide-planked floors polished to a high sheen. She snatched her clothes from their various landing spots and started to dress as quickly as she could. Unfortunately, it could be damn hard to hook a bra clasp while trembling with rage.

“Argh!” Throwing the stretchy lace onto the wrinkled bedspread, she jerked her shirt over her head.

“A good look for you.”

“Go to hell, Harley.” She yanked her panties into place and released the elastic with an angry snap. It wasn’t until she straightened the legs of her jeans and shoved a leg into them that she realized her underwear was inside out. Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered other than the fact that this man had once again made a fool out of her and she was damn sick and tired of his blowing hot and cold. “You know, I don’t know what your deal is, but I can’t take it anymore.”

“My deal?” He dared to sound incredulous. “I’m not the one who goes flying off the handle before anyone can ever get a word in edgewise. I’m not the one who holds everything important back, but isn’t the least bit shy about letting the bullshit fly.”

His voice edged closer to an outright shout on the last, and her hands stilled on the fly of her jeans. “Holding back? Holding back?” She jumped an octave the second time, but told herself it was only to keep things even. Flipping her hair from the collar of her shirt, she shook her head in disbelief as she crammed her feet into her flats. “I came over here tonight to—”

Laney caught herself in time. She didn’t owe this man anything. Not an apology. Not an orgasm. And certainly not her heart.

Pivoting, she stomped out of his bare bones bedroom, her sights set on the front door. Of course, he followed her. All the man ever did was follow her around, judging her. Mocking her. Challenging her to be whatever it was he thought she ought to be rather than the woman she was. Well, tough nuts for him.

“There she goes again, ladies and gentleman, the queen of the flounce and bounce.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Stop acting like a spoiled brat and come back and talk to me like a grown up,” he called after her.

Laney whirled, her hand closing around the doorknob. “Spoiled brat?”

He planted his hands on his hips, completely oblivious. It almost killed her to note that other than the varying shades of tan that marked the changing seasons on his arms and torso, he looked like a damn underwear model.

“I’m sorry your stud service wasn’t up to snuff tonight.” He held his arms out wide. “I’ve been working all day, dealing with a woman having conniptions on the front lawn, and former owners showing up for after-hours chats. I’m tired, I’m dirty, and all I wanted to do was come home and take a damn shower.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “But I was willing to oblige you.”

“Oblige me?” She gaped at him. “You think I came here for sex?”

Pursing his lips as if he’d given the matter great thought, he had the audacity to try to brush her off with a shrug.

“I did not come here for sex.”

“Really? Because sex seems to be the only thing you’re truly interested in having with me.”

He couldn’t have hurt her more if he’d tried to cut out her heart with pinking shears. The fight flowed right out of her. Slumping against the door, she searched his face, but he only wore an infuriatingly blank expression. “How can you say that?”

“Easy.” Harley took a couple steps closer to her but remained out of reach. “What happens when I try to talk to you about the future?”

Her pulse tripped all over itself, but she fought down the urge to bolt. Pushing away from the door, she straightened her posture and held his gaze. “What about it?”

“You clam up.”

“I’ve got nothing to say,” she shot back. “I can’t talk about the future because I’m too busy trying to figure out today.”

“Stop running away from us.”

Her heart hurt. Actually hurt. Like maybe she was having some kind of coronary episode. Pressing her hand to her breastbone, she shook her head. “I can’t… You want too much from me.”

“I want so much because, to me, you are the Heart of Dixie, Delaney.” He glanced down as if to gather his strength, then drew a deep breath. “I bought Tarrington House. For you. For us.”

As much as she hated to prove Harley Cade right, Laney had to go with her gut on this one. She couldn’t quite trust her foolish heart to do the right thing. She was out the door, down the fire stairs, and halfway to her car before he could say another word.

Harley blinked twice as he rounded the corner and eyeballed Tarrington House, certain the pre-dawn, pre-caffeine fog was playing tricks with his mind. But no, the vision in front of him was no mirage. The bright blue industrial Dumpster on the overgrown front lawn confirmed it. His eyes did not deceive him. There actually was a slightly worse-for-wear white BMW smack in the center of the circular drive.

He’d wager the last twenty-dollar bill in his wallet the car sat in the exact same spot her parents had parked it on the day they handed over the keys. He could even imagine the big red bow they’d probably stuck to the roof. He could picture the scene: spring sunshine illuminating the marvel of German engineering at the top of the arc. The spot was perfectly framed by Tarrington House’s massive columns. He could see dark-haired Delaney dashing down the red brick steps, the wide smile she’d worn the first day he’d spotted her at St. Patrick’s lighting her face.

He heaved a sigh as he wheeled the dusty truck into the drive. He hadn’t slept a wink since she left. Torn between righteous anger and utter humiliation, he’d tossed and turned. In the wee small hours, his heart aching with self-recrimination and her scent filling his nostrils, he stripped the sheets from his bed.

He shouldn’t have told her he’d bought the house like that. Fired it at her like a weapon.

Whether he was within his rights or not, it didn’t matter. Her emotions were all snarled up over the sale and the peripheral role she’d thought he was playing in this whole debacle. He'd launched his secret at her in a fit of wounded male pride, proving his life was becoming every bit as melodramatic as the Tennessee Williams plays his mama liked to drag him to whenever she thought he needed some classing up.

If only his mother knew how convoluted his real life had become.

He was pissed. A seething, simmering anger ignited low in his belly the minute he realized she’d seen the trucks parked in the drive and assumed he was the hired help. An hour or so spent in Brett Tarrington’s company hadn’t done anything to soothe his wounded pride. Delaney and her father both labored under the delusion that he was required to explain himself and his business decisions to them or to anyone. It galled him. Hell, any fool with half a brain, access to the Internet, and twenty bucks for a public records search could have found out who was behind Heart of Dixie Holdings. Delaney didn’t want to know, and her daddy was too far into his misery to notice anyone but himself. If Laney thought she was going to start a business of her own, she needed to get a damn sight better at doing her research.

No, she was happy to take the money and run. But she hadn’t run. At least, she hadn’t without trying to take one more look back. That was the part that cut him.

Letting loose a sigh he dredged from the depths of his being, he killed the engine and simply stared into the back window of her car. Drops of morning condensation framed the edges, but the defogger had done its job for the most part. He could see her clearly, her head turned toward the wide front door, her jaw stiff and her nose in the air. As usual.

Gripping the top of the wheel, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to his knuckles. It helped hold his anger in. Sort of. He’d done them a favor. Couldn’t she see past her own stubborn pride to acknowledge that he'd done what was best for everyone? He could have waited for the auction and most likely picked Tarrington House and all the property up at an even lower price, but he wasn’t willing to take such a chance. He’d heard whispers of someone planning to snatch the rambling old house up and turn it into a bed and breakfast. Over his dead body. This house was meant to be his.

This way, everyone got what they needed. Delaney’s father was mostly out of the hole he’d dug for himself and his family and Laney herself could stop worrying about juggling the bills and start looking toward her future. With him. In the kind of house he’d always dreamed about owning when he was growing up with concrete steps and cinder block walls. Now, he had acres of lush green lawn and columns which were more than merely decorative. He pulled himself and his mother out of subsidized housing by using his hands and his brains to forge the life he wanted. Even after he started making real money, he hadn’t squandered it buying any old house. Sure, he’d bought his mama the neat little ranch she’d fallen in love with the minute she saw the beautifully landscaped patio and made sure the place had every amenity she could possibly want before he let her move in. But when it came to finding the place he wanted to call home, he hadn’t been willing to settle.

Not permanently, anyway.

Harley had always considered his bay-front loft an investment more than a home. Now, he found himself thinking more and more about the waterfront development the mayor wanted. The renovation he’d done on the long-abandoned warehouse space had been featured in real estate magazines across the country. His own unit had been photographed and featured in the renovations section of
Architectural Digest
. It wasn’t the eco-friendly space the big man envisioned, but the design could be modified. Some features could be added or improved. Wetlands would sure be a heck of a lot more attractive than the cracked asphalt covering the abandoned dockyard now.