Drawn Deep (Afternoon Delight Book 2) by Taryn Quinn (12)

In the three months, fifteen days and handful of hours since she’d last had sex, Sara Carmichael had thought of little else. Maybe not every minute, but way more frequently than usual. And the co-star of those fantasies was the grinning, often grease-spattered man currently ogling her from a few feet away across her best friend’s backyard.

Sara reclined in the chaise lounge by Kim’s pool and brought her cell phone close to her face, as if she were mesmerized by the scores of last night’s game. Instead she peered over the top of her phone, tracking the way Brad O’Halloran’s gaze tracked her as she idly ran her toes along her left calf.

She always felt exposed around him, though her basic black swimsuit didn’t exactly promise carnal delights. It was a bikini, true, but at forty-two, she doubted the under-thirty set would be getting erections looking at her curves.

Brad was under thirty. He also seemed tall enough to block out the sun as he rose and strode over to her, though she suspected her own modest five-foot-three height made it seem as if he were taller. As often covered in grease as he was in aftershave, Brad didn’t skimp on all those man pheromones that set a woman’s nose twitching.

Or her nipples hardening, depending.

As far as things went, Brad was a pretty good catch. A business owner, intelligent, pleasant to talk to. He was beyond hot. Sizzling. Scorching. And yet still really young.

Dammit.

“You’re going to go cross-eyed if you keep staring at that phone, Sara Smile.”

Sara Smile again. The old eighties song had come on one day earlier that summer and Brad had immediately adopted the nickname for her, probably in the hopes of driving her nuts. It was working.

She’d never had a nickname before. Sara was a utilitarian name, a proper moniker for a competent, professional woman whose life was normal in every way. Normal, familiar and predictable.

Well, not that predictable. At least to outsiders she appeared to be having the time of her life. She loved her job. She dated, and most of the guys she met were nice enough. If she was a little restless sometimes, a bit unsatisfied, that was to be expected.

“You’re standing in my light,” she protested, nudging him away with her elbow without looking where she was aiming. Her jab went a little high, glancing off his thigh perilously close to the bulge in his faded jeans.

“Hey, hey. Watch it.”

“Sorry.”

She stared at her phone and hoped he’d leave. Didn’t a guy like him have women to chase on a hot Sunday afternoon? Since he was recently divorced—after a marriage that had lasted less time than a TV sweeps period—surely he needed to reassert his dominance on the dating scene.

While she’d gotten to know a lot about Brad as a person, she didn’t know a lot about his love life, other than the occasional rumor that hinted he was a stranger to celibacy. She and Kim had become fast friends when Sara moved to Fairdale, Pennsylvania three years ago to work at the Fairdale Bird Sanctuary. Kim worked in the sanctuary’s gift shop and had helped Sara get used to a new home far from her family and friends back in Idaho.

Due to the timing of their simultaneous singledom, Brad and Kim had made the decision to temporarily live together while they fixed up their mother’s old Victorian home to sell. Two months ago Sara had taken over the spare bedroom after she’d lost her own apartment to building renovations. Telly, her conure, couldn’t tolerate paint fumes, so she’d gratefully accepted Kim’s offer to stay with them for a while.

Some nights the three of them would pop in a movie and share some popcorn and laugh their asses off about nothing. Kim and Brad were awesome roomies, and Sara wasn’t in any hurry to leave. She’d even told her landlord he could finish the renos at his own pace because she was so happy with her new arrangement. Being with them had offered her a respite from her solitary life, and she had no intention of ending the party early.

But lately Brad had bumped up the amount of time he spent around her when Kim wasn’t around—especially the amount of time he spent staring at her. Seductively. Almost daring her to make a move.

She hadn’t responded to his advances. And she wouldn’t, because of Kim, among other reasons. What friend wanted their much-younger brother to be cougar bait? Just because they were living like freewheeling college students didn’t alter her status as a respectable professional.

Who happened to lust after a guy she should’ve seen as a brother.

It was probably the low-slung towels he paraded around in after his showers. That had to be it. His damn ripped stomach would turn a virgin into a nympho. And she was no virgin.

“Kiss for your thoughts.” Brad grinned and dropped down at the end of her chair, sitting very close to her legs. She hastily scooted over, but he only used the extra room to sprawl.

Sara rolled her eyes. “I don’t kiss little boys.” Shit. She hadn’t meant to say something so mean—especially not with that note of challenge in her tone.

Brad’s grin widened. “Little’s not a word that’s ever been used to describe me.”

She didn’t blush or fidget at his reply. Years of schmoozing at fundraisers and events with the public had taught her well. She had a pretty good game face and knew he wouldn’t be able to decipher her reaction. But her pulse quickened, and the sudden dryness in her throat contrasted sharply with the surge of moisture between her thighs.

“I wasn’t referring to height.”

His grin deepened. So charming. So utterly cocky. “Me either.”

Deciding she’d had enough of his attempts to flirt or whatever the hell he was doing, she lifted her brows. “I’m forty-two. I’ve seen a lot. A lot,” she emphasized, though it was only recently she’d seen much of anything. And most of what she’d seen she’d already forgotten.

That was partially because she’d given up having men over when she’d moved in with Kim. It seemed awkward, and she didn’t relish meeting Brad over coffee the next morning while her sheets still smelled like another guy’s aftershave. It felt…weird. So she’d accepted her love life would consist of sleepovers at the guy’s place until she grew out of her need to live with her friends as if she were twenty all over again. She wasn’t seeing any man in particular right now anyway. None of them interested her enough.

Did that make her fickle or impossible to please? She wasn’t sure. But she hadn’t given up looking for that guy who would make her pulse race faster.

Kind of like Brad’s doing now?

“And yet you’re single. So I’m thinking what you’ve seen hasn’t been worthy of making you stick around. Am I right?”

“I almost got married before I moved here,” she said, surprised again at what came out of her mouth. Somehow she’d developed a disconnect between her brain and her vocal cords.

“Yeah? What happened?”

“According to my ex, I ran away to play with endangered birds.”

He laughed, tipping his head so his longish, dark blond hair tumbled into his eyes. They seemed caught between gray and blue, as if even his irises were incapable of making up their minds. Just like Brad, if rumors could be believed.

“According to my ex, I left because I couldn’t be with just one woman.”

He braced a hand next to her knee on the chair, his knuckles millimeters away from brushing her skin. The backs of his hands were lightly dusted with hair, much like the bare chest he insisted on flaunting whenever she was within view. Unlike the very straight hair on his head, his chest hair was almost curly, the kind that would be perfect for a woman to tug on.

If a woman were inclined to do such things.

“Well, gotta admit, a three-week marriage does seem pretty bad.”

“It was almost six weeks actually,” he said, his voice lacking any inflection. But his easy grin faded.

“You still did better than me,” she said, making her own tone brighter in denial of the flatness of his. Funny, she’d used his quickie marriage and divorce to dismiss him, but the tense expression he wore while discussing his ex almost made her jealous.

Maybe he wasn’t such a player after all.

“I didn’t even make it to the altar,” she added, registering his silence.

“Neither did Darla and me. We went to the JP. Justice of the Peace,” he said at her curious expression.

“Oh. I thought you’d gone to Vegas.” She didn’t really think that, but she wanted him to smile again. He didn’t seem like Brad without the semi-permanent grin.

“You have lots of thoughts about me, apparently. Most of them wrong.”

“Maybe I’m a presumptuous bitch.” Again she scratched her calf with her toes. Except this time she knew exactly where his gaze would go, and the idea didn’t disturb her as much as it had a few minutes ago.

Sunstroke maybe? It was awfully hot out here. Or could they have actually forged some sort of bond over broken relationships?

Some sort of platonic bond. Because, seriously, she wasn’t going there. Not with Kim’s little…err, younger brother.

Normally she didn’t have a problem with making a decision and sticking to it. But lately ping-pong matches had nothing on the wishy-washy flip-flopping she was doing in her own damn mind.

“Or maybe you want me to think you are so I lose interest.”

“Are you admitting you have interest?” she tossed back, wondering where Kim had disappeared to. Her friend had run to the store around the block. What could possibly be taking so long?

He leaned forward and snagged her free hand, dragging it to…what? He wasn’t really going to put her hand on his—

Yep, he was. Oh my God. She had her hand on her best friend’s brother’s sizable erection, and her fingers were all but twitching with the urge to wrap around him.

No. Absolutely not. Heat radiated through thin cotton, an undeniable temptation. If anything, he grew even harder.

“Take a breath,” he advised, his lopsided grin again overtaking his face. “For such a woman of the world, a man’s hard cock shouldn’t be all that big of a deal.”

“It is when my hand’s on it. Where the hell is your sister?” She tried to tug back, weakly, but his grip held fast. She really didn’t tug that much. Her palm didn’t mind its current location at all.

“Why? Scared?”

“Hardly. Let go.”

He did at once, shrugging. “You asked a question. I always preferred show to tell.”

Sara let her hand drop in her lap and willed it to stop tingling. “I’m going to call Kim,” she said, already pressing the speed dial button with the thumb of the hand that still clutched her phone.

“Gonna tell on me?”

In spite of herself, she laughed. “No.”

“Because you didn’t mind?”

The hopeful note in his voice made her laugh again, more softly. He was a difficult guy not to like. Really like. “She’s your sister.”

“No way. I was hoping that producer from Maury Povich was wrong.” His smirk jolted through her, reigniting the flare of arousal she’d tried to suppress.

“Funny guy.”

“Sexy girl.” He walked his fingertips up the inside of her thigh, not straying too far from her knee. His gaze probed hers. “I’m good at other things besides making people laugh. If you’re ever up for finding that out firsthand, you know where to find me.”

Then he got up and strolled away, going around the back of the house toward the driveway. A minute later she heard his truck’s engine rev.

Almost as much as she was revving.

Kim’s voice sounded on the phone, reminding Sara she’d dialed her number. Voicemail. She hung up in a hurry and stared at her cell, her chest heaving with the effort to keep from panting.

She wanted to find out. She really did. That had to be wrong. She was the gatekeeper of—

What? Brad’s honor? What a joke. He might not be thirty yet but he was clearly no boy. He knew his own mind. And his body.

Hell if she didn’t want to get to know them too.

In a way, this was Kim’s fault. She’d been the one to encourage Sara to pursue life and sex full tilt. A couple of years ago she’d been so fixated on her perfectly normal life with Pete it had never occurred to her to reach for more. A few pleasant orgasms got the job done, so why look for nirvana? It was too much effort. Too dangerous.

Big payoffs meant big risks. Potentially jeopardizing what she had with her best friend over some nookie would be stupid. Kim didn’t want to get tied down, but she fell in lust eagerly and often. She was also a hopeless romantic.

If Sara told Kim she was into Brad, she’d either start planning a year of double dates or she’d freak out. Either option made Sara want to forget the whole thing.

“I could ask her,” she muttered.

Would you mind if I fucked your brother? It wouldn’t take more than an hour. Then all three of us could forget it.

Sara snorted as Kim jogged into the backyard, her frizzy brown hair caught back in a clip. She carried two paper sacks of groceries and wore a bright grin.

Must be a family trait.

“Hey. Where’s stupid?”

“I’m assuming you’re referring to your brother.” The man whose cock I just had my hand on…

Sara shifted uncomfortably on the chaise and pressed her knees together as if she could make the liquid between her thighs evaporate.

“Who else?” Kim collapsed into the empty chair and set her bags next to her feet. “The jerk was supposed to paint the front porch this afternoon. Paint cans are out there. Lid’s even off one of them. But where the hell is he?” She blew out a breath. “I was sure he’d be back here bugging you.”

“What? Why? What would make you think he’d be here with me?”

Kim gave her a look. “Let’s see, maybe because he’s always around you?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, my brother likes you. Which you know. What’s the big deal?” Kim rolled her eyes and pulled her phone out of her purse, letting out a muffled squeal. “Finally. I was wondering if I’d hear.”

“If you’d hear what?” Sara asked, grateful for the reprieve.

She’d gained control of herself now. With Brad and his erect cock out of the area, she could think clearly again. And she had her priorities firmly in order.

She couldn’t stand the idea of anything disrupting the good setup the three of them had going. Hormones aside, she was willing to do whatever it took to ensure her housing situation remained relaxed and low-key. A no-drama zone. She was in a great place in her life. No reason to rock the bed.

Err…boat.

She liked Brad. Of course she did. To keep that liking at a manageable level, all she would have to do was remain steadfast in protecting her stable home environment. Easy enough, right?

Sara released a breath. Easy or hard, she knew what she had to do. Brad would lose interest if she didn’t engage with him. When he lost interest, maybe she would too. Or maybe she’d meet someone else, preferably soon.

Preferably before she responded in a way she’d likely regret.

“I met a guy.” Kim grinned and finally set aside her phone.

“Where? At the grocery store?”

“No. At work.”

Sara leaned forward, her own sex woes temporarily forgotten. “Who?”

“You’ll see at the fundraising dinner in a couple of weeks. I invited him. Speaking of, who are you taking?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Which showed her level of distraction about Brad. She always made sure she had a date long in advance of these shindigs. They tended to be tedious, but they were part of her role at the sanctuary and she never shirked her responsibility.

Who could she ask this close to the event? Her little pink book held a few prospects. None worthy of excitement though. Or even mild anticipation.

“What about Dr. Mikey?”

Sara laughed at Kim’s moniker for one of the other zoologists. Though he was pushing forty, Dr. Michael Eastwick looked closer to twenty. His baby face made him quite popular among the ladies, especially the well-to-do matrons who frequented the fundraisers and showed their appreciation for him through their checkbooks.

“He’s practically engaged.”

“Ah, that barely counts.” Kim tapped her glossy pink nails against her mouth. “What about Steve?”

“What about him?”

“He’s single. I think.”

Sara shook her head, thinking about the security guard who flirted with her—and every other woman within shouting distance—every morning. “No, thanks. Think I’ll be going to this one solo.”

“No way. I have a much better idea.”

Something about Kim’s sparkling grin made Sara’s skin tingle with nerves. “I get scared when you get ideas.”

“As well you should.” Her grin turned sly. “What about Brad?”

Sara cleared her throat and crossed her ankles. She couldn’t be more casual if she tried. “What about Brad?”

“You know he’d go. He loves the sanctuary. I brought him last year and he donated a bunch of stuff for the annual auction. Free oil changes, that sort of thing.”

“So you take him and I’ll take your date,” Sara replied. No one would be able to tell she was the least bit vexed by this conversation, she was sure of it. Butter smooth, that was her.

Kim laughed. “Don’t think you and Greg would be a good fit. You and Brad on the other hand—” she wiggled her eyebrows, “—would make the perfect couple.”

Hmm, did she know a Greg? She was terrible about connecting faces with names. Besides, thinking about who Greg might be was way better than considering Brad as her date. Or her potential lover. “Don’t think so.” Sara’s breathing quickened, but she did her best to stay relaxed.

If relaxed meant gripping the arms of her chaise as if the chair was all that stood between her and certain death.

“You’re being stubborn. Want me to ask him? He even owns a tux. Cleans up pretty well too.”

Brad and a tux were a recipe for disaster. Naked disaster. “Thanks, but I’m sure I can—”

To her surprise, Kim frowned and waved a hand, cutting her off. “Are you fighting with him? Is that why he’s not here?”

“Of course not. Why would we fight? We have nothing to fight about.” Even Sara thought her laughter sounded forced. Okay, I give in. Wave temptation in a tux in my face. I can take it. “Fine. I’ll ask Brad. He might be busy, but I’ll ask.”

“Good. And I bet he’ll be happy to come.”

Her mind shot into a bad place at that particular statement. She popped to her feet before Kim noticed her constricted expression. A red-blooded woman could only disguise so much.

“We’ll see. But I promise I’ll ask.”

“Great. I think the four of us will have fun.” Kim rose and handed Sara one of the bags of groceries.

The storm clouds had already cleared from Kim’s eyes. She really did just want everyone to get along. To be one big, happy, sexually charged family.

Well, maybe not the last part.

It wasn’t as if Brad lived across town. He slept feet away from her own bed, separated by a few flimsy walls. If they…came together, she’d have to face him every day across the toaster. And she’d be damned if her actions caused her to leave before she was ready.

Sara sighed and juggled the paper sack, noticing the box of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies sticking out of the top. She grinned. Her best friend knew her too well. “It will be fun,” she agreed, renewing her vow not to let anything ruin the good thing she had going.

She could handle Brad O’Halloran.

* * *

Brad didn’t check his messages until he returned home later that night. He’d skipped painting the porch—and watching Sara sashay around in next to nothing—in favor of heading down to Harley’s bar. He’d spent most of the evening there, drinking a couple of beers, watching the game. A few times he’d caught women giving him the eye, which upped his mood even if he had no intention of pursuing any of them.

It wasn’t as if he collected phone numbers for rainy days, but he couldn’t say he minded attention occasionally. He knew he wasn’t the most gorgeous guy around. Fine by him. He’d never wanted to be some pretty boy who was afraid to get his hands dirty. He spent every day up to his elbows in grease and didn’t bother with his appearance beyond regular haircuts.

He reached back to brush his fingers over his raggedy ends. Speaking of which, he needed to take care of that soon.

Long hair, car grease, nights spent shooting pool and drinking longnecks. No wonder Sara wouldn’t look at him twice. They were as different as—

He didn’t even have an analogy for how different they were. She would. She always had a smart comeback or a sassy comment. Any guy unprepared around her would be left in the dust.

Rubbing his eyes, he fumbled through his texts. And saw Sara’s name.

When you get home, stop by my room.

His palm immediately dampened. How annoying. She made him feel like a teenager again, completely unsure of his moves. Worse, like he didn’t have any moves. Those girls at the bar didn’t make him feel like that. Yet he kept returning to the same damn well again and again.

Maybe it was the challenge. Maybe it was that her brain was as sexy as her amber eyes.

Or maybe it was the bikini.

Brad grinned and pocketed his phone as he stepped down from his truck. The bikini definitely weighed in.

He entered the house without making any attempt for quiet, forgetting it was heading toward eleven. His sister never stayed up too late unless she had a guy over. Since there were no strange cars in the drive, he guessed she was alone.

Sara never brought men home. After her assertion today about how much she’d seen and done—not a subject he wanted to dwell on overmuch—he had to think she was keeping her male friends away from the house intentionally. The question was why. It was her place too, for as long as she was staying there. She could have anyone over she wanted. He couldn’t guarantee the guy would leave in the same condition he’d arrived in, but she could’ve invited him anyway.

Except she didn’t.

If he were an optimistic sort, he’d think that meant maybe his preoccupation wasn’t one-sided. But she’d tossed enough disdainful looks his way he had to conclude she didn’t want to step on his sister’s toes.

She wasn’t shy. If she wanted him, she would’ve gone for it. For whatever reason, the sex bug that had nipped him in the ass the first time she’d smiled at him and announced herself as Dr. Carmichael hadn’t bitten her as well. And that was too damn bad.

He swung by the kitchen on his way up to Sara’s room and snatched two golden apples out of the basket on the counter. One thing he and Sara had in common was a fondness for midnight snacks, though their usual choices were greasy and laden with calories. But he didn’t really feel like digging around for a bag of chips or searching through his sister’s chocolate stash. The apples would suffice.

After a moment’s debate, he headed to his room first to change into his well-worn pajama pants. It was the same thing he wore when the three of them got together for movie night, and Sara had never blinked twice. Of course he’d never been alone with her in her room late at night either.

First time for everything.

He palmed the apples and headed down the hall, unsurprised to feel his heart thudding in his chest. Anticipation rose inside him, hot and irrepressible. What would she be wearing? Probably her usual bedtime outfit of boxers and a snug T-shirt. In theory, completely unsexy. On her, they made him stone-hard in seconds.

She had one hell of a sweet body. Long legs, nice breasts. Some guys might have seen her as average, but those guys sure weren’t him.

Brad knocked on her closed door, briefly wondering where his sister was. Not that it mattered. This would be a quick chat, not some sort of loud, erotic sexfest.

Unfortunately.

“Come in,” Sara called.

He stepped inside her spacious bedroom. The room appeared the same way it always did. Tidy and classically stylish, full of the antiques his mother had spent so many hours collecting at estate sales. The lights were low, casting a soft glow on the small woman huddled, sans book, surrounded by pillows in the center of the enormous bed. He’d expected her to be reading under the covers. More than once he’d walked past her open door and caught a glimpse of her with her face in a book, reading glasses perched on her nose. So cute. But tonight she hunched under the sheet, the high collar of a nightgown encircling her neck.

“Sara?”

“Don’t come closer.” She fumbled for a tissue from the box on the nightstand, getting it to her nose just as she sneezed. “Sorry. Sick.”

“Since when? I saw you this afternoon.”

“Must be some kind of tsunami virus or something. Knocked me on my ass at dinner.”

He set down the apples on her nightstand and reached for the light blanket tossed on the rocker beside the bed. Late August in Pennsylvania could be unpredictable, and tonight had turned cool. “Here,” he said, draping the blanket around her shivering shoulders. “Want me to turn up the heat?”

“No, you and Kim will roast. I’m fine. God, what a pain.” She grabbed her glass of water, knocking off her box of cold meds in the process. “I can’t be sick this week.”

“Yeah, the sanctuary will have to close if you’re not there for a couple days.” He sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed down the blanket, avoiding the temptation to keep touching her. Even through thick layers of cotton, her body proved almost too much for him. Her eyes couldn’t quite focus, her cheeks were pink with the beginnings of a fever and she’d pulled her long, brown hair up in the messiest topknot he’d ever seen. She was still the most beautiful woman he knew.

She sneezed again and rubbed her eyes, looking positively woeful. “It’s a super busy week. We have the big fundraiser coming up. Which is why I texted you, by the way.”

She sounded a little stuffy. Absolutely adorable. He grinned. “Need a date?” he asked, hoping it was true.

“Not a date,” she said hurriedly. “Just someone to go with me. Kim insisted it be you,” she added.

He reached for his apple and crunched it, watching the way her gaze lingered on his mouth. He chewed slowly, licking his lips between bites. “If Kim insisted, I think I’m busy.”

“Come on, Brad. I didn’t mean that.” She glanced at the other apple. “Is that for me?”

“Mmm-hmm. You look kind of weak. Want me to feed it to you?”

She laughed, though her laughter soon turned into a pitiful cough. “How can you feed me an apple?” she asked, her voice scratchier—and sexier—than normal.

“Allow me to demonstrate.” Without reaching for her apple, he leaned in and lifted his to her mouth, raising his brows when she shot him a questioning glance. “Now you take a bite.”

“I have germs.”

“I love Sara germs,” he said, nudging her chin with the apple.

Shaking her head, she grinned. “Fine. Don’t cry to me when you get sick too.” She took a quick bite and drew back, lapping up the droplets of juice that slipped over her full lips. “Dammit, I can barely taste it.”

“You didn’t get enough.” He bit in and turned his head, lowering his face to hers. Her eyes widened. “Open up,” he murmured, slanting his mouth over hers before she had time to argue.

Her lips parted, and he tasted a hint of cherry cough syrup before their tongues tangled in the briefest, hottest kiss of his life. She accepted the apple and swallowed, her tongue retreating from his too fast. He chased after it, licking the inside of her mouth with tender strokes designed to cause her to relax. Again her tongue slid against his, almost as if she were collecting the last of the juice. Then she pushed him away, gently but firmly.

“I’m sick,” she reminded him, her warm breath puffing against his cheek.

“So you keep reminding me.” He returned to his apple, hiding his smile at the sound of her forced breathing. Unaffected? Not hardly. “Want more?”

“Of the apple or you?”

“Whichever.” His gaze roamed her face. “A minute ago you looked cold. Now you look too warm. Wonder how that happened?”

“Brad,” she said, her tone weak and soft. “I can’t deal with you when I’m loopy on cold meds.”

“You could try going with it.”

“Going with what?”

“Letting me take care of you.” And he didn’t mean just by offering her tissues. He set aside the apple and motioned for her to move. “Shove over.”

“You want to get in bed with me?”

“Thought that was obvious.” She rolled her eyes but, shockingly, she didn’t protest. She shifted onto her side as he settled in and turned his cheek toward hers on the pillow. “There. That’s not too scary, is it?”

“I’m not scared of you.” Her soft scoff contrasted with the wary expression she wore as she worried her lower lip between her teeth. “Much.”

“Finally she tells the truth.” He traced his fingertip over her temple. “I’m almost thirty.”

She smiled, but her eyes remained serious. “Thanks for the update.”

He brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, driven to keep touching her until he somehow found a way through the stubborn shell guarding her heart. And all the rest of her. “I come with good references.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Not my ex, that’s for sure. But I have a business. I’m financially solvent, responsible, good with birds,” he added when Telly, Sara’s conure, sent out a series of chirps from his cage in the corner of the room. “I’m also excellent with my hands.”

She made a clucking noise and looked at him from under her thick fringe of lashes. “As if you’d say otherwise.”

“I’m a mechanic. Making things hum is my specialty.”

“Right.” She yawned and snuggled into the pillows, still watching him through hazy eyes. “Are you going to come to the fundraiser with me?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On if you admit you really want me to come.” It was a gamble, one he hoped paid off.

She whisked her tongue along her upper lip. “I’m too tired to want anyone to come. Even me.”

“Dr. Carmichael, that sounded suspiciously like flirtation.”

“Cold medicine,” she mumbled, arching as his hand strayed to her back. He circled his palm over her spine, his pulse bumping as she let out a quiet sigh. “That feels good. I’m so achy. It’ll be time for me to take more meds soon.” She groaned. “If I live that long.”

“I have a better idea. How about a massage?”

“Why do I have a feeling there’s only one answer you’ll accept?”

“Because you’re smart as well as sexy.” He kissed the tip of her nose and continued stroking her back, pressing his fingertips into tight muscles. “You’re awfully tense.”

“Hello, I’m in bed with my best friend’s brother.”

He laughed, low and appreciative. At least she hadn’t called him little again. “Here’s a thought. Why don’t you think of me as Brad? Just Brad. Kim’s not in this bed with us.”

“Thank God.”

Brad shifted closer, his palm spanning the small of her back. She was compact and lithe, a powerhouse in a petite package. She wasn’t an overgrown girl incapable of taking care of herself. This was a woman, a competent adult who didn’t play games.

At least, she didn’t play games he wouldn’t enjoy.

“You feel good,” he said quietly, sliding his fingers lower until they rubbed over the swell of her ass. Even when disguised by her decidedly unsexy nightgown, the sensuous curves of her body caused a definite stirring between his legs. His cock didn’t care that she was sick, that was for certain. “You must work out.”

“Nah, my only semi-regular exercise is sex,” she said with a hint of a smile.

He cupped her ass and stared deep into her eyes, expecting her to put on the brakes sooner rather than later. “You don’t have it here.”

She moved against him restlessly, as if she’d realized they were nestled together. “It’s not my house.”

“It is while you’re living here.” Unable to help himself, he eliminated the distance between them and arrowed his tongue along her lower lip, asking for the entrance he’d simply taken moments before.

She kept her eyes on his as her lips opened, her tongue snaking out to guide him in for a quick kiss. He didn’t expect much in her condition, but just the skim of her mouth over his was enough to ignite his senses. He also didn’t expect the rush of warmth that descended over him when she sighed again and sidled lower to lay her head against his chest. “You’re good at that.”

“You too.” After he reached over and turned out the bedside lamp, he stroked her back, sliding his hand up to feather his fingertips over the exposed skin above the nightgown’s collar. “You should get some sleep. Try to shake off this cold.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She swallowed audibly. “Are you as good a kisser everywhere?”

Still rocked by getting somewhere—anywhere—with her, he didn’t understand her question at first. In the intimate dark of her bedroom, it would be easy to ascribe a husky timbre to her tone that wasn’t there. “What exactly are you asking me?” he questioned, his voice strained from the unrelenting pressure in his cock.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“Sara.” He lifted her face to his. Even though he couldn’t see her eyes in the darkness, he brought their faces close until their mouths nearly met. “Tell me what you need.”

“I can’t.” She groaned. “God, I’m not used to feeling uncertain like this.”

“You don’t have to be. No one else needs to know what happens here between us.” He rubbed his thumb over her mouth and inhaled deeply as her soft, wet lips enveloped it. “Tell me,” he said as she released him.

“What if I show you?”

Now he was the one to swallow hard. Could she hear his heart throbbing in his chest? “Okay.”

She slipped away, putting space between their bodies. Then she tugged down the sheet and yanked up the hem of her nightgown, giving him a glimpse of long legs and smooth skin in the faint moonlight. He waited as she hiked up the fabric, trying not to pant. Whatever she wanted, he hoped like hell he could last long enough to give it to her.

“Your mouth,” she said, grabbing his hand and sliding it between her thighs. Her wet thighs. “Put it here.”

He was dreaming. He had to be. This afternoon when he’d left, Sara hadn’t seemed interested. She’d flushed when he guided her hand to his cock, true. She’d even let out a little gasp. But he never could have fathomed the day would end like this.

“Is this the cold medicine talking?” he asked hoarsely, afraid he didn’t care.

“No. I’m thinking clearly. Mostly. But I…I’m not up for full sex. Is that a problem?”

Brad slid down the mattress so fast that she laughed. “Do you go commando all the time in bed or is this a special occasion?”

“Since I often wear thongs, I don’t like to wear anything at night.” Her tone turned flirty. “I could slip on a pair, if you have some ritual that involves taking them off with your teeth…”

Thongs? Really? Now he’d have that in his head every time he saw her. And every time he didn’t. Pretty much every day, always.

“Intriguing idea, but no. This more than works for me.” He shifted around on the bed until he could wedge his head between her thighs and suck in a breath full of Sara.

Damn, she smelled good. How many times had he fantasized about eating her out while he stroked one off in the shower? Now here she was, her hot pussy inches from his eager mouth, the erotic aroma making him lightheaded.

She reached down and wove her fingers through his hair as he started to lick, circling his tongue around her swollen clit. He could’ve spent all night doing this. She tasted as tangy and sweet as the apple they’d shared, and he pressed his face against her heat, intent on getting more of her in his mouth. Finally, he had proof of their mutual attraction, and he damn well wouldn’t waste a drop.

She tugged on his hair, sharp pulls that only encouraged his engorged cock to rear against his pajama pants. He reached down to release himself, but not because he expected her to do anything about his hard-on. Nope, he’d pretty much reconciled himself to getting reacquainted with the shower again tonight. But if he didn’t relieve some of the pressure around his dick, he’d detonate in no time. And that wouldn’t exactly make her change her mind from thinking he was too young, now would it?

“Use your fingers,” she urged as he began to do just that, sliding two in and out of her slick pussy. Her inner muscles clamped around him, her arousal making wet, noisy sounds every time he entered and exited. She thrust against his face shamelessly, using his hair to move his mouth up and down her saturated flesh until she wasn’t the only one moaning.

He reached up with his free hand for her breast, grabbing her harder than he’d meant to. She didn’t seem to mind. Her back bowed, and she pushed her tight nipple into his palm, her cries rising.

“God. Yes. Don’t stop. I’m about to…”

“Stop?” he rasped. “Not a fucking chance.”

He fought not to lose it as he redoubled his efforts. He sucked her clit hard and thrust his fingers deep, determined to experience every nuance with her even if he’d only get to feel her spasm around his flesh.

As many times as he’d fantasized about going down on her, nothing prepared him for the reality of hearing her ride out her climax or tasting the results as her release flowed over his tongue. Her nails scraped his scalp, another provocative memory he knew he’d never forget.

He nuzzled her through the aftermath, loving her as sweetly as he’d kissed her mouth. She rocked her hips and sighed, the rumble of her pleasure vibrating through her body and straight into his.

“Thank you,” she whispered as he gathered her in his arms. “I know I’ll sleep now.”

Before he could comment, she was snoring against his shoulder.

Sara had never been a fan of awkward middle-of-the-night-afters. Especially when she awakened due to an unladylike coughing fit that ended with her new lover stroking her back.

“Easy. Let me get you some juice,” Brad murmured, slipping out of her bed before she could ask him why he hadn’t gone back to his.

The moment he left, she flung herself into her pillows. What the hell had she been thinking, demanding he go down on her? It had felt really good, granted, but so did getting rip-roaring drunk. The hangover was the problem.

By the time he returned, she’d composed herself. She thanked him for the juice and sipped it gratefully. The sweet liquid cooled her raw throat. At least it was still dark so she didn’t have to see his face.

Just when she thought she might escape with a shred of dignity intact, he turned on the bedside lamp and pried the glass out of her clammy hand. He tossed back the rest of her drink and set it aside, wiping his mouth in a way that should’ve reminded her of a little kid but instead made her swallow hard. The ripple of his throat shouldn’t have reignited the heat in her belly, but dear God, it so did.

“You really want to get sick too, don’t you?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes in an effort not to meet his gaze. She could feel him staring at her and didn’t want to imagine how she must look. Who looked good while they were sniffling and hacking?

“Not worried.” He brushed her hair away from her face, his touch unbearably gentle. “You’re burning up.”

That explained why her clothes practically chafed her skin. She huffed out a breath and closed her eyes. “I’ll sleep it off.”

“How long’s it been since you took your medicine?”

“Dunno.” She curled up around her pillow, already drifting. But she woke in a hurry when a cold washcloth skimmed her forehead an instant before an icy stream of water trickled into her hair. “Dammit, Brad.”

“You need to cool off.” He nudged her up and sat behind her, cradling her body in his strong arms. He wiped her face, eventually reaching the back of her neck. She couldn’t deny it felt good, so she didn’t stop him.

She frowned, realizing the room was strangely silent. “Where’s Telly?” she asked, noticing his cage was gone.

“Downstairs. Didn’t want you to give him the avian flu.”

“I don’t have the avian flu, you ass.” But she giggle-coughed just the same.

He unlaced the top of her nightgown and smoothed the compress over her breasts. “See, you’re cooling right off,” he said against her ear, rubbing the wet washcloth over her shoulders.

Despite her near-slumber and general rundown state, her nipples perked up the minute his competent hands roused them. Since he still hadn’t covered her again, she figured they were probably standing sky high, but she was too tired to check. Everything below her forehead that didn’t ache felt numb.

“If you’re trying to take advantage of me, you’d probably get more resistance from a corpse.” She smiled as he tugged her earlobe. “So do what you must.”

“Oh yeah.” His irritated tone elicited a grin. “Watching your chin slump into your chest from exhaustion gives me a huge boner, let me tell you.”

It hurt her sore ribs to laugh, but she did it anyway. Her reward was yet another coughing fit. “I’m not used to having someone take care of me.”

“So? What’s the verdict?”

Already heading toward sleep again, she snuggled into his embrace. “I think I kind of like it.”

* * *

When Sara woke, he was gone. It didn’t really surprise her. What guy wanted to hang around the sick bed of a woman he had the hots for? At least he had before she’d been attacked by the super virus from hell.

She sat up and winced at the new pains that presented themselves. Her chest hurt, her back hurt, and her nose twitched with the near-constant need to sneeze. Charming. Good thing she had a nearly full bottle of cough syrup and a ton of movies to watch on Netflix because she so wasn’t going to work today.

How had she gotten sick so fast? In the last two years, she hadn’t had so much as a fever. Now all of a sudden she’d been laid flat by the mother of all bugs.

Yawning, she inched across the bed and grabbed her phone. After placing a quick call to the bird sanctuary, she sank into her pillows and stared at the ceiling with blurry eyes. Her oversized nightgown clung to her, and she desperately needed a shower. She glanced down at her attire and winced. God, had Brad really seen her in this?

And partially out of it too.

She moaned and rolled over, dragging her pillow over her head. Maybe blissful unconsciousness would claim her again, and she could forget she’d come onto Kim’s brother while in a cold-induced fog. Come onto didn’t actually cover it. She’d commanded him to orally please her, for God’s sake.

And he had. Oh, he had.

How could she ever face him again?

Their brief conversation in the middle of the night didn’t count. She’d been half-asleep and feverish. His sweet attempts to take care of her had lulled her into not erecting her usual boundaries, whatever ones she had left.

Him seeing her sick wasn’t bad enough. Why not go for utter mortification? Flipping up her ginormous, old-fashioned nightgown and expecting him to distract her with pleasures of the flesh had been a great plan. They’d totally go back to their comfortable friendship now, despite the fact that he knew what she tasted like. And how she got really rough in the throes of climax. She’d probably yanked out clumps of his thick, silky hair.

“Ugh!” She groaned again and pulled the pillow down tight over her ears. Maybe she’d had a nightmare. Sometimes she did if she ate weird things before going to sleep. More than once she’d consumed Brad’s late-night junk food creations and paid for it afterward. But this went way beyond indigestion from fried bologna and pickle sandwiches. This was complete and total humiliation.

“Morning, Sara Smile.”

She went dead still in the center of her bed, forgetting even to breathe. No. Didn’t he have to work? It was Monday morning.

“Go away,” she pleaded, hoping he’d get the message. Now that the cough syrup was out of her system—hard to believe she could have such an extreme reaction to routine medication, but there you go—she could view this situation with an objective eye.

Brad simply wanted a rebound affair with someone he found reasonably attractive, preferably a woman who wouldn’t be difficult to extricate himself from afterward. He knew she wasn’t clingy. Maybe he even had a thing for older women.

She was nice-looking, even pretty, but parts of her body sagged that did not sag on the women he usually dated. She wasn’t blonde or particularly stacked. Her jeans were not size four or six. She had long hair, yes, but that was due to the ease of putting it up rather than a desire to seem young and sexy.

She was a doctor, an ornithologist. A professional. She wouldn’t start up some sort of sordid, reality TV-worthy affair with a guy young enough to—

Eat your pussy with enough skill to make you scream?

“Unhhh!” She thudded her forehead against the bed and prayed for oblivion.

The mattress dipped under his weight and she realized, much to her dismay, that time had not stood still while she rated herself on his potential scale. Dammit.

“Sara?” He tugged at her pillow but she wouldn’t let go. Nope. If she had to stay hiding under this pillow until he moved away from home, then that was exactly what she would do.

Instead of continuing to try to loosen her grip, he let go. Suspicious, she pushed up on her hands and knees as cool air swept over her heated flesh. Before she could protest, he yanked up her infernal nightgown and placed a kiss on her bare ass.

She shivered. She simply couldn’t help it. And he laughed, the low, prideful sound curling her toes and dampening the traitorous area between her legs that refused to allow her to be levelheaded about him.

She’d never had a problem with that before. Before she’d known the joy of his lips and his tongue and his hard body wrapping around hers in the night…

God, she was fucked.

He slid the nightgown higher and trailed kisses over the small of her back. “Want me to keep going?” he murmured, tracing the crack of her ass with one silken fingertip.

“Where’s Kim?” she whispered.

“Work. She went in early. Lucky for us she wasn’t here last night. Apparently her new guy picked her up before I got home. I wondered if she heard when you—”

“Can we not talk about that? Please?”

“Why? Are you embarrassed? I’m not. I wish I’d taped your sexy moans so I could replay them when I’ve got my cock in my hand and I’m thinking about you.”

She tossed aside the pillow and rolled over, shoving her tangled mass of hair out of her eyes. “You expect me to believe you masturbate to thoughts of me?”

The corner of Brad’s mouth tipped up. “Whatever clinical term you prefer, yeah, I do expect you to believe it. In fact, the next time you hear the shower running in my bathroom, why don’t you come inside and see for yourself?”

“That you jerk off doesn’t prove you’re thinking about me. Even if you are, what does that mean? Other than you’ve developed some kind of unhealthy fixation.”

“Unhealthy? Says who?” One eyebrow winged up, disappearing under the golden hair that crossed his forehead. He’d let his hair grow longer than he usually did, and she didn’t know if she liked it.

Oh hell, who was she kidding? She’d like him with a full wig or bald. Naked or dressed. Though at the moment she certainly preferred him one way over the other.

“You’re not my Tim Robbins,” she said in a small voice, well aware she was fighting a losing battle. Again. Why did she even bother when she knew how good it would feel to give in?

She licked her lips as her gaze drifted over his loose navy T-shirt half-tucked into skintight black jeans. The man wore denim well. He wore everything well.

No one else needs to know what happens here between us.

That sounded better all the time.

“Never said I was. Though Susan Sarandon’s pretty hot, so I don’t blame him for going there. Sucks they broke up though.” He held up a hand when she started to speak, his eyes narrowing. “If you say they split because she’s old, I’ll take you across my knee and—”

“What?” she asked breathlessly after he fell silent.

He expelled a breath. “You piss me off, you know that?”

“I didn’t know you ever got pissed off.” Because the urge to crawl into his lap was growing by the millisecond, she forced herself to kick off the sheet and roll out of bed.

“Get back here,” he said in little more than a growl.

His deep voice skated over her skin, the erotic potential in his demand tightening her nipples. “Or what?” She shot him an arch look before she headed into the attached bathroom to face herself in the mirror.

When she had, she wished she hadn’t. “Oh my God.”

“What?” He was up and in the doorway in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

“Look at me.” Leaning forward, she tugged at the gaping neckline of her nightgown. He’d never tied it back up again. “I’m a mess.”

“Didn’t notice.”

“Right.” Rolling her eyes, she grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste. She waited for him to leave, but he didn’t move from the doorway. “Mind?”

“Uncomfortable with me here?”

She shrugged and uncapped the toothpaste. “Suit yourself.”

He wandered over to the basket of fancy soaps and bottles of body wash she had on the shelf in the shower. “You use all this stuff?” he asked, sorting through her collection.

“Most of it. Some only on special occasions.” She loaded up her toothbrush and turned on the water. If he wouldn’t leave, she’d try to be as discreet as possible.

Once she’d finished, she put away the toothpaste and sighed as he continued to pick through her belongings. It would’ve been almost cute, if she didn’t feel completely grungy and incapable of dealing with company. Though he technically wasn’t, because she lived with him, and he already knew parts of her pretty damn well.

She flushed and glanced away. Enough thoughts about that.

“Which are for special occasions?”

“The honeysuckle ones.”

“Why?”

“They’re really expensive. I buy a new product in the line whenever I’m celebrating something big. Graduation from my doctoral program, when I moved here, my new job at the sanctuary. They commemorate big changes in my life.”

“Kind of like my torque wrenches.” He shot her a grin over his shoulder and set down the pink poufy sponge he’d been toying with. “Although a good month financially is sometimes a big enough reason for me to get one. The guys at the shop love them and hell, why not? What good is money if you never live a little?”

He made an excellent point. What good was anything if you didn’t enjoy life? If you didn’t say to hell with it every once in a while and go for something crazy and wild because you could?

Because it felt so damn right?

“Speaking of the guys at the shop, shouldn’t you be at work right now instead of babysitting me?”

“One of the perks of being the boss. I can be a little late now and then. Or a lot late,” he added meaningfully.

She swallowed and faced the mirror. Lovely. She still had to deal with the hornet’s nest on her head. She pulled the elastic out of her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. Then she yanked her brush out of the basket on the vanity and tackled the worst of the snarls.

“It’s hopeless,” she muttered.

“Hardly.” He came up behind her. “Give me the brush.”

“Why?” Her pulse galloped like a runaway horse. “So you can paddle my ass?”

“Now there’s a thought. No, so I can take care of this for you.”

“I’m going to shower soon. You really don’t have to bother.“

“It’s easier to wash your hair if it’s untangled, right?” he asked, his voice oozing patience.

“Yeah, I suppose.” She handed over her brush, figuring he’d poke at her until she gave in anyway. He dragged the bristles through her hair, roughly at first. Her wince caused him to gentle his strokes. Soon he was brushing the full length in long, even glides, caressing her scalp with each movement.

Her breath trembled out from between her parted lips, and she closed her eyes, somehow embarrassed by how intimate this looked reflected in the glass. If he’d been kneeling before her with his mouth between her legs, she wouldn’t have shied away from watching him. But his hot expression as he pleasured her this way drove the intensity level between them up by miles.

“Good enough.” She cleared her throat and shifted to look at him, maintaining eye contact even when she wanted to retreat and put a little distance between them. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He wound a strand around his finger, pulling lightly. “I bet you want that shower.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sure this is my cue to leave.”

In lieu of an answer, she reached for the gaping open vee of her nightgown. Despite its lack of style, she’d kept it for nights she wanted comfort. Nights she spent alone, or in bed with a man who eventually grew to view her as not much more provocative than the furniture. Pete had certainly never looked at her like this, his stare following her fingers as if he couldn’t wait to see what she revealed.

“I’d really rather you stay,” she murmured.