Unexpected Angel (7 page)

“So you’re not going to touch me even though I said I wanted you to?” There
is no hiding the hurt in my voice.

He crooked a finger under my chin, lifting my eyes to his. “Hey,
it’s not like that.” He reaches for my hand and places it against his zipper. “You feel that? I’ve been one big walking hard-on since the first time I saw you tonight. Literally. But I’m not going to do anything you don’t want to do. And you telling me what you want while you’re sleeping doesn’t count as permission.”

I gulp
at the feel him under my hand. Nick wasn’t small by any means, but he was also nothing like this. I let my hand rest there, searing this moment into my mind. “And if I tell you now?” I ask summoning courage I didn’t know I possessed until this moment. “Dylan, I want you to touch me.” I hold my gaze to his, not blinking, wanting him to know I am dead serious.

And I
am. I want him more than I’ve wanted anything before. As much as his girth scares me, the thought of him filling and stretching me makes my muscles clench at the mere notion of being able to milk every drop of come from his body. If I could choose any man to be my first in this new phase of my life, I would choose Dylan. I want to know what the pressure of his body leaning in for a kiss as he thrusts into me will feel like. I want to drag my fingernails down his back as he makes me scream.

His hands travel
over the soft cotton, down to the hem of my shirt. I suck in a deep breath when the heat of his palms meets my cold legs. He picks me up, holding tight to my legs and moves me to his bed.

Am
I really going to do this? Am I prepared to have sex with a man I’ve known less than eight hours?

He
lays me on the bed with gentleness I didn’t think he was capable of. His handling of me is reverent, making me feel cherished. “I want you so much it hurts,” Dylan sighs as he brushes the hair away from my face. “But we both need to sleep now.”

Watching Dylan undress
is nearly as exciting as opening the package you know contains the toy you have been coveting on Christmas morning. I get my first real glimpse of his chest as he reaches behind his head to pull off his t-shirt. As the white cotton lifts over his head, I imagine running my tongue through the deep valleys created by his well-defined abs. While his stomach is a clean, bare canvas, amazing tattoos in shades of black cover both sides and his arms. I want to explore the artwork and trace my fingers around the outlines. I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on yet he has made it abundantly clear that no matter how much I want to throw my morals out the window, he won’t allow that to happen.

After stripping down to his str
iped boxer briefs, Dylan crawls into bed next to me, cocooning my body with his. While I appreciate his apparent respect for my virtue, I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t bother me. How many men would turn down the opportunity to have sex with a willing woman in their bed?

(Dylan)

I only sleep for a few hours when the feeling of Tasha’s thigh rubbing against my groin wake
s me and I am ready to go. But I don’t want to fuck her. No, that’s a lie. I want to feel her body sheathing mine more than I care to admit but I could tell from the moment I saw her standing in line at the club that the very last thing she needs is a horny man taking advantage of her.

When I
brought her back to my condo, I’m not sure which of us the gesture surprised more I don’t bring women home, ever. It’s something I just don’t do. Not something I don’t do often, something I don’t
ever
do. The unexpected angel lying next to me is turning my world upside down for reasons even I can’t figure out. It goes deeper than the intense sexual attraction I feel for her. Being protective is part of my nature, but never before have I felt such a visceral need to ensure the safety of a woman I barely know. 

I trace
circles across her back as I try to figure out what to do. Lying on her side with both hands resting between the pillow and her cheek, she looks even more innocent than she did when I first met her. What in the hell possessed her friends to think it was okay to bring her into such a den of debauchery? And furthermore, how did someone like Tasha come to be friends with a woman as messed up as Holly Richards? She says they have been friends since they were little kids, but I can’t reconcile their bond as adults given everything I know and even more that I have only heard about the woman who had the balls to warn me to make sure I didn’t hurt Tasha. Little does she know the lengths I would go to keep that promise, not to her, but to myself.

(Tasha)

My heart start
s racing as I jolt out of the best sleep I have had in months. Sunlight floods the room and I feel like I have been sleeping on a cloud. This is not my bedroom. I peek under the covers to see that I am wearing a UW t-shirt, and my panties are still in place, so that’s a good sign.

Slowly, memorie
s of my bizarre evening return to me. I lightly run my fingers down the side of my nose, noting that getting my first piercing wasn’t a dream. My aching feet remind me of the ridiculous outfit Holly insisted I wear to Leather & Lace night. I can only assume the other images flooding my mind actually happened as well. The diner. Locked out of my house. Dylan being the consummate gentleman. Dylan refusing my advances.

Mortified that I put myself out there like that, I
lean against the headboard and bury my face in my hands. What in the world does he think of me? Between the way my friends hovered over me as if I am an incompetent charity case, my incessant rambling, and then throwing myself at him like a desperate whore, I can’t imagine it is anything good.

“Good morning, P
recious,” Dylan says softly as he pads into the room. I risk a glance through my splayed fingers and see him standing in front of me wearing nothing but a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips. Last night, I could have blamed the alcohol for my nether regions coming to life at the sight of him, but I don’t have that excuse this morning. No, it’s him. Just the sight of him that brings parts of me to life I had long ago forgotten existed.

I
slide down in the bed, yanking the white down comforter over my head. I know what I look like first thing in the morning and it’s not pretty. When I feel the edge of the bed dip, I resist the urge to look, not wanting to see that I am once again in the same bed as a man who doesn’t want me.

Dylan laughs as he pulls
back the top of the bedding. “Come on, lazy bones. It’s almost noon. Time to get up and enjoy the day.” I barely have time to react as he leans over to give me a peck on the cheek. While I am glad he doesn’t try to kiss me on the lips with the morning breath I know I must have, I can’t help feeling rejected yet again when he doesn’t even try.

I roll
to the opposite side of the bed and pull down Dylan’s t-shirt in an attempt to make sure I’m not giving him a show. “I need to call Holly and get my purse,” I remind him.

Maybe it
is my lack of experience, perhaps the fact that my brain is still on overload but Dylan confuses the bejesus out of me. He made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t going to sleep with me; he treated me like a buddy when he woke me up, and yet he just made it sound as if we are going to spend the day doing who knows what. “Mixed signals” is an understatement when it comes to this man.

Dylan
drops a shopping bag at the foot of the bed. “Here, I went and picked up a few things so you didn’t have to wear that god-awful outfit you had on last night.”

Lo
oking through the bag, I wonder how he managed to get everything in the correct size. “You didn’t have to do that. As soon as I talk to Holly, I’ll head over to her place and then go home.” As soon as the words pass my lips, I realize how ungrateful I sound. I blame Nick. He never did anything without an ulterior motive, so it’s natural that I would suspect Dylan is up to something as well. Right? “I’m sorry, Dylan. That was very kind of you.”

He
wraps his arms around me as he pulls me down so I am sitting on the bed next to him. “I told you last night, I take care of what’s mine.” My stomach turns at the possessive statement.

So far, Dylan seems
to be nearly perfect, but his flaws are the type that classify as deal breakers in my mind, starting with this delusion of claiming me as “his.” Even if, by some freak chance, we are together for years to come, I will never be his in the way he is implying. The idea of being with him is starting to feel like ownership rather than the possibility of companionship.

“And I seem to remember telling you last night that I’m
not yours.” The moment I turn to look at him so he can see that I am dead serious, I know it is a mistake. The rich coffee color of his eyes melts my resolve to stand my ground on this issue. If it even is an issue. Again, Dylan is a living, breathing contradiction. “I’m not anyone’s,” I say, depressed by the validity of my statement. I’m not anyone’s. There is no one at home waiting for me, not even an emotionally abusive jerk hell-bent on telling me how I would never amount to anything.

(Dylan)

Controlling Tasha
was the furthest thing from my mind this morning when I jumped in the car to drive across town and buy her a new outfit. I wanted to buy her something suited for spending the day getting to know one another. Since we didn’t say goodbye after the diner, I am hoping to delay that inevitable moment as long as possible. But I can tell there is something in Tasha’s past that is making it impossible for her to accept a simple act of kindness.

It
has to be the miserable piece of shit ex her friends brought her out to celebrate her divorcing. For all of her faults, and she has plenty of them, at least Holly doesn’t seem to be a fan of the man I assume made Tasha this shell of a woman waiting for me to force her into something she doesn’t want to do.

Seeing
her fight back the tears welling in her eyes fills me with the urge to leave her curled up in my bed while I track down the worthless prick and beat him to a bloody pulp. How can he not see what a gift he had when she chose to give herself to him? And again, when she promised to love him for the rest of her life. He was a fucking tool to let her go.

I slowly wrap
my arms around Tasha’s waist, waiting for her to pull away from me. She doesn’t, so I draw her tight against my body. I trace circles on her back, neither of us saying anything as we try to digest her last statement. I can only hope she feels comfort in my arms, not apprehension or fear. “No matter what, I don’t ever want to hear you say you’re no one’s. I meant it last night when I said I’m hoping that, at the very least, we’ll be friends. And that is what makes you mine.
My
friend.”

She stares
out the plate glass windows on the north wall of my bedroom, acting as though she isn’t hurting on the inside. The way her eyes glaze over, I’m certain she’s not actually seeing anything right now. “Grab a shower, get dressed, and meet me out in the kitchen. After lunch, you call Holly and we’ll get your purse. But I’m not taking you home right away.”

“What
if I want to go home?” She asks quietly. The corner of my mouth turns up in a half-smile. I know damn well she doesn’t want to go home any more than I want her to. Now I just have to get her to admit that. If she won’t, then taking her home is the choice left for me.

She looks fucking
amazing in my t-shirt. It figures that of all the shirts available, I grab one of the few that holds meaning for me. If not for the fact that we need to retrieve her purse from Holly, I’d be perfectly content lounging around the condo all day with her dressed like that.

Then again, that
is probably a bad idea because I know I would never be able to resist her with those long, toned legs. It’s nearly killing me to keep my hands to myself now. I want to follow her into the bathroom, pull my t-shirt over her head, and run my hands all over her naked body as I wash every inch of her. The thought of pushing her up against the wall of the shower, allowing the soapy water to act as a lubricant as I shove inside of her has my cock growing painfully hard in my jeans.

“Don’t worry,” I assure
her. “By the time the day’s over, you’ll be glad you didn’t go home.” At least I hope that is the case. I am not the type to wine and dine a woman, and I seriously doubt that Tasha is into that type of thing anyway. In those rare moments when her guard is down, I can tell that she’s laid back and easy going. The only thing that could sour my plans is if she tells me she hates football.

Fuck, maybe this
is a bad idea.

“You seem rather sure of yourself, you
know that?” She finally cracks her first smile of the morning as she opens the second bag I had placed next to her. “What’s this for?” She asks, holding up a Wisconsin t-shirt in one hand and a hoodie in the other.

Suddenly, I
have serious doubts. What is it about this girl that has me questioning everything? Turning me inside fucking out, that’s what she is doing to me. “Do you like football?” I ask as I walk across the room to get my own sweatshirt. When I look over my shoulder, she is practically bouncing on the bed. Apparently, I had nothing to worry about.

“Are you kidding me? I love football, but I haven’t been to a game since I was a kid.” I
am quickly learning her body language and can see her receding into that dark place that contains her entire adult life to this point. When she’s thinking about something unpleasant, her eyes get dark and dull. I want to shine a light deep into her soul and banish the darkness. “How did you get tickets?”

It’s
true; this is one of the hardest games of the year to get tickets for. Minnesota might not be a strong team this season, but the rivalry between the neighboring schools is always fierce. Even if both of them had lost every game of the season, the fight for Paul Bunyan’s axe, the trophy that goes to the winning team each year, fills every seat in the stadium. Luckily, Zeke’s family has season tickets and his brother and sister-in-law aren’t going because she is about to have a baby any day.

“Let’s j
ust say I know people,” I chuckle. She manages to pull herself out of the darkness this time and she looks exuberant as she pulls everything out of the bags, laying it neatly at the foot of the bed. And then, it happens. I swear this girl is going to give me whiplash with how fast her mind goes from happy thoughts to worry.

Tasha
sits on the bed, wringing her hands and worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. I can tell there is something on her mind, likely something neither of us will enjoy talking about. I drop my own clothes on the bed and sit down next to her. I turn so I’m facing her, trying to put a little distance between us.

In the past, m
ost of the women who were with me wanted me to help them take their mind off the emotional pain by inflicting physical pain. As much as I understood that desire for them, it’s not something I would even suggest to Tasha. I don’t want to transform her pain; I want to make it disappear completely.

“Just say it,” I urge when she remains silent. She looks
up at me with those heavenly blue eyes and I realize just how fragile she is. “Whatever it is, let’s get it out in the open now so we can go have some fun.”