Chapter Seven
When they got back to the house, Holden made quick work of removing the shard of glass from Avery’s foot, disinfecting, and bandaging it—though she imagined her stream of swear words did nothing to help his concentration.
Thereafter, he headed for the bathroom, and Avery shuffled into her bedroom. Right now, she needed sanctuary, a place to hide. Though at the moment, she wasn’t sure who she was hiding from. Or what.
She closed the bedroom door behind her and leaned back against the wood. The room looked the same as it had when she’d left—a giant mass of silky lavender bed things piled into the middle of the mattress amid a stack of pillows. Her closet doors were wide open, displaying every color in the visible light spectrum. Clothes hung precariously on their hangers.
It was a perfect, comfy wash of chaos.
She pulled off her clothes and threw on an old T-shirt. It was one Holden had left behind on his last visit. A football shirt from their old high school—East Maryland High, home of the Fighting Crabs. Though based on her memories of the place, it had really been the cheerleading squad that had been fighting the crabs.
Sighing, she pulled on a pair of ruffled shorts and glanced down at her outfit. Nothing about it said “come and get it,” but it also didn’t scream “tell me about your feelings, I’m totally comfortable.” It was just normal. Perfect.
With a deep breath, she opened her bedroom door and popped back into her living room, settling herself on the couch to wait for Holden.
There was no reason to panic about the beach. She’d done enough thinking in the car ride home to last her a lifetime. The thing she needed to focus on was the conclusion—no matter what she told Holden, or what he told her, they both knew the terms of their agreement. He was her friend. He deserved to know about her hang-ups.
Overall, it had just been a regular old good day. Some good sex. A good friend.
What else could she ask for?
She sucked in her cheeks and settled back on the cushions when she heard Holden rifling through her medicine cabinet on the other side of the door.
“Mouthwash is under the sink,” she called. He never remembered that. Not in all the times he’d been in the apartment. She smiled faintly as she heard the door open and he called back his thanks.
Catching the smile, she bit her bottom lip and shook her head. What if the intimacy hadn’t just been in her head, though? And what about the other stuff? He’d paid for dinner. That was so…sweet. And also, so…territorial. Like he was taking care of her.
Then there was that look. The one that softened the corners of his eyes and made his full lips look so damned kissable that she could hardly hold back. She had to, though. She’d done a shit job of it so far, but something inside her needed to snap back into place and remember the agreement.
They were friends—good friends—who had sex. No strings attached.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t see other men. That was a coincidence. It didn’t matter that he’d leave one day. That was a fact.
When that day came, he’d be better for it. He’d find a woman who could live with not knowing when or if he’d be back. He’d find a woman who would stand by his side and take care of his children, someone who’d been raised in some ranch-style house in Nebraska with a mom and a dad and a dog. The whole works. Someone who was the very opposite of Avery.
Avery was not the girl for Holden. He knew it, his family knew it.
She knew it. And she hated it.
Every time he touched his warm, gorgeous lips to her own, the stabbing reminder of that fact twisted between her ribs as a not-so-subtle reminder. She pushed the thought from her mind. She didn’t need to worry about it. He wouldn’t mess up their friendship, not when it was so obvious they had no future.
Sure, they had fun. They laughed, and liked a lot of the same things. And he was sexy. Very, very sexy.
But he was Holden. He could do better.
One day, they’d both look back and smile at the memory of their time together, and that would be that.
Avery frowned and glanced at the TV. Suddenly, she was struck by exactly how dusty it was, and she hobbled over to wipe the screen. Then she turned to find that everything else was, well…askew. She straightened the pillows on the sofa, cleared off the counters and her coffee table, even dusted the cinderblocks beneath the TV, as if she were Martha freaking Stewart.
All the while, she listened to Holden moving around in the bathroom, the sounds he made as he got in and out of the shower. And each time she thought he might open the door, her heart gave a little leap and she doused another table with Pine-Sol and scrubbed furiously.
When at last there was nothing left to clean, she put her hands on her hips and glanced around the newly sparkling apartment. She was pretty sure the place had been messier than this when she’d moved in. Now it practically gleamed.
It all felt so…dirty.
She knocked over a plant that was sitting on her table, only to be completely underwhelmed when she remembered it was fake. Everything stayed very neatly in its planter, lying on its side on the table.
“Good enough,” she huffed.
Then the door swung open, and Holden tossed her a lazy grin on his way to the sofa.
She watched him go, suddenly aware of how dry her throat was.
He glanced around the apartment, his brows knit together. “What happened here? Did you get reverse robbed?”
“Very funny.” She fisted her hands on her hips, only to discover with revulsion that she was still holding a feather duster.
What had she become?
She tossed the duster away and let it drop onto the linoleum kitchen floor.
How was it, in all this time, that she hadn’t formulated a plan for what she might do when he was finally near her again?
She reminded herself to relax, but still her brain scurried for some excuse to put distance between them. Some way for her to collect herself. But in an apartment this small, there were really only a few options.
She could shower until she looked like a California raisin. Or…
She plopped herself down onto the couch and turned the TV back on to another episode of Dance Divas. Angry Southern mothers and complete familial dysfunction? It hit so close to home for both of them, he’d detest it with every fiber of his being.
It was ideal.
“Let’s watch some TV for a bit, if you don’t mind.” She stretched out and set her feet on her uncomfortably clean coffee table. She’d have to take care of that and soon.
“Yeah, okay,” he said, joining her.
Too close for comfort.
He was within spooning distance, and she could practically feel the snuggle settling in. Bells were ringing in her head. Whistles sounded. Lights flashed. Danger! Danger!
The weird, intimate feeling was oozing back in, and she had to do something, anything, to free herself from destroying the very fabric of their no-strings-attached agreement. The only problem was, she had no idea how to distance herself.
And then it hit her.
She started squinting at the television. First just a little, then she leaned forward, sat up straighter, did everything she could to bring attention to herself.
“Are you okay?” he asked, taking the bait.
Gotcha.
“Oh, it’s stupid. I took out my contacts while you were gone, and I never put my glasses back on. That’s all. It’s dumb.”
“I’ve never seen you wear glasses,” he said.
“Oh, uh.” He had her there. But for once she was quick on her feet. “I got them while you were away.”
“All right. No big deal. I’ll get them for you.” He was up before she could stop him.
Still, she let out a feeble, “No, wait, you don’t have to.”
He didn’t notice her lack of effort. She knew how he could be when he was on a quest.
“I think they’re on my makeup table. You know, on the far side of the room. Away from the door, like.” She got up and followed him to her bedroom entrance and pointed. After crossing the room to the small surface, he started opening drawers, but to no avail.
He looked toward the closet, but before he made a move, she said, “I wouldn’t look in the closet unless you want to play a game I call ‘curling iron or vibrator.’ That game has no winners.”
His answer lay somewhere between a cough and a chuckle. Still he pressed on.
“I don’t see them.” He turned to leave, and she slammed the door shut and shoved a chair under the knob.
His footfalls rushed toward the door, but it was too late. She’d won.
No more weird intimacy. For tonight, at the very least, she had no more concerns.
Except maybe for the fact that he was pounding on the door, shouting her name. “Avery, what the hell?”
“I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think we should share a bed this trip. You should get some rest and not have to deal with my sleep thrashing.”
“And you couldn’t tell me that?”
“So, you would have agreed to sleep in the bed and let me have the couch?” she asked, knowing the answer.
Silence.
“It’s for your own good,” she called back. “Good night.”
“You’ll pay for this,” he yelled back.
“Yeah, yeah. You and what army. In the meantime, get some sleep.” She stared at the couch and frowned. Rodrigo was curled in a little gray ball where she’d been sitting, and he mewled softly as he spread out some more.
“Looks like you’ll have company tonight, pal,” she told him. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought the cat glared back at her.
An animal after my own heart…
She sighed. She hadn’t brought out pillows or blankets. Tonight, it was just her and the bizarre oddity that was her newly cleaned living room. Whatever. She could deal.
Or so she’d thought. Who knew it got so cold at night in California? She thought Maryland had been bad, but with no blankets, life on the couch seemed pretty bleak.
Getting to sleep was a struggle. Between finding a position that Rodrigo didn’t object to and trying to clear her mind of the night she’d had, it was nearly impossible to find enough comfort to drift off. Those rare moments when she did were short-lived. First, the cat would scratch her in his sleep, then something in the apartment would make a weird noise, then she’d be sure Holden was at the door, trying to get out again.
Or she’d simply wake up for no reason at all, with Holden at the forefront of her mind.
Rubbing her eyes, she clicked on her cell phone to show the time. In big blue characters, 4:02 a.m. flashed.
He was probably asleep.
She took a deep breath and rolled over, careful not to stir Rodrigo. It wasn’t like they’d never slept in the same bed before. Every time he’d come to visit, she’d slept in the bed with him, though usually it was more out of exhaustion than choice. By rights, this time shouldn’t have been any different.
She’d stay to her side, and he’d stay to his. It’d be like every other trip.
Even if it didn’t feel like it.
Rolling from the sofa, she slid the chair away from the bedroom door and tiptoed into the room, careful to avoid tripping over random discarded shoes.
Holden was snoozing quietly on one side of the bed, looking almost laughable as he snuggled into her light purple comforter. She climbed in beside him, feeling the warmth of his body spread through their shared blanket as she found her old, familiar sleeping position.
She lifted her knee, careful to stay on her side of the bed, and clutched her pillow tight against her face and waited for sleep to wash over her at last.
Except…it didn’t. She just lay there, listening to Holden’s low snores as his broad shoulders raised and lowered over and over again. It should have been a lullaby unto itself, the sound of his gentle slumber, but instead it distracted her. Kept her awake.
After what felt like an hour, she sat up in the bed and stared around the dark room, trying to decide what to do next. She could make some warm milk. Go back to the couch. She could—
A warm hand closed over her bicep, and she turned to find Holden’s eyes gleaming back at her through the darkness.
“What’s the matter?” His voice was groggy, but the concern there was undeniable.
“I can’t sleep, that’s all,” she said, only too grateful that he didn’t ask why she’d decided to join him in bed after all.
“Come here,” he said, pulling her back toward him. She tensed, all too aware of the way her body responded to him, of the almost instantaneous need to settle back against his chest and let him have whatever he wanted. Let him have her.
“I should probably make warm milk or something. Or—” She stumbled over the words, but it didn’t matter. She was already following his touch, leaning backward until her shoulder blades connected with the warmth of his chest. One broad hand wrapped around her waist, and she held her breath as his thumb dipped beneath the elastic of her waistband.
Just one thumb. Just enough for her to know he was there, keeping her still.
With the other hand, he brushed her hair away from her face and behind her ear.
“Holden—” she said, but he hushed her.
“Just relax.” His whisper filled the darkness, and she tried, really tried, to do as he said, but she was too aware, too hardwired to do anything but focus on his touch, on how close his lips were to the shell of her ear. She could feel his warm breath there, and it was driving her crazy.
Unbidden, the memory of his kiss returned to her. The softness of his lips. The way he’d coaxed her to respond, to give and take in equal measure until she was nothing but putty in his hands. An ache rose between her thighs, and again she thought of his thumb, resting so gently above the apex of her sex.
“Holden,” she whispered. “Will you touch me?”
His response was automatic. Slowly, his hand dipped lower, and she spread her thighs for him, allowing him to slip beneath the cotton of her panties and feel the wet need waiting for him.
“Jesus, Avery,” he whispered against her ear, and then he was kissing her, brushing the hair back again until his teeth caught her lobe, and he sucked with every flick of his thumb, every pulsing of his fingers inside her.
She shuddered, wanting more, wanting him, but he never made a move to take her. She could feel his length hardening against her backside, could feel the way his cock pulsed and throbbed, but he kept on until she writhed and bucked and moaned his name.
Until she’d lost the last shreds of her control.
“Holden, Holden I need you,” she said in a breathless whisper. “Please, please…”
Make love to me…
“Take me,” she said, but knew that it wasn’t what she’d meant.
Somehow, she thought he might know, too. Might, deep down, know what she wanted.
If he did, though, he didn’t bother to name it. Instead, he pulled her shorts and panties down in one tug, then freed himself of his own clothes as she watched the moonlight bathe his rippling muscles. She licked her lips, waiting for him, needing him more than she ever had, and not caring.
Knowing she should pull away, and not being able to find the will to do it.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, and then he gripped himself and eased into her, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt and their lips were only millimeters apart.
He was still for a moment, then he cupped her cheek and pulled her face to his until their lips met, and that spark he’d lit on the beach spread through her like wildfire, bringing every cell to life.
She gasped against his mouth, but her momentary surprise was answered with a thrust of his hips, and she found herself dizzy and needy and full, so full of him that she couldn’t bring herself to think anything but yes, yes, oh yes.
Tonight, for the first time, Holden was claiming her as his own.
And when it was over?
She’d have no trouble sleeping. Not even a little bit.