Girl Gear 5: Wicked Games (23 page)
She was the one hurting
herself
, falling in love with him when their situation was impossible to resolve. But she wasn't going to tell him that. She wasn't going to tell him anything else at all. Certainly nothing that mattered, nothing deeper than her thoughts on the barometric pressure, nothing usable as ammunition when she fought to push him out of her life. A fight she intended to take up this very minute.
Or at least by the time the door opened and she could see that there really was light at the end of the Doug-
less tunnel
.
And so she simply got to her feet and said. "I'm fine. I'm hungry. Now let's go eat."
Chapter 11
O
nce Kinsey arrived home, she changed from her schoolgirl uniform into baby doll pajamas and went straight into her bedtime routine.
Sleep. That was what she needed. Things always seemed clearer the morning after, less hurtful, not so distressing, easier to compartmentalize by trauma factor and exaggerated angst.
Was it over or was there hope?
That was the question.
The party outfit had drawn Doug's attention as planned, but once she found herself sequestered with him in the closet, he'd done a total number on her.
Sure, she'd been a willing participant, had even worked her own reverse scheme in a trap that had snapped shut tighter than any of the others she'd rigged.
That didn't mean she'd come away from their not-so-dirty thirty minutes feeling vindicated. In fact, once the high of the party had flown, she'd come away quite hurt. And she'd left quite angry—at herself for not better protecting her emotions, and at Doug for, well, for being Doug.
He'd told her weeks ago not to love him. He hadn't hinted at sharing or returning her feelings. He'd never actually given her confession more than a cursory acknowledgment, telling her not to love him, that he couldn't love her back.
And then he'd asked her to come with him to
Denver
without meaning it.
When she'd accepted his invitation, he'd frozen in place before backtracking as fast as allowed by his well-oiled bipedal motor skills. He'd been caught in the act and hadn't even pretended to be sorry for the ridiculous ruse.
He was a rat. A total stinking rat.
Rubbing lotion over her legs, she decided to propose a
gIRL
gUIDE
column about falling for inappropriate tricksters posing as sexy men. And then her doorbell chimed.
Pulse hammering her ears, she glanced at her bedside clock.
. It was either the police with bad news or—
Her cell phone rang. Holding panic at bay, she scurried from her bed to her desk, where the phone sat in its charging cradle.
She glanced at the number displayed, took a huge breath and answered. "What the hell are you doing calling me this late?"
"Come open the damn door," Doug growled.
Kinsey didn't even respond. She slapped the phone closed and marched to the living room, her bare feet smacking the hardwood floor.
She jerked the dead bolt back and the door open. The glass storm door remained locked, a barrier between them, clear and impenetrable unless he decided to kick it in.
She crossed her arms over her chest; Doug's hands went to his hips, his brows up as he took in her very short and very sheer nightie. She pretended she was wearing chain mail and stared him down.
"That was a crappy thing to do, running out on me," he said, his voice muffled but his words unmistakable. His mood was unmistakable, as well; the hard glint in his eyes broadcast his frustrated anger. "We weren't through."
"Through with what?" She wasn't sure she could breathe. She swore the reaction was a delayed response to the
ringing of the doorbell and phone. But she knew there was much more at stake here than losing sleep. "The games were finished. Dinner was over. What hadn't we done?"
"We hadn't finished our conversation."
"Oh, I was quite finished," she said, and the responding tic in his jaw had her wanting to take a step back. She held her ground and most of her tongue, as well as her desire to thrust open the door and take him to bed. Damn her traitorous body and heart. "I can't think of a thing we left unsaid."
"I can think of plenty. Now open the damn door."
She waited, her arms still crossed, his jaw still pulsing, his frown deepening until his brow pulled down and the vibrations from his impatience seemed to rattle the glass.
Slowly she took a deep breath and released the hold she had on herself before she released the catch on the door. She inched it open; Doug grabbed the handle and finished the job, stepping through the entrance and into her home before she could do more than back a step away.
Her feet were bare on the hardwood floor; her body was bare but for the flimsy cotton baby doll top and panties. The light, at least, was low, giving her exposed heart the cover of darkness in which to hide. She had no doubt her eyes were at this very moment giving her away.
Doug shut and locked both doors, then turned. Only the low-wattage bulb burning in the base of one table lamp gave the room illumination. Or so she'd thought until she looked into his eyes, which seemed to glow.
She backed up another step; Doug moved forward until he stood within reach, within touching distance, within range of her senses, which blossomed at having him near. She swore her nostrils flared.
His scent compelled her to hold her breath, then to breathe through her mouth so as not to be reminded of how much she loved to tuck her nose close to his skin and inhale. But that didn't help a bit because with her lips parted she remembered both his kiss and his taste.
When the back of her thighs were against the arm of her sofa and her retreat came to a complete stop, she lifted her chin. Her heart pounded. Her pulse raced. Her skin itched and burned, and she wanted nothing more than to claw her way free from the pleasure that was pain.
"I meant what I said."
"I opened the door."
"Not that."
"Then what?"
He took another step, remaining just beyond her reach, but not beyond her body's sexual receptors. He was doing nothing but standing and staring, and she wanted him beyond all common sense.
"I want you to come to
Denver
with me."
"Bull. You didn't mean that at all."
"Maybe not then. But I do now."
"Why?"
"Because I asked you to."
"That's no reason."
"Because I want you to."
"That's not enough of a reason."
Again he moved closer. She gave up completely on trying
to keep
her voice steady, her hands still. She buried her fingers n the tufted arm of the sofa behind her and held on.
It was too late for sweet talk or for promises she doubted he'd really want to keep once he made them. She'd vowed days ago not to sit back and watch him gnaw off his leg to escape the traps she'd set.
"What do you want from me, Kinsey?"
"I don't want anything."
"Liar."
"Same to you."
"What do you think I'm lying about?" Where should she start? She doubted any man would appreciate having a woman enumerate the lies he was telling about himself.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. "It doesn't matter what I think, Doug. Nothing matters but what you believe about yourself."
"You know that's not true. No one exists in a vacuum."
"Isn't that exactly what you're trying to do? Isolating yourself from your family. Now leaving your friends."
He spat out a foul curse and shoved a hand through his hair. "I'm not leaving my friends. I'm following a dream."
"I thought Neville and Storey was your dream."
"It was. It is." He paused, looked to his feet before returning his gaze to hers. "It was."
Her heart broke, fluttering in her chest like a bird with a broken wing. In the barest of whispers, she asked, "What happened?"
"Nothing happened. Just…" He shook his head. "Just nothing."
She curled her fingers deeper into the plush sofa stuffing because she wanted to reach out to him, to open her arms and hold him close. But she had herself to protect, and her emotional safety mattered more than her longing to soothe his sadness.
The next step he took brought him close enough that his knees bumped hers. The denim of his blue jeans rubbed roughly against her skin, but she remained still—at least until the weary hunger in his eyes, the way he rubbed tiredly at the back of his neck, tugged her off the sofa and into his arms.
She pressed her cheek to his chest; her arms went around his waist and she drew him close, tucking herself up into his body and loving him in that moment more than she'd ever imagined possible.
How would she ever be able to let him go?
His hands roamed her back, from her shoulder blades to the base of her spine. The clingy cotton nightie tickled and teased, transferring the heat of Doug's hands but disallowing the skin-to-skin contact she wanted desperately.
She wiggled her butt, hoping he'd get the message even while she worked to get closer, spreading her palms across his lower back before bunching her fingers into his shirt and pulling it free from his pants.
And there was his skin, so healthy and resilient over muscles so firm. She tiptoed her fingers up his spine; he walked his in reverse, from her nape on down.
Both continued the simple caress, the matching expression of the need to be close, to touch, to soothe,
to
reassure. And then to arouse, slowly at first, as fingertips pressed harder, rubbing circles that grew wider, until palms slid beneath waistbands to find intimate skin.
Against her cheek, Kinsey felt the beat of Doug's heart, the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his breathing took on a fight-or-flight cadence.
She didn't want him to run, to think she didn't want him here, to go without knowing exactly the ways in which she wanted him. She moved her hands to his chest and one by one released the buttons of his shirt, baring his torso and the silky blond hair that grew low on his belly.
When she moved her hands to the buttons of his jeans, he slid his into her panties and squeezed. He growled and pulled her into his body, trapping her hands between them until she pushed him away.
Backing up to sit again on the sofa's cushy arm, she returned to the business of getting him out of his clothes. He moved his hands to her head, massaged circles at her temples, relaxing her when moments before she'd felt a frantic need to hurry, a panicked sense of losing a last chance.
She slowed, but did not stop. While she freed him from his pants and worked both jeans and boxers down his legs, Doug kicked out of his athletic shoes and shrugged off his shirt.
And then he stood there completely naked, stealing Kinsey's breath away.
She thought of the beauty of Michelangelo's
David
, and knew Doug's shoulders were just as perfectly muscled, not overly broad, not underdeveloped or sloped. The perfect frame on which to build the rest of his beautiful body. His hips were lean, his legs thick and long, his abs ridged in perfect symmetry above his groin, where she found her gaze focused.
His erection thrust forward, almost proudly, defiantly full as the head, swollen to the color and dimension of a plum, bobbed upward toward his belly. Beneath, his sac had drawn close around his balls, his arousal causing the tightening of his testicles and the skin covering his penis.
Kinsey felt her body's response in ways she wouldn't have expected. The moisture seeping from her sex to wet her panties was familiar. What she hadn't known was the tingling in her fingertips, the dryness in her mouth, the heavy weight that pulled at her womb, the sharp bite of anticipation that pressed in on the small of her back.
This man completed her; he was her other half, the man with whom she desired to become one.
When he held out his hand, she came to him, standing still as he lifted her pajama top over her head. The breath he drew in whistled sharply. He took his time exhaling, as if each second that passed meant more time for looking at her without having to speak or to breathe.
If he felt half the awe that was sweeping through her…
God, please let him feel what I'm feeling. Please let him want me with this same sense of everything between us being right
.
"Kinsey?"
His whisper brought tears to her eyes. "I'm right here."
"Yeah," he said with a little bit of a laugh. "I see that."
Holding her hand over her head, he twirled her where she stood, as if showing her off, or taking her in. She wanted to toss back her head and laugh with the pure joy of the moment.
Or at least that's what she wanted until it hit her that she was the only one in love.
When she finally stopped, he pulled her to him. Her breasts flattened against his chest; his erection pulsed against her belly.