CHAPTER SIX
Daff tossed and turned all night. The way things had ended between her and Spencer weighed heavily on her mind, and she felt awful about it. No matter how much he blustered to the contrary, she knew she had hurt him, and it bothered her. He was a decent man and she was smearing all her crazy and her wrong off onto him. But she couldn’t leave it the way it was. She just couldn’t.
She picked up her phone and checked the screen for the umpteenth time since she’d sent her message just after arriving home from dinner. Her apology remained unread, and that stung a bit. Not that she deserved anything better, it was just . . . she didn’t want to ruin whatever it was that seemed to be building between them. She was beginning to discover that liking Spencer was a good habit to have and a hard one to break.
She tossed and turned some more, checked her phone again, and at around 2:00 a.m. knew that she wasn’t going to get any sleep. She sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. She could go around to his store in the morning, take him and his staff some doughnuts, even if it wasn’t their usual doughnut day. Or maybe she could take him lunch for a change.
She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on top of them. She stared off into the darkness pensively, wondering how to fix this.
He hadn’t even bothered to open the car door for her this evening, and that had bugged her so much. Not the fact that he hadn’t done it, more the idea that she’d taken a decent guy and angered and corrupted him to such an extent that he’d willingly forgone his hard-earned impeccable manners. And knowing Spencer, she figured he must have fought his chivalrous instincts very hard to make that point. She hadn’t missed that death grip on the steering wheel.
She groaned and got out of bed, dragging on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a thick cable-knit sweater. She put her hair up in a sloppy ponytail, shoved her feet into comfy fur-lined boots, and grabbed her keys on the way to the front door. She had to make this right tonight.
Somehow.
The house was dark and quiet. A modest two-floor white building with gingerbread trim and a peaked roof. It looked almost too feminine for a man like Spencer, but rumor had it Mason had designed it to Spencer’s exact specifications. This beautiful family home with the white picket fence and the huge front and back yards was the home of a man who longed for a settled life with a wife and kids. The home of a man who didn’t have room in his life for a woman like Daff. But here she was anyway, knocking, at nearly two thirty in the morning. And when that didn’t get a response, she leaned on the doorbell.
A few short minutes later, an upstairs light switched on, then another, and she could hear, even above the thundering rain, the sound of him cursing roundly at the interruption of his sleep. The door unbolted, and her breath hitched in her throat as she grasped that he probably hadn’t even had a chance to drag on a robe to cover his nudity. Again she pictured his naked chest and thighs, and that anticipation zipped along her nerves in addition to the anxiety already bubbling there as a result of this insane move. This wasn’t the behavior of a rational person, she knew that . . . but she didn’t know what else to do. She had to make him understand that she was sorry . . . that she . . .
The door was yanked open, and she gaped at the hulking figure silhouetted there in absolute shock.
“P-pajamas,” she heard herself stuttering like an idiot. Yes, there he stood, this big, sexy beast of a man, resplendent in his flannel pajamas. Plaid, red-and-black pajamas. They were buttoned all the way up to his throat. Only his hands, face, and large feet were naked.
It was . . . unexpected, to say the least. And Daff’s throat went dry as she discovered that reality—this buttoned-down image that was nothing close to what she’d been picturing for days—was so much better than her imagination. He looked absolutely, unexpectedly gorgeous. He’d cut his hair since dinner, she noted regretfully, before immediately wanting to run her fingers through the newly shorn, inch-long locks.
“Daff, what the fuck?” She came back to reality with a bump as she jerked out of her lustful haze to remember that she was dripping in the man’s doorway.
“I—I wanted to t-tell you . . .” Her teeth were chattering, and she couldn’t tell if it was because she was nervous or cold. “It’s not that I don’t like you, Spencer. It’s that I like you too much. I think I’ve always liked you too much. And that t-terrifies me. I don’t want to like you. Not when I’m just starting to like myself.”
He looked confused and a little alarmed.
“Jesus, have you been drinking? Come in, for Christ’s sake, it’s freezing and you’re turning blue.” He dragged her over the threshold and grabbed a huge coat from the coatrack to drape around her shivering body. He then ran his hands vigorously up and down her arms, returning some of the sensation she hadn’t even known she had lost, before enfolding her in his arms and enveloping her in his delicious warmth. She sighed and cuddled closer, only vaguely aware that she was getting his sexy pajamas wet.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed.
“Oh darling, you’re a complete mess,” he murmured into her hair, and her eyes filled with tears at both the words and the old-timey endearment. Of course Spencer would use an endearment like darling—it was exactly like him and it made her feel treasured.
“I am.” She nodded with a wet sniff, and he sighed.
“You are what?”
Your darling.
“A mess. And I didn’t mean to drag you into my mess. I just wanted to tell you something.”
“That you like me?” he said on a questioning lilt.
“And something else.” He lifted his head at that and looked down at her, his striking, savage face much too close to hers.
“What?” he asked curiously.
“This.” She went onto her toes and lifted her lips to his, wanting so very desperately to taste the full lower curve of that beautiful mouth. He jerked, her move obviously surprising him, but then he sighed and deepened the kiss. His lips firming beneath hers and taking charge. He lifted a hand to cup her cheek, his thumb lovingly tracing the curve of her jawline as he changed the angle of her head to allow him better access to her mouth.
The kiss was . . . everything. More than everything. All those other mediocre kisses—those immature fumblings by inadequate men who could never be the measure of this one perfect man—they had all led to this moment here. Now. With him. His mouth was fire . . . ice . . . elemental, and his tongue, when it finally teased its way inside, was like sunshine casting light over all the dark stains on her soul.
Her arms came up, wrapped around his neck, her hands burrowing through the hair she had fantasized about stroking just moments ago. She felt his hands moving up to her arms, encircling, tightening, and then . . . pushing her away.
She sobbed and tried to burrow back into his warmth, but he kept her firmly at arm’s length, his delicious, stern mouth much too far away.
“Please . . .” she moaned, and he shook his head. His chest heaving with each breath, clearly as affected by their embrace as she had been.
“No.” The word was harsh and completely without emotion.
“Why not?” She heard the whimper in her voice and despised herself for that weakness.
“Because I don’t know what this is. I don’t know where it’s coming from, and I sure as hell don’t know where it’s going.”
“I was hoping . . . to bed?” She tried to get close again, and his throat worked as he swallowed.
“Damn it. No.”
“Oh.” How humiliating. She’d thought . . . she’d figured he wanted her, too. He’d been trying to hook up with her for years. “I’m sorry. I should . . . I should probably leave.”
He swore, and his hands tightened on her arms. His fingers were going to leave bruises. But unlike the others, she knew that Spencer would regret leaving marks on her skin.
“You’re hurting me,” she said quietly, testing that theory, and he immediately loosened his hold, his hands instinctively stroking over the bruised area.
“You’re not leaving,” he said. “You’re going to dry off, have a hot drink, and we’re going to fucking talk about this.”
“Okay,” she said meekly, and his eyes narrowed.
“I mean it, Daff.”
“I know.”
Spencer was confused, horny, and mad as hell. What in the ever-loving fuck was this about? If he hadn’t tasted her clean—hot—mouth himself, he’d have sworn she was drunk. That left drugs, but her pupils and responses seemed pretty normal, she didn’t seem doped up. She was just . . . odd. And it scared the hell out of him. She seemed much too vulnerable, like one wrong word or action would shatter her completely. He didn’t want to be the one to break her. Not when all he’d ever really wanted was a chance to cherish her.
He marched her into the guest bathroom and handed her a bathrobe and a towel.
“Get out of those wet things and dry off. I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.” It was an open-plan home, so she wouldn’t have trouble finding him. “Bring your clothes out with you and I’ll stick them in the dryer.” His voice was sharp, but he needed it to be, to snap her out of whatever the hell was wrong with her. She nodded slowly, as if she had a hard time understanding his words, but thankfully she turned toward the basin, allowing Spencer to shut the door.
He heaved a huge sigh after closing the door and rested his forehead against the wood for a brief moment before shaking himself and heading to the kitchen. He braced his hands on one of the granite countertops and regarded the glossy, marbled dark surface for a moment. He wasn’t sure what to say to her after all this. She clearly needed help, but he wasn’t sure what kind, and he wasn’t sure if he was the man for the job. He didn’t want to fuck her up any more than she already was.
She stayed hidden in the bathroom for nearly ten minutes, but he didn’t rush her, just kept the kettle going until the door creaked open and a small, bare foot tentatively stepped out from behind the door. He followed the foot up, over the much too large bathrobe that seemed to swallow her whole. The only reason it wasn’t puddling over her feet was because she had the front gripped in both hands, to prevent it from tripping her when she walked. Her wet hair was a mess, and her eyes and nose were red from an obvious bout of crying.
He smiled at her and hoped his face didn’t reflect the grimness he felt.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” He was happy that his voice sounded gentle, and she hesitated before nodding. He had never seen her this uncertain before, and it made his chest ache.
She stepped up to the island and sat on one of the tall bar stools. Completely stripped of makeup, with her skin red and blotchy, she looked a bit like a child playing dress-up in his huge robe. Spence rubbed at his chest as the ache intensified.
“Milk? Sugar?”
“Two sugars, no milk.” Her voice sounded hoarse. He finished her tea and a comforting cup of cocoa for himself and handed it to her. He positioned himself on the other side of the island, directly opposite her. He reached across and thumbed away the remnants of a tear from her cheek, ignoring the way she flinched at the movement.
He took a long, restorative gulp of his hot chocolate, watching her over the rim the entire time. She was doing her best not to look at him.
“You’re going to have to meet my eyes sometime, Daff,” he told her with a slight smile.
“Yes, but not right now,” she whispered.
“Hmm.” He allowed the silence to continue for several minutes, not pressuring her, hoping she would be the first to speak. After a few long moments, she finally rewarded his patience.
“I’m so sorry.”
“You spend way too much time apologizing to me.”
“Because I keep saying and doing stupid things.” She sniffed before shaking her head and holding up a finger. “No, don’t argue.”
Spencer hid a grin at that, since he’d had absolutely no intention of arguing. He said nothing, wanting her to do the talking for now.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I felt bad about what happened in the car tonight. I don’t think you’re dumb. If anything, I’m a little jealous because you did the whole college thing and made something of yourself. I’m such a loser. Same dead-end job for sixteen years, moving from one crappy failed relationship to the next. I mean, I lived with my parents up until a year ago, for God’s sake.”
“You moved from store clerk to manager. I wouldn’t call that a dead-end job,” he reminded her, and she laughed bitterly.
“Please, if I took my credentials elsewhere, they’d laugh at me. The only reason I got that promotion was because nobody else stuck around as long as I did. I know how the business works. And instead of taking the time to find, and possibly train, a new manager, Alison”—her boss—“just slapped the label onto me and barely increased my salary to reflect the title. And the worst of it is . . . I hate my job. I hate the sight of that store every morning, hate the smell of it, the very thought of it. But I have no idea how to do anything else.”
“Why did you kiss me?”
“I thought it was what you wanted,” she whispered, the words timid.
“Was it what you wanted?”
Her eyes widened a little, as if his words shocked her. “I don’t . . . I think . . . if you wanted it, then I wanted it.” That answer was so fucked-up on so very many levels, and it pissed him off beyond reason. He fought hard to hide his flare of temper from her and took a deep, fortifying breath before he trusted himself to speak again.
“Yes, but was it what you wanted?”
“I think so.”
“Daff, it’s a straightforward question, requiring a yes or no answer.”
“Didn’t you want to kiss me?” Again in that tiny, timid voice that was so unlike the brash, outspoken Daff he knew.
“Why is this so hard for you?” he asked, confused, and her eyes welled with tears.
“I don’t know if I wanted to kiss you, I just felt that I should. It’s what you do when you like someone. Right?”
“No, it’s not,” he corrected. “You talk with them, get to know them, you decide if you really like them, and then, when you’re absolutely convinced that you can’t take another breath without feeling their mouth on yours, that’s when you kiss them.”
“What about chemistry? What if you just know?”
“And did you? Just know? Is that why you kissed me? Because you just knew you had to?”
Her brow furrowed, and she looked completely confused.
“You’re complicating this. It was just a kiss, for God’s sake,” she said with some of her old spark. “Why do you have to overthink things like this? Why can’t we just be in the moment and share a kiss?”
“Because we weren’t just in a moment. You showed up at my house at two thirty in the morning, soaking wet, rambling on about liking me, and then you planted your mouth on mine in the most desperate excuse of a kiss I’ve ever had the misfortune to experience.”
“You liked it, I know you did. You were hard!”
“Physically, yes, but emotionally it left me stone cold, because it felt . . . frantic and forced.”
“What kind of man is ruled by his emotions when his cock is hard?”
“Clearly not any kind of man you’ve ever been with.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, her voice strained and the tears now flowing freely. He knew that acknowledging them, or hugging her close the way he was desperate to, would be met with rejection. So even though it was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do, he ignored them.
“It means that I’m not like the assholes you’ve been with before, Daff. You want to kiss me, you’d better fucking mean it. You’d better want it with everything in you, because I’ll want every part of you. Body and soul.”
“What is it with guys?” The words practically exploded from her, rife with frustration and . . . fear? “Why do you all feel the need to own me?”
Whoa.
“That’s not what I meant,” he corrected calmly. “I’m talking about you opening up and willingly sharing those parts of yourself. Not demanding ownership of your body and mind.”
“I fail to see the difference.”
“There is one, a big one.”
“Oh, do elaborate,” she invited him sarcastically. She was definitely getting her spark back, and it relieved him.
“You’d have every part of me, too. Body and soul.”
Shit. His words didn’t have quite the effect he was hoping for—panic immediately rose to the surface. He could see it in the way her shoulders tensed as she retreated emotionally.
“I don’t think that’s something I’d want,” she denied shakily.
“Why not?”
“T-too much responsibility. I mean, I prefer to keep things casual. I like you and I think maybe we’d be good together, but why does it have to be more than that?”
“So what are you after? No-strings sex, that’s it?”
“Yes, and you’re turning it into this big, serious thing. I think you’ve completely missed the point.”
Had he? Maybe he was completely misreading the situation. It would be just like him to be Mr. Commitment in what was essentially a sex-only situation. It was exactly what had happened with Tanya. She’d never been into the whole relationship thing, and hindsight told him that he’d been willfully blind to that fact, forcing a relationship when she’d only ever been after a good time.
Was he doing the same thing with Daff? Had he turned her big seduction into an embarrassing and uncalled-for “let’s discuss our feelings” session? He went over the entire encounter from the moment he’d opened the door to now and shook his head.
No, there was definitely something else going on here, and she was covering it up with this . . . bluster now.
“So we fuck each other and when it’s out of our systems, we move on? That’s what you’re saying?”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded breathless and a little uncertain.
Spencer placed his cup carefully down on the granite counter and sighed softly before rounding the island and coming to stand behind her, moving fast in order to catch her off guard. He turned the bar stool until she was facing him and reached down, placing one hand on each knee and gently moving them apart. He immediately shifted his hips between her thighs, until nothing but a deep breath separated them. He moved his hands to the counter on either side of her, effectively caging her with his body.
“Okay,” he muttered. “Have it your way.” Her face was downcast, her regard determinedly fixed on his chest, but that wouldn’t do at all. “Look at me, Daff.”
She tilted her head back obligingly, and he smiled, just a grim parting of his lips.
“That’s better.” He lowered his head and captured her mouth with his; her soft, full lips immediately softened beneath his, and he groaned his satisfaction.
His mouth was gentle, so much gentler than anything she was used to. He finessed instead of claimed, his lips coaxed and requested instead of demanded. The tenderness was new to her, and it made her respond in ways she never knew she had in her. It made her want more, and she opened her mouth willingly when his tongue traced along the seam of her lips, bidding entry.
His hands never left the counter, but hers took on a life of their own and she reached up to explore that beautiful face, her palms tracing the strong contours of his stubbled jaw before moving up over his lean cheeks and then sweeping by his temples until she finally had two fistfuls of his thick hair clenched between her fingers.
She waited for him to deepen the kiss, but he kept it gentle and that lack of insistence made her—for the first time ever—crave more. Her nipples were hard and aching, and between her legs, where she could feel his heat of his erection not even an inch away from her nakedness, she was completely drenched. She slid forward and wrapped her legs around his tight, muscular butt, dragging herself closer until finally she could feel his steel length up against her cleft.
He groaned, lifting his mouth from hers and burying it against her neck, where he landed a soft, suctioning kiss in the cove beneath her ear. The next suckling kiss was lower, then lower, until he got to the neckline of the robe, which he nosed aside to land another one of those gentle, wicked kisses on the curve of her breast.
Daff watched him move lower and lower, her hands cupped around the back of his head.
“Please,” she begged when he dragged his tongue lightly over the rippled seam of her areola. “Oh please, Spencer . . .” When his mouth finally closed over her nipple, she writhed beneath him, bucking wildly against his erection. His mouth remained so incredibly gentle, using just the lightest of suckling motions, before he raised his head to blow on the wet tip.
She sobbed, trying to pull his head back down, but he was working his way to the other breast, and he was soon driving her crazy with another one of those sweet, tender kisses. Done with that breast, he moved down, still using only his lips and tongue, his soft kisses leaving a scorching trail over her torso, then her stomach—where he spent a moment, tracing the shape of her belly button with his tongue—and then down over her abdomen. The loosely knotted belt proved no obstacle for him, as with just one tug of his teeth, he had it undone with nothing between her nudity and his scrutiny at all. He took a moment to appreciate the display before smiling and going back to work.
Daff’s legs went slack when his objective became clear, and she watched in disbelief as he knelt in front of her. His hands still on the countertop, he looked up to meet her eyes. His gaze scorching hot while his panting breath fanned out over her delicate flesh, and she shuddered at the delicious sensation.
“Put your feet on my shoulders, please,” he murmured. She had a moment’s doubt—this was so far beyond anything she’d ever experienced before. Were they moving too fast? Probably. Was that going to stop her? Probably not.
Embarrassed to be on such lewd display when he was essentially fully dressed, she swallowed nervously. If not for his half-mast eyes, his uneven breathing, and the rampant hard-on tenting the fabric of those pajama bottoms, she would have wondered if he was turned on at all. He seemed completely in control, and it was . . . unnerving.
But still . . . she was so hot and so close to orgasm that a strong breeze would probably set her off right now. She lifted her legs and slotted the arches of her feet neatly over the curves of his shoulders. He grunted his approval and gave a long appreciative look at what she had just revealed to him before leaning forward and closing his mouth over her hard, aching clit.
She gasped, then sucked in and held another breath when her back arched and her palms slammed down onto the counter beside his hands.
“Uhhhh!”
The suction of his mouth was relentless but not strong enough to make her come—it was driving her insane. His tongue soon joined the party, and Daff cried out again while he kept her on edge with his soft little butterfly licks and tender suckling. Because he never ramped up the intensity, she just remained hovering on the brink. Her feet pushed down against his shoulders, her back flat on the countertop by now, her head tilted over the other end, while her arms spread out on either side of her and gripped the edge.
“Oh God, oh please,” she begged, opening her eyes to stare fixedly at the upside-down cabinets on the other side of the room. His hands finally came into play, one splayed flat over her abdomen to hold her still when she tried to push herself closer to his mouth and the other curved over her right thigh, spreading her a little wider.
The pressure of each suctioning kiss was starting to intensify; the licking got a little more purposeful. He was finally giving her more, and it was wrecking her. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand it for much longer, but he continued to take his time, savoring her taste in the same way he had enjoyed every morsel of the haute cuisine they’d been served at dinner, with little sighs and appreciative groans.
He kept her balanced on a knife edge while he toyed with her relentlessly . . . until eventually he drew her hypersensitive, extremely swollen clitoris into his mouth and sucked . . . hard. Daff’s entire body convulsed, her back and shoulders leaving the counter as her body bowed beneath the intense, wrenching pleasure of her climax. She cried out, the sound loud and piercing and unexpected, and covered her face with both hands as her bones and muscles turned to warm liquid as she melted back onto the counter in a messy puddle.
She felt undone, like Spencer Carlisle had systematically taken her apart and left off important pieces when he put her back together.
Spencer got to his feet and watched the small, vulnerable woman crying on his kitchen counter. He shouldn’t have done it. He should have sent her off to bed in one of the spare rooms and they could have discussed the matter again in the morning. He truly hadn’t meant for it to go this far.
It was supposed to have been a kiss only. But she’d been so receptive and then so damned shocked by every gentle caress that he found himself both unwilling and unable to stop. Now she looked fucking ruined, and he felt like an asshole.
He moved quickly, scooping her up into his arms, where she drew up her legs and curled her arms around his neck, burying her wet, weeping face in his chest. Not sure what to do, he carried her to his bedroom and laid her down under the covers of his unmade bed before crawling in behind her and tugging her into his arms. She turned so that she was facing him and again buried her face in his chest, still crying.
He stroked her back soothingly, not asking questions, not saying anything, just holding her until her trembling abated and her tears stopped. He leaned back and reached for a tissue from the box he kept on the nightstand, and she took it gratefully.
“You’re probably the only man I know who keeps tissues next to his bed.”
“I’m sure there are quite a few guys who keep tissues at their bedside, for a myriad of reasons,” he said inanely, relieved to hear the teasing note in her voice.
“I’m sorry for turning into a gooey mess on you.”
“There you go, apologizing again.”
“Then allow me to thank you.”
“For?” he asked, baffled.
“Seriously? You don’t know? You couldn’t tell?”
“No, what?”
“That was the first time . . .” She paused and he frowned. “That was the first time anybody has ever done that for me.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I shit you not.”
“What kind of fucking morons have you been dating?”
“Selfish ones,” she said, her voice slurring a bit. Her hand reached down between them, dipped beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms and found his throbbing cock with unerring accuracy. He sucked in a startled breath, releasing it again with a soft groan. “You didn’t finish.”
“Because I never started,” he said, not sure if the words made sense at all—nothing currently made sense to him except that firm grip on his hot, painful erection. She slid her hand up to the sensitive tip and then all the way back down to his aching balls. He allowed her a few more strokes—he was only human, after all—before his hand closed over hers, tightening for a brief moment, and he relished the feel of the tighter grip on his shaft. He pulled her hand away gently, lifting it out from beneath the covers and dropping a kiss into her palm. “We’re both exhausted, darling. Go to sleep.”
“But I want to make you feel good, too,” she whispered, sounding exhausted but a little vexed at the same time.
“I appreciate that, but what would make me feel good right now is sleep. Just sleep. With you in my arms. Okay?”
“This is just sex, Spencer,” she felt obligated to remind him, and he rolled his eyes before turning to switch off the bedside lamp. He quickly gathered her back into his arms and she settled into them with a happy sigh.
“Just sex. Got it.” Over his dead body.
“I like it when you call me that.” She sounded all but gone by now.
“What?”
“Darling. I like that. It’s old-fashioned and sweet.”
“Good. Because I like calling you that, and I’m not about to stop.”
She yawned.
“Good night, Spencer.”
“Daff?”
“Hmm?”
“No regrets, okay?”
“No regrets.” He kissed the top of her head and, ignoring his angry, demanding penis, settled down to sleep.
Of course, she had regrets, big-time regrets. They hit the second she opened her eyes just three hours later. She was alone in the king-size bed, but Spencer’s side of it still retained some of his body heat, and she sighed softly before stretching languorously.
Her mind was screaming, oh fuck what have I done! while her body was purring, hmm more, yes please! It was confusing, and she wasn’t exactly certain how she felt this morning. All she knew was that it was seven in the morning, she’d allowed Spencer certain intimate liberties just a few hours ago, and she had to get out of here and get ready for work. Preferably before the whole town woke up and saw her do the drive of shame from Spencer’s place back to her home.
She looked around for the robe she’d been wearing but couldn’t find it anywhere and then blushed hotly when she recalled that it had come off while she lay sprawled on Spencer’s kitchen counter. She had been naked when he carried her to his bedroom. She saw his discarded pajamas at the foot of the bed and dragged the top on. It fell to just above her knees and the sleeves ended well below her fingertips. But it smelled of his spicy, masculine scent, and she tugged the collar to her nose to inhale deeply. Okay, so maybe the regrets were waning a bit—there were definite positives to this situation.
The hardwood floor was cold beneath her bare feet as she padded her way out of the bedroom and downstairs to the living area. She found Spencer in the kitchen behind the island, sweeping up shards of ceramic that she recognized as the cups they had used last night. She must have unknowingly swept them off the counter. She went bright red at the thought and could barely look at the counter without blushing even more.
Spencer caught sight of her, and his eyebrows went all the way up into his hairline at the sight of her in his pajama top.
“Morning,” she murmured self-consciously, pushing her hair out of her eyes.
“Morning,” he replied, dropping the shards of glass into the recycle bin and rounding the island to stand in front of her. He was dressed for work already, and he dug into one of his jacket pockets for something. “I wanted to hang on to this in case I had some kind of hair-related emergency in the future. But you look like you need it.”
He scissored her messy bangs between his middle and forefingers and used the tiny butterfly clip she’d put in his hair just the night before to pin her hair back and out of her eyes. He trailed his fingers down over her cheek and leaned down to drop a sweet kiss on her mouth.
“Breakfast?” he asked after ending the all-too-brief caress.
“I should get home.” He nodded before turning away to reach for something.
“Not without coffee,” he instructed, dropping a mug on the counter in front of her. Daff hummed happily as her senses perked up at just the smell of the freshly brewed coffee and gratefully wrapped her hands around the warm mug.
“Sit down, I wouldn’t want you to slice your feet. I’m not sure I got all the shards.”
“Where are my things?” she asked, moving far away from the island and taking a seat in one of the huge easy chairs in his living room instead.
“You didn’t bring them out of the bathroom last night, so I put them in the dryer about ten minutes ago. They may still be a bit damp, I’m afraid.”
“It’s okay, I won’t have to be in them for too long.”
“Finish your coffee, we’ll take them out of the dryer after you’re done.” He grabbed a mug for himself and joined her in the living room, taking the chair opposite hers.
“Dinner tonight?” he asked nonchalantly, sprawling in the chair with his long legs stretched out in front of him. He looked much too relaxed for her liking.
“Can’t,” she said. “I’m meeting my sisters tonight; Daisy wants to discuss bridesmaid dresses.”
“Afterward?”
“I’m not sure how long it’ll be. I can’t give you a definite time.”
“I’ll be here,” he said with a shrug, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Will I see you at lunchtime?” she asked, hating the hopeful note in her voice.
“No.” She was ridiculously disappointed by his curt, unyielding response and strove to maintain a casual demeanor.
“Okay. Cool.”
They sat drinking their coffee in silence, and Daff couldn’t tell if it was an awkward silence or a comfortable one. He seemed comfortable enough, but she felt awkward as hell.
“I should get going,” she said after a few minutes, and he nodded, placing his mug on the coffee table and pushing to his feet when she jumped to hers. He was beside her in half a stride and cupped her cheeks in his large palms.
“Hey,” he said calmly, forcing her to meet his tranquil green gaze. “Relax. No regrets, remember?”
She reached up and closed her hands over his.
“No regrets,” she repeated determinedly, hoping to make it her mantra.
“So,” he said, keeping his hands on her face and his eyes steady on hers, “how do you want to play this no-strings sex thing? Nobody knows? Everybody knows? Only a select few know?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Siblings?”
“Daisy’s going to flip her shit if she thinks this may affect the wedding.”
“Hmm.”
“I don’t know what that one means,” she confessed, and his brow furrowed.
“What do you mean?”
“That particular grunt. I’ve been learning to decipher them, but that one always leaves me stumped.”
“They don’t mean anything,” he denied, and she scoffed.
“Please, you say more with your noises than most people do in a full conversation.”
“They’re just fillers.”
“They’re so not fillers, and nothing you say will convince me otherwise.”
“Hmm.” She giggled in response to that, and he frowned again.
“Wiseass,” she dismissed.
“It was just a grunt,” he maintained, looking a little freaked out.
“Nope, that one was facetious and meant ‘Believe what you want, Daffodil McGregor, you’re a nutcase.’” She deepened her voice to imitate his, and his resulting smile was a charming mixture of bemusement and amusement.
“First, I do not sound like that. Second, you are a nutcase. And third, it’s just a grunt.”
“Ri-iight.” He huffed in amusement and planted a kiss on her mouth without any warning. He took advantage of her openmouthed shock by immediately plundering with his tongue and leaving her completely shell-shocked and shaky after the stealth attack.
“Get dressed, darling,” he said hoarsely after ending the kiss. “Or I’ll be tempted to call in sick and keep you here in nothing but that pajama top—or less—all day. You look sexy as hell in it.”
She carried that kiss with her throughout the morning. She got to work after him and so missed his walk past her shop window for the second time that week. She sighed regretfully as she sipped her third cup of coffee—including the one she’d had at his house.
She couldn’t believe how fast things had happened between them over the space of just days, after so many years of buildup. If anybody had told her last week she’d be contemplating a sex-only arrangement with Spencer Carlisle this week, she’d have laughed them out of the room, and yet here she was, thinking about nothing but his tongue on her most intimate body parts. Reliving their moments together over and over again.
She was recalling it again, flushed and hot and breathless, when the bell above the front door tinkled and jerked her out of her little fantasy world. For the brief moment between looking down at her book and up at the door, she hoped with everything in her that it was Spencer with lunch, but she was doomed to disappointment. It wasn’t Spencer, instead it was a familiar-looking woman whom Daff was sure she’d seen before but never really spoken to. The woman was wearing an SCSS uniform, which explained why she seemed familiar. She probably walked past Daff’s store every day.
“Good afternoon,” Daff greeted uncertainly. “May I help you?”
The woman—girl, really—smiled broadly, revealing two gold-capped front teeth and a pair of sweet dimples.
“Hi, miss, I’m Chantal. Mr. Carlisle asked me to bring you this.” She held out a brown paper bag with a white notepaper clipped to the folded top. Daff took it automatically.
“Thank you, Chantal.”
“No problem, miss. Have a nice day.” Chantal waved and left the store immediately, leaving Daff to stare at the package in her hand like it was a ticking time bomb. She placed it carefully on the counter and unclipped the note.
Daff,
Sorry I couldn’t come around for lunch today, I have a business meeting at twelve. I don’t trust you to eat a decent lunch, so I prepared this for you.
Eat up, darling.
See you later.
S