Head Over Heels

Their faces were so close that the tips of their noses brushed, and she hoped like hell that he was extremely far-sighted because she was pretty sure she was a complete wreck.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, reading her mind.

Chloe ducked her head and dropped it to his chest, but he fisted his hand in her hair at the nape of her neck and tugged until she looked at him again. “You are,” he said in his brook-no-argument cop voice.

Actually, he was the beautiful one. Not in a pretty boy way, he was far too rugged and weathered for pretty. But there was an absolute beauty to his tough, edgy exterior, and she soaked him up. He always moved with such innate grace and ease that she tended to forget what a big guy he really was.

But his poise was gone tonight, which made her smile dopily. She’d relaxed him, which was quite a feat. “We should have a paint party every night until your house is done.”

He took his gaze off her and stared at the walls around them, seeming a little befuddled. It was such a shock to see his expression anything other than his usual imperturbable calm that she looked around, too, and winced. “Do the walls seem to be missing a few spots to you?”

He looked at her, then down at himself. “I think we’re wearing the missing paint.”

His expression cracked her up. “I’ve never seen you all discombobulated before,” she said.

“I’m not discombobulated.”

But he was. His hair was standing on end, cemented into place by some paint that might or might not have come from her fingers. His strong, lean jaw was dark with a full day’s growth. And his eyes, those mesmerizing warm chocolate eyes, were glossy. But most telling of all was the adorably sexy, bad-boy smile on his face. She grabbed his face and gave him a smacking kiss. “You’re so cute.”

“Cute.” He repeated this slowly, like what she said didn’t compute.

At some point, he’d stripped out of his shirt and gun. Both were on the floor next to the couch, both covered in paint. She had no memory of how any of that had occurred but suspected she was at fault. She really wished she remembered the stripping off of his shirt, but between the wine and beer and her silly low tolerance for booze, she wasn’t exactly clearheaded. “You are cute,” she said with conviction.

“Take it back.”

Sawyer looked very serious with his paint highlights, and she struggled not to laugh. “No can do, Officer…Cute.”

His grip tightened on her, and he nipped her bottom lip. She heard a ragged moan and realized it was her own. And that her hands had slid into his hair to hold his face to hers.

“Can’t do this,” he said against her mouth.

“Why?”

“We’re drunk.”

“Not that drunk.”

“So you’re completely aware of the fact that you’re grinding against me?”

Yikes. She went still with great effort. Then sat up and carefully got off him. It took her a moment to find her sea legs, and she put her hands out for balance.

“Hey,” Sawyer said. “Come back.” His voice was deep and steady. A command. She hated commands, but this one suited her. But first, she took a good, long look at him lying there, chest bare, abs hard and flat, jeans slung low. He was so big and bad…

Bad for her, she remembered. She just couldn’t quite remember why. “You just said we weren’t going to have a drunk make-out.”

“We’re not having drunk sex.” He tugged her back over him. Hard arms encased her, and two hands slid beneath her skirt to grope her ass. “Drunk making out is absolutely allowed,” he said against her mouth. “In fact, it’s required.”

She was smiling when he kissed her. He tasted like the beer they’d shared, smelled like wet paint, and felt like warm promise. It was the best kiss she’d ever had. They stopped to breathe for a minute, and she set her head down on his chest. It was the last thing she remembered until some odd and obnoxious pounding sounded between her ears. When it stopped, she sighed and snuggled into the deliciously heated blanket beneath her…

Then came the sound of a door opening, and a low, shocked “Jesus Christ” woke her all the way up. She opened her eyes to Ford and Jax standing in the doorway.

And behind them was…daylight.

This caused her a moment of confusion. She wasn’t at home in her cottage. She was still at Sawyer’s, and in fact, was still on the couch, wrapped up in him.

And covered in paint.

So was Sawyer. He didn’t open his eyes, but he did tighten his grip on her ass. The man definitely had a thing about her hind quarters.

“What the hell are you guys doing here?” Sawyer said to Jax and Ford without looking. “Besides breaking and entering.”

“No breaking. Just entering,” Ford said with a laugh in his voice.

“We were supposed to meet at eight to go sailing,” Jax said. “Then when you didn’t answer your phone…”

Sawyer sighed, then managed to crack one eye and looked at Chloe. “You okay?”

Nodding, she pushed upright and staggered to her feet. When she got her first full-body view of Sawyer, she gasped.

He tilted his head and looked down at himself. He had fingerprints on each pec. A trail of paint across his perfect, washboard abs.

And a full handprint on his crotch.

To his credit, he didn’t so much as blink. But Chloe clapped a hand to her mouth to hold in her horrified laugh. She had a few handprints on herself as well. Big handprints, most notably on her breasts.

Ford was wearing a shit-eating grin. Jax looked as if he was trying not to laugh, but he busted up and had to fake a cough.

Sawyer sat up.

Jax, not being a stupid man, backed away.

Not Ford. He pulled out his cell phone, accessed the camera, and aimed it at Sawyer’s crotch. “Hold still, man.”

Sawyer got to his feet and shoved Jax out the front door, then turned to Ford, who risked life and limb to take the pic before stepping back over the threshold. “Guess you won’t be coming with—”

Sawyer shut the door, locked it, and turned to Chloe. “Sorry about the idiots.”

“Yes, well, they’re not the only idiots.” She put her hands to her head, testing. Still on. That was good. Carefully, she took stock of herself. Everything seemed to be in working order. She looked at Sawyer. “I’m going to assume that since your pants are still on, I didn’t get much farther than feeling you up. Right?”

Sawyer went still, his eyes serious. “You don’t remember last night?”

“Well, I didn’t get lucky. Or I’d have had another asthma attack.” She smiled.

He didn’t. “I took advantage of you.” He sounded extremely unhappy about this.

“Look, if anyone took advantage of anyone, it was me, Sawyer. I mean, look at you.”

They both looked at his body decor, specifically at the hand on his crotch. Some good humor crossed his face at that. “You are pretty damn hard to say no to,” he said.

She bent for her purse and inhaler. “And yet people manage all the time.” Crap, she really hated when her mouth disconnected from her brain. She slipped into her shoes and turned to the door, still kicking herself for that revealing statement.

“Chloe.”

She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. There was something far too serious in his voice, and it tightened her chest. “Yikes, would you look at the time? Gotta run before my sisters call you to send out a search party for me, which would be awkward considering I’m here.” She reached for the door. “Plus, I’m giving facials today at the Garden Society lunch and have to mix up my special antiaging blend.” She was babbling. She pressed her lips together and told herself to shut up and get out, but when she tried to open the door, Sawyer’s hand appeared above her head, holding it closed.

Dropping her head to the wood, Chloe tried not to absorb the warmth and strength of him standing so close at her back, but then it got worse because he turned her to face him.

She felt more exposed than when she’d been na**d with him in his shower. “I really do have to go,” she whispered.

“In a minute.” Sawyer ran a finger over her jaw. “You helped me paint and made my shitty evening a whole lot less shitty. Thank you for that.”

She let out a low laugh. “You could be thanking me for something much more fun except for your damn moral high ground.”

His eyes met hers, dark and warm. “Yes, but you wouldn’t have remembered it.” He reached for her, and she realized he was going to kiss her. Horrified, she slapped a hand over her mouth, blocking him. “Morning breath!”

Sawyer stared at her, clearly torn between amusement and frustration. “Stay right there,” he commanded and vanished into the kitchen, only to come back a few seconds later with a pack of gum. He popped a piece into his mouth and chewed. When he leaned in again, she slapped a hand to his chest. “Not you, me!”

This didn’t deter him. He pushed a piece of gum between her lips. “Chew.”

Obeying, Chloe narrowed her eyes. “You sure give a lot of orders.”

“Yes. And here’s one more. We’re both minty fresh now, so kiss me.”

Laughing, she pulled the gum out of her mouth, and he did the same. Going up on tiptoe, she set a hand on his chest and gave him a peck on his warm, firm mouth. Just when she would have ended it, he planted one hand on either side of her head, caging her in. “Again,” he said against her mouth. Yet another command—not that she minded this one.

The brush of his lips was soft this time, though not tentative. Not at all. Nope, she could feel the barely leashed power, the carefully restrained passion, but for now, with nothing more than their mouths touching, he held it all in careful check, until her fingers curled into his hard biceps and she heard herself moan for more.

He gave it, settling in against her, deepening their connection to a hot, intense tangle of tongues that would have had her sliding to the floor if his arms hadn’t been banded tightly around her. When they finally broke apart, she stared at him, happy that he wasn’t breathing any steadier than she. “Okay, then,” she said, nodding like a bobblehead, and whirled to leave.

And walked right into the door.

Without laughing at her, though she was quite certain he was doing his damnedest to hold it in, he handed her back her gum, which had stuck to his shirt when she’d grabbed on to him with both fists. Then he popped his back into his mouth with a smirk and reached around her to open the door.

“Thanks,” she muttered and flew out of there. Two minutes later, she was on the road, smacking her forehead through her helmet, trying to get the brain cells back in working order. “Don’t you fall for him,” she ordered herself, peeking into the side mirror to make sure she got the message.

Her image didn’t answer, but there was something different about her. Dammit. She had the Maddie glow!

Oh, God, this was bad. Falling for Sawyer would be a colossally stupid move. Sure, he wanted her. But she also drove him crazy. She wasn’t right for him, and no matter what he’d said about appreciating her as is, there was no doubt in her mind—in order to become the woman Sawyer needed, she’d have to change. Already facing that very problem with her sisters, it felt too overwhelming for her to even go there.

But it was like a damn song in her head all the same. Change, and you can have acceptance. Change, and you can catch a man. Change, and…

God, she was damn tired of that song.

In any case, it wasn’t as if Sawyer was going to fall for her. He was smarter than that. The man thought things through, never made a misstep, had himself rigidly controlled.

Well, except for last night. She’d gotten him drunk. She hoped he didn’t blame her for that—though why not? It had been her doing. It was always her doing.

He’d have to repaint, of course. Or maybe not. He hadn’t done much with the place in the way of making it a home. Not that she’d had a lot of experience with making anything a home, but she did have Tara and Maddie, both of whom were great at it. The cottage was a little messy but it was full of her things. That’s what made staying there feel good, seeing the tangible evidence that she belonged. Even something as small as her favorite glass jars for her creams lined up on her dresser instead of shoved into her backpack made her smile.

But Sawyer had nothing of himself in his house, other than some pretty badly painted walls…A start, she had to admit. He was trying. He didn’t have two sisters to show him how. Hell, he probably didn’t want sisters. Or a real home for that matter. She actually had no idea. He was quite the puzzle.

All she knew for sure was that he wanted her body.

And that, at least, was very mutual.

For several days, Chloe kept herself busy. It wasn’t hard. She taught yoga, worked on a recipe for a mud skin mask, and babysat the inn when Maddie was off doing wedding stuff and Tara attended a culinary conference.

One of the days she brought Sawyer a picnic lunch of Thai food to his station. She found him hunched over his desk scowling at his computer, and he looked so surprised that someone had thought to feed him that she felt an uncomfortable surge of tenderness.

It was incredibly foolish, and she spent two days lying low after that, making sure not to run into him. Because even one more time, her heart told her, and she wouldn’t be able to continue to keep things so light and breezy.

It was during those days that she accepted the first four bookings for the following month at their new day spa—the one that didn’t quite exist yet. She’d warned the potential clients that they weren’t up to full service at this time and hoped that was enough to keep her out of hot water with her sisters. And then she’d called Jax. “We’ve got a month,” she told him.