“Do I want to know why you and Beckett were fighting?”
A few ins and outs of his breath passed before he decided whether to answer. “He’s pissed I haven’t been a better friend, and he’s right.”
“Well, no matter what you did, you didn’t deserve to be attacked in your own home. I meant what I said to them, Nick. You’re going so far out of your way for me. I’m not letting anyone abuse you for it.”
There she goes again. As if each massage, each squeeze, and each soothing caress weren’t ratcheting up his arousal enough, her rising to his defense had him absolutely throbbing for her. Her warmth was all over his back from her hands and her breath and her nearness. It was too much. It wasn’t nearly enough.
Goddamnit, he wanted her.
It wasn’t just her hands on his body, or the relief flooding through him, or the lateness of the hour, although all three played a role. It was more the bone-deep solace he felt in her presence as her light and her warmth seeped into him. The way she seemed to anticipate what he needed, even if he would’ve been the last one to acknowledge it for himself. How she’d given him a purpose again after all these long months, one he hadn’t realized how badly he needed. And it all made him want.
Nick wanted to claim her and possess her and climb so far inside her heat that he’d forget about all the shit in his head. He wanted her writhing under him and boneless with pleasure and crying his name out loud. He wanted her seeking safety in his arms and comfort from his hands.
He spun the chair around to face her. She reared back on her knees and her gaze flew up to his. He shook his head, competing desires warring inside him. To possess her and protect her. To be honest and shield her from hurt. To do the right thing and do what felt right.
Damnit, he needed her.
On a groan, he reached out, grasped her neck, and hauled her up to him.
Rixey consumed her with the kiss, pouring every bit of his gratitude and desire into the movement of his lips, his tongue, his hands. She moaned in surprise, and he devoured that, too. God, she smelled of warm vanilla and tasted of mint. Little needful whimpers and sighs and gasps spilled out around their lips, and he reveled in every last note of her pleasure, of her desire. He pulled her closer and penetrated her more deeply with his tongue. The damn backrest separated them, but he couldn’t let her go long enough to rectify the problem.
“God, sunshine, what are you doing to me?” he rasped around the edge of a kiss.
Her fingers dug into his hair, pulling, grasping. He loved the bites of pain against his scalp, evidence of her loss of control.
If he didn’t stop soon, he was going to lift her into his arms, lay her out on his bed, and cover her with his body. And there would be no going back.
Get a friggin’ grip, Rixey. Now.
Panting, he pulled his lips away from hers, his hands cupping her cheeks so she didn’t dive back in for more. Foreheads together, he let himself bask in a moment more of her heat, her scent, her touch. He kissed the corner of her mouth, because he was the one struggling to resist, and stroked his hands over her hair. Finally, he pulled away. “It’s late,” he said, hating the words but needing them.
Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I know,” she whispered, peering up at him with midnight blue eyes.
“Come on.” He pushed up from the chair and gave her a hand at the same time. Miraculously, his muscle aches were more diffuse than before her massage. As if he needed another reason to want to kiss her. “You should—”
“I don’t want to be alone, Nick.” She shook her head and ducked her chin. “Can I just . . . maybe, stay out here with you?”
“Becca—”
“Please?”
The pleading slayed him. He grasped her hand and led her to his dark bedroom.
“Get in,” he said at the side of the bed. “You need sleep, and you’re not going to get it sitting up out there.”
“But—”
“I’ll sleep here, too.”
“Really?”
The obvious relief did a number on him. It felt damned good to be needed—too damned good, so he played it off. “It’s a hardship, but for you, I’ll make the sacrifice.” He swatted her butt, and his cock rose up and took notice. “Get in.”
“Nicholas Rixey, did you just . . . smack me?” The sounds of the mattress accepting her weight and the covers shifting followed her into the bed.
He lay down on the very edge, his mind still spinning on the fact that he’d just spanked her, when a new realization hit home. Shit, I’m in bed with Becca. “Why, did you like it?” he said, forcing nonchalance into his voice when he felt anything but.
Her non-answer was a real kick in the ass, because he’d bet his right nut she was laying over there debating how to answer. And now his cock wanted back in the game. Fuck.
Yes, please.
Jesus, when your brain started talking to your cock, you were on some fucking really thin ice. “And don’t call me Nicholas,” he groused.
She chuckled and shifted positions, judging by the movement of the mattress.
“Lying on your back can’t be much better than lying on your stomach.”
He grunted, but it was true. But if he rolled on his right side, he’d be that much closer to her, and right now he swore she must be throwing off solar heat, he felt her presence so intensely.
“Nick?”
He tensed, unsure what the hell she was going to come at him with next. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Oh. The tension ebbed out of him. “You’re welcome.”
Gingerly, he turned onto his side, easing his back and restoring the relief she’d given to him with the gift of her touch.
“Nick?”
“Hmm?”
“I feel like I’ve known you a lot longer than a few days.”
So do I. But nothing good would come from making that admission. “Becca?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s time to stop talking now.”
She laughed, the sound warm and sunny in the darkness. The metaphor wasn’t lost on him.
Becca was the light to his dark.
Her honesty, her touch, her very presence settled a blanket of comfort around him like nothing else had this past year. And he wanted to wrap himself up in it and never let go. How the hell that worked without her getting hurt at his hands, without his bitterness and anger weighing her down, he didn’t know.
And he wasn’t sure it was good for either of them for him to figure it out.
Chapter 15
The warm weight was the first thing Becca noticed. All along her side, on her shoulder, covering her thigh. She didn’t want to open her eyes and chase away the dream of lying so close to Nick, because there was no way it was real.
Except the more she woke up, the more she realized she wasn’t imagining it. His jeans, his skin, his heartbeat all truly pressed against her. Sometime during the night, Nick Rixey had made himself into a blanket, and she was the beneficiary of his covering heat.
Judging by the numbness of her arm, his head had been resting on her shoulder for a while. She turned her face toward him and her cheek found the soft unruliness of his hair. A smile crept over her face. Here he’d insisted on clinging to the edge of the mattress when they’d gotten in bed, but he’d sought her out in his sleep and curled up against her.
And curled up was the right way to describe it. His head on her shoulder, his leg over her thigh, his arm stretched over her stomach and his big hand tucked under her hip. Like he wanted to make sure she didn’t go anywhere.