How does a man turn me on just by eating food? Holy crap, watching him devour that roll and throw back his beer is the most sensual thing I’ve seen in my life. My attraction to him is rising to undeniable levels and it’s starting to make me panic. I can’t do this right now—not with him. I’m still so upside down emotionally and in my life in general.
I get up, under the guise of getting us another beer, but really I just need to not be so close to him. If I stay on that bench seat, right next to him, I will lose the ability to control myself and end up kissing him again. And I won’t stop at kissing. Jesus, how am I supposed to spend the night here with him a few feet away?
“Can I help myself?” I point to the fridge and holding up my empty beer bottle.
He gives me that seductive smirk he seems to have perfected in adulthood. “You can help yourself to whatever you want, Winona.”
That spark of desire in my belly turns into a fire licking its way through my veins. I should probably drop all the blankets and jackets I’m swaddled in and go back to the house so I can cool off. Instead, I open the fridge and pray the cool air will keep my cheeks from turning red. I pull out the beers and when the door swings closed it ruffles some papers on the counter. My eyes glance over, to make sure nothing fell, and the words catch my eye. The first page, in Holden’s neat handwriting, is a list of names. Right Renos. East Coast Renovations. Coastal Homes. New Old Homes.
I pick it up and walk over to hand him his beer. Holden sees the paper in my hand and looks uncomfortable. He stands up and reaches for it instead of the beer. “You don’t need to see that.”
“What is it?”
“I’m brainstorming,” he mumbles and folds the paper and shoves it in the back pocket of his jeans. “Company names. I have to file the paperwork to officially register my business and I’m trying to figure out what to call it.”
“Hendricks Homes,” I say simply because it’s a no-brainer if you ask me, but he just shrugs. “Seriously? It’s the perfect name.”
He finally takes the beer from me and twists off the cap. “Nah. I think I’m leaning toward Coastal Homes or Coastal Renos. What do you think?”
I twist the cap off my own beer and take a slow sip before answering. “I think that’s shit.”
Those wolflike eyes flare and he looks almost wounded. I decide to soften my approach. “What’s wrong with your name? It’s your business.”
He takes a long, slow breath and his expression darkens. “Because when people in this town hear Holden Hendricks they think That’s a trustworthy guy I want in my house? That’s what you think, right?”
He is being sarcastic and my face flushes but this time, hormones have nothing to do with it. I’m embarrassed for being called out. He gives me a bitter smirk and takes another sip of his beer. “I’m sorry.”
“Saying you’re sorry for something that you truly believe is bullshit. Don’t do it,” he says tersely and drops back down onto the bench by the table.
I place my beer on the counter with a thud, no longer thirsty. “If you wanted people to actually believe you’d changed you wouldn’t be lying about hanging out with Kidd or that drug dealer dude.”
His smirk hardens. “If you think I’m still a sketchy douchebag, then what the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m cold,” I say even though right now, my blood is boiling. “You gave me no choice by cutting the power.”
He lets out a hard laugh. “You’ve had choices this entire time, Winnie, and you know it. You could have told Jude to fire me. You could have left. You have the money to stay in a hotel or even rent a different place. You could have gone to Cat’s tonight, but you didn’t. You’re here. With me. The big bad wolf.”
He’s taunting me and it might be in jest, but it reminds me of young cruel Holden too much. “Fine. I’m leaving,” I say and start toward the door, but I spin back to face him. “And if you don’t start working full days instead of sneaking off in the afternoons to do whatever, I will tell Jude to fire you.”
“You do that, Larry,” he snarks.
I have one foot out the door, but that snide comment freezes me in my tracks and I decide he’s not getting the last word. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to say to him, but it’s not going to be pretty. I turn back around and he’s stepped forward and is right behind me.
“I hate you,” I blurt out in pure frustration.
“No, you don’t,” he says confidently. “You want to and that’s why you’re doing this. You want to hate my guts because you want to hate everything. You’re in mourning. You’ve had your heart swallowed by grief—after it was broken by a real douchebag—and you want to wallow in it and being around me makes you happy. You like it. You like me. And you want me to like you, which I do. A lot.”
Why am I no longer ready to punch him again? Why am I…feeling like I might cry? He takes my silence as an opening and steps even closer. His hand slowly and gently slips around my waist.
“You think you know everything,” I say but my tone is soft, my voice breathless. Oh God he is so right. I didn’t even realize it until he said it out loud, but he is right.
“I think I know you,” he replies and dips his head ever so slightly. “And I think you want me to kiss you.”
“I do,” I admit despite the confusion and anxiety swirling inside me. Is this right? Am I crazy? Can I do this right now—after everything? He tilts his head and our lips connect, then our tongues collide and all my doubt is gone, my fear turns to desire. Right or wrong, I need this man. Now. So when he tries to pull away I curl my fingers in his hair to keep his mouth on mine, but I can’t.
He pulls away just an inch and whispers, “I think you want me to fuck you.”
“I do,” I say, panting with want. “I do.”
He reaches down, cups my ass, lifts me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. Then he presses my back against the closed trailer door. There’s no denying the man is in perfect shape—all hard muscle from his abs to his arms and his sculpted thighs. I’m eager to see—and feel—every part of him. I push his shirt higher and higher as I explore the rippled flesh of his torso with my hands.
His lips suck their way down the side of my neck and he moves us off the wall, walking toward the bedroom. As he carries me, I break our kiss long enough to pull off his shirt and drop it on the floor. He moves his lips back to mine, his tongue sweeping forcefully into my mouth as he drops to his knees on the bed and carefully lays me on the mattress. His big, strong, rough hands start to peel off my layers. With every blanket and coat he removes, the flutter in my belly grows stronger. It’s a mix of nerves and desire. I want him—I want this—but I’ve only ever slept with Ty. That fact weakens my confidence until, as he finally strips away all my clothes and looks at me in nothing but a thong and bra, and his hands ghost across the bare skin of my stomach he whispers. “You’re more beautiful than I imagined.”
Then, I have the confidence to move my own hands to his jeans and start to undo his belt. He helps me push his pants down and takes his underwear with them. Now he’s even more naked than I am and far less concerned about it. His left hand wraps around his long shaft and his eyes fill with dark passion as he pumps himself once before dropping down on top of me and capturing my lips again. “Can I touch you?” he asks pulling back from the kiss just enough to get the words out. “Because I really need to slide my fingers in you and feel your heat.”
“God yes,” I moan shamelessly. I push my underwear down my hips to give him access. A second later his hand is between my legs and he gently slides two fingers into me at once while his thumb finds my clit and his lips find my ear. I can feel his dick against my thigh and I try to reach it, but only graze it with my fingertips. “It’s okay, baby. Watching you get off on my touch is pleasure enough.”
I gasp as he twists his fingers and pushes up, and pleasure pulses through me in short, intense bursts with every thrust. “Holy fuck, Holden. Please…” I grab the back of his head, my fingers cutting through his thick, soft hair, and come. It’s short, it’s hard, it’s glorious.
His hips are moving against my leg and suddenly he stops and pulls back. “I need to get a condom.”
“I want you to get a condom,” I reply breathlessly trying not to focus on how my pussy is still quivering. He gets up and strides naked into the bathroom and comes back with a silver foil package in his hand. He tears it open and rolls it over himself as he climbs back onto the bed.
He lies down on top of me and reaches down to hook the back of my right leg and hitch it higher, as his tip aligns with my entrance. He pauses, kisses me so gently it takes my breath away in a completely different way and then pushes into me—hard and fast. The juxtaposition of the two things—the soft, slow kiss and the hard, quick way he enters me—awakens the desire that had been sated by that first orgasm. I’m instantly chasing another orgasm. But more importantly, I’m desperate to watch him have his first.
And when he does, several minutes later, it’s a beautiful thing. His body tenses, his eyes snap closed and his head tilts back and he moans, a sound so deep and rough I swear I feel it in my clit and it sends me tumbling into my own orgasm.
I lie there listening to him catch his breath and try to come to terms with the fact that my childhood enemy is the best lover I’ve ever had.