Chapter Eight
Kat pulled her hair into a chignon at the nape of her neck. Dawson was going to be there to pick her up in twenty minutes. Jade had picked up Mia from Mrs. Bradshaw’s that afternoon for a special sleepover at her house. Mia was over the moon at the idea of sleeping at Jade’s and barely spoke of anything else for the past two days.
Dawson was taking her to an Italian restaurant in the city that he promised made the best homemade wine in the world.
Kat wore a simple black dress cut to just above her knees and strappy sling back heels. Slender, silver chain earrings barely brushed her shoulders. When she answered the door, Dawson grinned, as he looked her over from head to her toe.
“Wow, Katherine. You look great.”
Don’t fidget.
“Thank you.” Blind dates were so awkward. “You look nice too. Would you like to come in for a minute?”
He looked at his very expensive watch. “Well, our reservations are in thirty minutes, so we should get going if we don’t want to be late, but how about when we get back?”
“Okay, let me grab my purse.” She dashed to the counter to retrieve her purse and turned on the porch lights.
Dawson took her arm and walked her around to the passenger side of his BMW. He opened the door and helped her inside. As he walked around to the driver’s side she looked to her right and saw Tyson, standing in his front yard.
She sucked in a breath and held it, as her mind comprehended what he must be assuming. He was completely motionless as he stood there watching her. Although he couldn’t see her through the darkened window, his stare burned right through the glass.
A lump formed in the pit of her stomach, as the engine rolled into a soft purr only a high-end sports car could mimic.
“Everything okay?”
Kat turned and presented her best fake smile. “Everything’s fine.”
The leather scented air chilled as the vent blew over her skin, but the air temperature had nothing to do with the cold feeling in her chest. Dawson backed out of the driveway. As they drove past Tyson’s home she stared at the gearshift.
Tyson did a double take. His eyes had to be deceiving him. There was no way Kat, in a sexy, little black dress, just climbed into a BMW with some guy. By the way the man held the car door and the way she was done up, it appeared as if she were going on a date. But that couldn’t be right. Kat didn’t have room in her life to date.
Or perhaps she didn’t have room in her life for him.
He slammed his shovel into the ground and vigorously dug a hole for one of the shrubs. Was it his age? His race? Or him in general? Thirty minutes and two planted boxwoods later, Tyson still wasn’t sure what the problem was. Well, other than the fact that jealousy coated his stomach like acid.
The sun had set and he was planning on working well into the night when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He was in no mood for social calls. He plucked off his gloves, stabbed his shovel into the ground, and reached into his jeans, opening the phone without looking at the display.
“Adams,” he barked.
“Baby? You okay?”
“Hey, Ma.” He took a calming breath leaning his foot on the spade of the shovel. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just finishing up some yard work. What’s up?”
“I was calling because your father bought a new grill and we’re plannin’ on having you kids over for a picnic on Mother’s Day, but the darn thing has to be put together. And, well, you know your father…”
“I can come over this week to do it. Don’t let Dad touch it until then.”
“Thanks, baby. I knew I could count on you. So how’s the house?”
“It’s getting there.” He tossed the shovel into the bed of his work truck and hefted his body up to sit on the tailgate.
“You sound overwhelmed. You sure you’re okay?”
Did he really want to whine to his mother about his life? “I don’t know, Ma. Do you ever feel like no matter how hard you try you’re still always coming up short?”
“Aw, Baby, owning a house is hard work. You’ll get there. I know you will. It takes time, like any other project.”
Ty laughed at his mother’s unending faith in him. “You have such faith. But actually I was talking about a girl.”
“A girl? Well, my stars, Ty, who is she?”
“She lives around here. Her name’s Katherine—goes by Kat. She’s got a daughter and she’s an amazing mother. And I can’t get her out of my head.”
“Where’s her baby’s daddy?”
“Gone. A fool, if you ask me. He met his daughter once, three years ago, and now he lives in Japan or something.”
“So, what’s the problem?” his mother teased and he smiled.
“I wish I knew, Ma. I wish I knew.”
He detailed the Kat situation to his mother over the next twenty minutes. It wasn’t like he was gaining any perspective. She was completely biased and couldn’t understand why any woman wouldn’t want her son. Still, even at his age, it felt good to have sympathy from his Momma.
The easy way their conversation flowed made him think about how Kat had described her relationship with her parents. Having such a healthy relationship with his parents made it hard to comprehend a different dynamic.
Of course, Ty had the privacy to live his life as he pleased, but he always had the reassurance his parents were there with whatever support he needed—be it emotional or otherwise. Kat had nothing like that. She’d said that her mother was critical of everything, from how she raised Mia to the way she dressed. He saw nothing wrong with either.
It was hard to even imagine what her parents could use for ammunition. Especially considering where he grew up in the city and the real external issues, families struggling to cope with hunger, eviction, drugs, and gangs.
Pregnancy happened. It wasn’t a tragedy, especially when the pregnant girl turned into a decent mother. Sure Kat was young, but she was an adult, and a great mom. Why she allowed them such criticism was beyond him.
It didn’t matter anyway.
She made her stance loud and clear. Her personal life was none of his concern. However, he couldn’t ignore the niggling that she’d lied to him and was, at that very moment, getting close and comfy with some pompous yuppie in a BMW.
The restaurant had waterfront seating, which was very romantic. Dawson addressed the wait staff with polite indifference. He opened doors, pulled out chairs, and frequently asked if she was warm enough. As a date, he was charming. As far as chemistry went—zilch.
Kat made sure to smile at all the right places and nod when needed. The shell of her was there, fancied up and filling space, but her mind was elsewhere.
After the look of shock had faded from Tyson’s face, she still recalled how his glare turned to smoldering resentment when he stared at her in Dawson’s car. Although she was now sitting in a restaurant miles away from Tyson, the sickening shame of how she misled him lingered. The memory turned in her head like a gigantic wheel, over and over, until it seemed to leave a groove on her brain.
She cleared her throat and focused on Dawson. Her date.
“…but once you get involved in that level of arbitration, things start to get a little sticky, if you know what I mean.”
Kat made an agreeable sound and smiled. What the hell was he talking about?
His mouth formed a smiling “o” as he breathed a laugh. “Listen to me, going on about boring business. Let’s talk about something else. What would you be doing right now if you weren’t here with me?”
Nothing.
“Probably just relaxing with Mia at home or sitting out front with Jade since it’s such a nice night.”
“Jade?”
“My best friend.”
The conversation was easy. Dawson had a decent sense of humor and asked good questions so there weren’t any awkward silences. He asked a little bit about Mia, but didn’t pry. The food was good and the wine was spectacular. After Kat’s second glass she switched to water, because she could already feel herself getting tipsy.
By the time dessert came, the conversation turned a little more personal.
“Are you involved with anyone at the moment, Katherine?”
Intimate questions were the worst. She was awkward to begin with. Throw personal in the mix and she was a plain disaster.
“Um, no. I don’t really date.”
His hand slid over hers and he did that thumb-rubbing thing again. Kat didn’t want to be rude and pull away, so she tolerated it. His touch was pleasant, but empty.
When she was a little girl and they would play at Jade’s, her parents kept a kerosene heater in the basement. It kept the room usable all year long, but never really heated the space. If they stood close enough their skin would warm pleasantly on one side, but the direct heat to one part of her body only made the chill on her other side more prominent. Dawson was like a kerosene heater, warming one spot of her but leaving the rest cold.
When the check came, Dawson covered the bill, and they continued to talk while he finished his wine. “I’d like to see you again. How do you feel about going on another date?”
“Tonight was nice.”
“That’s not exactly an answer,” he teased, bravado camouflaging the hint of doubt showing in his eyes.
Why did people have to put her in such uncomfortable situations? “Sure. Another date would be nice,” she agreed, pressing the words past her plastic grin.
His posture eased and he seemed satisfied.
The drive home was made quietly listening to the music. The world sped by dappled in silver shadows of moonlight. She stared out the window as the expanding reflection of headlights traced over trees and curbs.
The weight of Dawson’s hand pressed into her knee and she tensed. His thumb swirled over her skin and she gazed down at her knee through her lashes. The only thing she felt was gratitude that she had shaved that day.
“I like that dress,” he said as his eyes followed the road.
She really wasn’t being all that fair to Dawson. He’d done nothing wrong. She could at least go out of her way to be a little nice to him. Turning from the window, her back pressed into the cool leather of the seat. “Thank you.”
He had a nice profile. His features were sharp and flawless. The shadows of his lashes swept low as he blinked. They weren’t as full as Tyson’s. And rather than black, Dawson’s were blond.
“Where’s Mia tonight?”
Mia was a topic that was always comfortable. “Oh, she’s sleeping at my friend Jade’s.” She inwardly winced as soon as the words left her mouth. Wrong thing to say.
Whorls turned to gentle glides as his thumb moved up and down the top of her thigh. A shiver tiptoed up her spine. It gave her the chills, but not the way she got chills when Tyson touched her. She silently reprimanded herself for making the comparison.
His wrist turned and his stroke changed from up and down to side to side. The angle left his fingers pointing toward the inside of her thigh. Breathing as little as possible, she drew her knees together, hoping to block him off from further touching, but when she inadvertently clamped his fingers between her thighs, her knees jerked apart. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.
His fingertips lightly drummed over her skin as they pulled into her driveway. He shut off the car. The engine quietly hissed and pinged in the absence of the music. It was quiet except for their breathing. The shift of his jacket against the firm leather seat was audible. The uncomfortable stillness was too much. Her hand reached for the door.
“Did you want to show me your home?” His voice was so low and close she could almost make out each rumbling note.
“Uh, sure,” she lied. She’d made it this far. She just wanted the night to be over so Vivian could get a good report and get off her back. Her feet were killing her and all she wanted to do was get in her pajamas and go to bed. Alone.
“Stay put, I’ll get your door.”
The door clicked open and the warm sultry night kissed her skin. She took the hand he offered as he walked her to the door. The thumb was moving again. Didn’t this guy have any other moves?
She gently tugged her hand back to dig out her keys and briefly glanced at Tyson’s. Dark. If it were at all possible, her mood deteriorated a little more.
She turned on the lights, and hung up her purse and wrap. Hospitality was her mother’s forte. It had been drilled into Kat since she was a child that all guests should be made to feel welcome. Being that Vivian had assigned herself executor of this date, Kat needed to follow protocol. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Do you have any wine?”
“Uh, let me check.”
She opened the fridge and looked around. Her gaze settled on the bottle Tyson brought over Easter night. The bottle slid off the shelf with a smooth scrape and a splash of remorse. The wrongness of giving another man Tyson’s wine was undeniable, but she had nothing else.
Her palm cradled the chilled base. “Is this okay?”
“That’s fine.”
Kat retrieved two glasses and poured the wine while Dawson appraised her cottage. Should she put on music or something? No, too suggestive.
“Would you like ice?”
He declined with a shake of his head. She didn’t want to look stupid so she didn’t add any ice to her glass either. Her sandals clicked along the hardwood as she handed him a glass. She needed to regroup. If she had a team they’d be in a serious WTF huddle.
“Will you excuse me for a second? Make yourself comfortable.”
She went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet seat. How was she going to get him out of there? She needed to think. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. She also didn’t want him telling her mother she blew him off again.
She was so bad at this. Why didn’t she bring the phone into the bathroom? Jade would know what to do. Maybe she could fake a headache, or was that too cliché?
She flushed the toilet and washed her hands. When she came out of the bathroom she found Dawson sitting on the couch. His suit jacket lay over the arm of the chair and the top button of his collar was undone. Not good. He looked comfortable, reclined with his ankle crossed over his knee and a wine glass dangling in the hand draped over the arm of the sofa.
Her wineglass sat on the coffee table. No coaster.
Kat sat down on the other end of the sofa and picked up her wine. She took several sips and placed it back on the table using a coaster. She shot him a darting, bland smile. He uncrossed his legs and placed his glass on the table as well.
“Dawson—”
“Katherine—”
He softly chuckled and she said, “Sorry, you go.”
“I was going to tell you how pretty you look tonight.” His body twisted toward her and he picked up her hand. The position left her slightly uncomfortable, but she kept her expression serene so he wasn’t offended.
“I like it better when you pick out your own clothes. I could tell the last time I saw you that your mother helped you choose what to wear. I prefer a woman your age to dress her age, not her mother’s.” His voice was low and getting huskier with each word. “Vivian’s a lovely woman, but she has nothing on your beauty.”
She didn’t comment. He lifted Kat’s hand and claustrophobia set in. When he lowered his head toward hers she pulled back, but the couch arm blocked her full retreat.
“Don’t be shy, Katherine,” he said, tugging her hand and pulling her closer. “I’m just going to kiss you.”
Her eyes widened as he came closer. The scent of wine mingled with cologne filled her head. She jumped as a loud knock rattled the door. He froze and the knock impatiently sounded again.
“It’s a little late for visitors, isn’t it?” he asked, not really disguising the tartness of his tone.
“I don’t know who that is. I wasn’t expecting anyone.” She scooted forward and his hold on her hand tightened, not painfully, but firm enough to stop her from standing.
“Ignore it. They can come back tomorrow.”
“I can’t ignore it. What if something’s wrong?”
The knock sounded for the third time, louder than before. Dawson released her hand and stood as she went to answer the door. He irritably brushed the creases from his slacks.
Relief swamped her the minute she recognized Tyson through the window. “Tyson,” she said as she opened the door, his body filling the entrance. He held a large flashlight in his hand, jaw tight and brows low. She was taken aback by the formidable glint in his eye.
“Hey, Kat,” he stiffly greeted. “Sorry to bother you. I came to see if you have any batteries. I have a pipe leak and my flashlight died.”
“Is everything okay, Katherine?” Dawson called from the living room.
Kat slowly winced and gave Tyson an apologetic look then turned to Dawson. “Everything’s fine. It’s my neighbor.” She turned back to Tyson. “Come in, I think I have some batteries in the closet. What size do you need?”
“C’s.” He followed her toward the living room.
She didn’t know how he was doing it, maybe it was her own turbulent emotions, but she felt his gaze on her skin, possessively marking her in some way. Her shoulders pulled tight as if weighted with the heavy down of angel’s wings, but nothing removed the sensation of him all around her.
“Dawson Price, this is Tyson Adams. Tyson’s my neighbor,” she explained. “Dawson’s a friend of my parents.”
Tyson’s eyes slowly moved, thoroughly taking in the scene, Dawson’s collar undone, jacket off, and the wine glasses. She mentally groaned when his gaze snagged on the bottle of wine. He picked it up and pointedly studied the label. “Oh, one of my favorites.” He glanced at her with accusation. “Am I interrupting?”
Dawson cleared his throat. “Well actually—”
“No, not at all.”
“Oh. Good. I’d hate to interrupt a date. You look nice, Kat. Where are you two coming from?”
Her lips tightened. She hated herself in that moment, hated that she was such a phony, hated that she was such a coward. She gave him a pleading look, mentally begging him to please not do this, but he tilted his head. One dark brow rose and the inquisition was on.
Please, don’t make me say it.
His expression was smooth, but the stormy glint in his eyes was merciless. He wasn’t leaving without some answers. Damn him.
“I took Katherine to dinner in the city. Antonio’s. Have you heard of it?” Dawson said with self-important sentiment. It was a defense mechanism. His sudden snobbish overcompensating for some insecurity he harbored. She knew that trick, used it all the time. He was trying to intimidate Tyson and she resented it.
“Actually I have, but I can’t say I’ve ever eaten there.”
“Pity. The setting’s spectacular and the building’s extravagant. And the food’s delicious. Katherine enjoyed herself very much.”
He sounded like a pompous ass. And very much was pushing it. She hated when people bragged. It screamed lack of confidence.
“Well, thank you. That’s quite a compliment.” Tyson’s lip deviously curled. He wore the same triumphant expression he often did when he’d pushed her buttons.
“I beg your pardon?” Dawson asked.
“While I’ve never eaten there, I did, in fact, design the building. I’ve heard it described as many things before, but never as, what was it you said? Spectacular and extravagant? That’s very kind of you. And I’m glad to hear Katherine,” he dragged the name out, “enjoyed it.”
Ha-ha! Score one for Tyson. Kat pressed her lips together and turned toward the kitchen.
When she turned back Dawson looked confused and slightly disgruntled, so she helped him out. “Tyson owns Adams Construction. He designs and builds everything from homes to commercial properties.”
A muscle in Dawson’s jaw ticked and he tightly smiled, his eyes narrowing as he continued to take the other man’s measure. “Well, it’s getting late. I should get going. It was fun, Katherine. I’m glad you contacted me. Call me again sometime.”
He just had to slip that in. He retrieved his jacket from the sofa. Tyson had the grace to pretend he found her bookshelf incredibly interesting. Dawson leaned close. “Next time,” he whispered.
Body stock-still, she held her breath as he kissed her cheek. No one said a word as he left and the flash of his headlights dragged across her windows. The silence was deafening. If she shut her eyes she could probably feel Tyson seething behind her. This was not going to be good.
Kat stared at the door, too afraid to face him. Tension rolled off of him in waves, choking the air from the room so she jumped right into distraction mode without sparing him a glance. “I’ll get you those batteries.” Her feet made a beeline into the hall.
She was at the closet when she sensed him behind her. She wished she could wiggle her nose like the witch in Bewitched and escape whatever judgment was. Her muscles clenched at the premonition of an oncoming fight. Her neck draped as her head limply hung over her chest. With drooping shoulders she sighed. “I—”
His voice cut through the air like a whip. “What the hell is going on, Kat? Or should I call you Katherine?”
She turned around, pulling every bit of reserved energy she had for the oncoming battle. He had her cornered, his big body blocking her only escape. “Do you even need batteries, Tyson?”
“Fuck the batteries! I want an explanation.” Crowding her closer toward the wall, his voice filled the cramped space with a resounding blare and she flinched.
“Don’t talk to me like that! And I don’t owe you anything.”
“How should I talk to you, Kat? You lied to me. You said you didn’t date. Period. And here you are, with your hair done and makeup on, drinking my goddamn wine, with some prick!”
“He’s not a prick and nothing happened for you to be this angry.”
He stepped closer and her back arched over the shelving. He crowded her, his hands on the lip of the highest shelf, caging her in with the hard line of his body. She should have been scared. But she was too overwrought to notice.
His eyes smoldered with stormy passion. No one had ever looked at her with such raw possessiveness. The propelling impulse to push him past his limit hit hard. He took her from zero to sixty in less than a second. There was such a radical difference between the way he made her feel and the way she felt around all other men.
She panted as he leaned close, drawing in an audible breath. “I can smell him on you. Did you let him touch you? Kiss you?” he growled, hot breath hitting her neck.
“Tyson, stop it. It’s none of your business anyway. You’re my neighbor, that’s it.”
“I am your neighbor,” he whispered, thigh pressing tight between her own, parting her knees. Her skin tingled as the proof of his arousal nudged her hip. “Because you told me that’s all I could be to you, because your life was too complicated to date anyone. Now which is it, Kat? You either aren’t dating or you are. Or is it that you just don’t want to date me?”
Her first instinct was to run, but there was nowhere to go. “I don’t know.”
“You know. You don’t want to say. Is it because our age difference? Is it because I’m black?”
“No!”
“Then what is it?” he yelled. “I’ve respected your wishes and given you your space. I figured if I were patient, you’d come around. But you barely even speak to me anymore. I expected us to at least be friends. What I didn’t expect was to see you inviting some guy into your home.”
“Nothing happened!” Her frustration gave way to panic. She couldn’t take him being mad at her. She didn’t know why his opinion mattered so much, but it did. “My mother fixed us up. She introduced us on Easter and he called a few weeks later, but I blew him off because I wasn’t interested—in dating him or anybody for that matter. Then my mom twisted everything up and we had a huge fight and she made me call him. What was I supposed to do?”
His head quizzically tilted, their breathing the only sound. A responsive throb to his nearness started low in her belly. She wanted to push him away and at the same time she wanted to pull his gorgeous face down to hers and kiss those full lips like crazy.
Never before had she known such explosive chemistry could exist between two people. The electricity arcing between them was dangerous and she was the kind of girl who never played with matches.
Finally, he broke the silence. “If he asks you out again, will you go?”
“I don’t know,” she honestly replied.
“Yet, if I ask you out again, you’ll say no. Why is that?”
“Tyson—”
“Why?”
“I…”
“Answer the question!”
“Because I like you too much and it scares me!” she yelled. “I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone! When you kiss me I get chills and when you look at me my stomach fills with butterflies. The way you are with Mia, it makes me ache with a sort of happiness I’ve never experienced before. When you touch me—”
Her words silenced as he growled and fused his mouth to hers. Unlike the soft patient kisses she remembered, this time he devoured her like a man denied too long. His tongue speared into her mouth, searing her own, his entire physical being demanding she kiss him back. He claimed her, marked her.
Her heart wildly beat behind her ribs like a caged hummingbird. His hands cupped her ass, supporting her, and she crawled up the wall of his chest, gripping the fabric covering his shoulders in her tight fists.
The slide of her dress tickled her thighs as he tugged at the material. She moaned as he squeezed the soft curve of her bare thigh. The ground gave way as he lifted her to him, his large hands cradling her ass.
Her body immediately reacted to the contact. Strong arms snaked around her back, pulling her closer against the hard line of his body. His teeth scraped along her lower lip, sensually teasing her mouth as his lips slanted over hers.
The room blurred as he spun them around, carrying her from the cramped closet. Objects clattered to the floor and the cool, flat wall pressed into her back. Right there in the hall, he ravaged her mouth.
The complete weight and contact of his body had her arching into him, legs around his waist, and his arousal strained against his jeans. He tilted his head to get a better angle on her mouth. She moved her tongue over his and he groaned in pleasure.
Her dress rode up over her hips as his large hands slid under the delicate lace of her panties. The skid of his work-roughened fingers was marvelous as they caressed the soft, exposed skin of her ass. He squeezed her bottom almost painfully and firmly pressed himself into the cradle of her thighs. Her hands coasted over every hard muscle and ridge she could reach through his clothing as she clung to his solid form.
Needing air, she ripped her mouth away and leaned her head against the wall, gasping for breath as he pressed a trail of hot, wet kisses down her neck. They were both breathing heavily.
In between kisses he mumbled broken words of lust and wasted time. “I tried to stay away—” He bit her earlobe, his mouth kissing a trail along her jaw. She arched her neck, giving him access. “What you do to me—” His lips connected with that magic spot on her collarbone. “God, Kat, I can’t get enough of you.”
Their hips ground together. Her breasts ached as she slipped her fingers beneath his collar and dug into the smooth, cappuccino skin pulling tight over his broad, muscled shoulders. He breathed her name against her skin. The cool weight of her hair slipped over her shoulders and out of its bun. One shoe fell to the floor with an unceremonious clop. His lips found hers again and she moaned.
The ache that he kindled slowly suddenly scalded like a white flame, charring every shred of common sense she had left. The last of her good intentions fell away as his hand closed over her breast.
“My bedroom—” she breathed, as he continued to ravish her. Turning a cheek, she gasped, “Tyson…my bedroom.”
His palm slid low on the center of her bottom and his fingers pressed over the silk covering her slick sex.
The strength of his arm banded around her waist. Teeth scraped the sensitive spot on her shoulder, biting, and then soothing the sharp sting. Wet sucking kisses pulled at her tender throat.
Clawing at the fabric of his shirt, her fists bunched the fabric, longing to feel more of his skin on hers. The material gathered at his upper back and her palm moved low, pressing over his heated flesh. The muscled tension that vibrated under her touch stoked the flame burning deep in her belly.
She was pinned, pegged, spread out against the wall as he ground his hard body against hers. “Please, Tyson,” she begged as he pressed her more firmly to the wall and stilled.
His face pushed into the curve of her neck. Labored breathing echoed between them while he held her tight, as if trying to regain his control. At that point she was beyond caring about control.
“Kat—” he panted. “We have to stop.”
She whimpered in frustration as she dragged her forehead against his shoulder. Why was he doing this to her? He started this. He should finish it. Damn this man for coming into her life and turning her world upside down. She squeezed her eyes closed, rejected, determined, and weary all at the same time. What was happening to her?
The fast pounding of his heart rested under her ear as they breathed together. Seconds turned to minutes until she finally gave an unconvincing nod against his shoulder and slowly released her hold on his shirt.
Her palms flattened over his biceps. There wasn’t a place on him she could touch that didn’t turn her on. His intimate hold on her ass gave way as his hands curved around her back, still supporting her weight and lifting her higher over his hips, but in a less sexual way.
She turned her face, replacing her forehead with her cheek against his shoulder. He laid his head along her shoulder as well. They stood locked together, him tenderly holding her, heads on each other’s shoulders—yin and yang.
Eventually, he moved his palm in soothing patterns up and down her back, slowly rocking and lulling her away from the sexual hysteria that had almost swallowed her whole. Gratitude that he knew when to stop even when she didn’t bloomed into tender affection for this man.
She didn’t understand the way her body reacted to him. Nothing compared to the effect he had on her. It was as if, when he touched her, she forgot who she was and let go of all her idiosyncrasies and insecurities. In the moment, it was liberating and addicting, but once she regained her bearings it scared the ever-loving crap out of her.
“Tyson,” she whispered.
“Shh, just let me hold you.”
She nodded and shut her eyes.
His palm ran soothing patterns over her back for what felt like hours. Everything between them had changed. As he held her in his arms, she realized that she wasn’t strong enough to deny the sexual pull between them any longer.
Tyson needed to think. All he wanted to do was bury his cock into Kat’s heat—right there, in the hall of her dainty cottage—but he needed to think. God, this place was small. He felt like a giant in a dollhouse.
Every time he touched her lush, tight body or kissed her timid little mouth he was reminded of how inexperienced she was. He had to slow the fuck down. He couldn’t mess this up. He wouldn’t mess this up.
Slowly easing his grip, he allowed her slight body to slide down his front—Sweet Jesus—until her feet softly landed on the floor. Sleepy, vulnerable eyes questioningly gazed up at him. His thumb coasted over the crest of her ivory cheek. So smooth.
She needed to be taken slowly, tenderly. He wanted to get it right the first time. Slowly build that emotional connection, so the experience was more than two bodies writhing against one another, seducing her mind as well as her body. Depth mattered to him and he didn’t want something shallow with her.
“What do you say, while I go let Trixie out, you make us a pot of coffee? I take it Mia’s away for the night?”
She nodded. “She’s at Jade’s.”
“Good. I’m gonna run home for a minute. You need anything?”
“No. I just want to change my clothes, and then I’ll make coffee.”
The moment he completely withdrew his touch he thought he caught a flash of disappointment in her eyes.
Good. Progress.
“I should only be a minute. I left some food on the counter. God knows what that dog’s been up to since I’ve been gone.”
She laughed and he fought the urge to stay. She probably needed a few minutes to regroup, regain her bearings. Besides, he needed to have a serious talk with his dick about manners before she noticed how aroused he still was.
Kissing her temple lightly, he squeezed her shoulder, and turned away. Well, this night sure ended differently than he’d predicted. Adjusting himself, he headed down the sidewalk to his house.
Barging in and ravishing her was never part of the plan, but when the sleek BMW returned and that guy followed her into the house, it was like having an anvil dropped on his head. He’d stared, dumbfounded, and suddenly his fist was pounding on her door, still holding the flashlight he’d been working with earlier.
The guy looked to be settling in, but Kat seemed high strung—more than usual—which she rarely was when in her own home. Warning bells clamored when he spotted the bottle of wine he left for her. That was his goddamn wine. He became a territorial animal ready to mark his claim.
Tyson unlocked his front door and Trixie charged. “Whoa, girl. Easy. Did you get my sandwich?”
The dog had the grace to look repentant.
“Wonderful,” he drolly mumbled as he entered the kitchen. He came up short at the yellow Wonder Bread wrapper shredded on the floor next to the spilled trashcan. “Trixie!”
The dog’s head tilted in curious shock, ear cocked as if she couldn’t understand what she’d done wrong. Slowly, she bowed and spit out the gnarled paintbrush. The wooden handle was chewed to a nub.
Tyson sighed. “You’re going to doggy charm school.”
As he used the dustpan to scrape up a mixture of coffee grounds, eggshells, and other garbage, he thought about Kat’s date. The guy was an arrogant douche. He’d seen the kind a million times. All glitz and shine firmly rooted in Mommy and Daddy’s pocket. He’d be shocked if a guy like Dawson Price ever put in a day of hard labor in his pampered, silver spoon life.
Tyson was different stock. He was clear on the score. He didn’t come from money. His parents were average, hardworking, middle class citizens.
He fit a new trash bag into the can and shoveled up the pile, sending Trixie a glare. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
The dumb dog wagged her tail.
“You’re pathetic.” Bending down, she scratched under her ear, and she rolled onto her back asking for more. The tap, tap, tap of her tail filled the room. “No can do, pup. My other girl needs me right now. You behave.”
He tied off the bag in case Trixie tipped the canister again. Snatching the ruined paintbrush off the floor, he left a piece of rawhide in its place.
As he washed his hands he tried to pinpoint what exactly bothered him about Kat’s date. Was it Price or just the fact that Kat had gone out with another man when he wanted to be the one taking her out? The audacious way Price acted like he understood Kat bugged him. He wasn’t the only man that could take her to dinner. If she weren’t so damn stubborn they would have shared many dinners.
Who did this guy think he was? Katherine enjoyed herself. Men like that were so transparent. Like he deserved some sort of recognition.
Sure, Kat could settle down with someone upper crust like Price. She’d adapt. It’d be easy for her to fit into the role of suburban wife and mother, fulfilling her husband’s legacy.
The vision of some spacious cookie cutter home at the end of a cul-de-sac came a little to easily, when thinking of Kat. He could see her driving some fully loaded, five star, child safety SUV, preparing dinners at six each night, acting as classroom mom by day, and running the PTA by night, but he didn’t want to see her doing those things with a man like Price. She could do better. However, doing better might take him out of the equation all together.
He stood at the edge of her driveway and watched the window. Under the soft glow of light in the kitchen, she carried a pot of coffee to the table and placed it on a potholder like his Gran used to do.
A smile pulled at the side of his mouth when she neatly positioned two cups, a bowl of sugar, and the creamer before stepping back and examining the arrangement. A soft frown knit across her brow and she leaned forward to tweak the display. Stepping back again her shoulders lifted and fell and she nervously combed a hand over her hair.
She looked like she could use a few more minutes so he carried her trashcans to the curb. His Momma always told him what matters in a good man is if, after thirty years, he still took out the trash. Kat reminded him of his Momma in some ways—sweet, strong, and nurturing.
She wasn’t the type of woman to be impressed with name brands and fancy things. She took pride in her small cottage and she didn’t even own the deed. Her determination and attention to detail was a huge turn on. She might be as skittish as a kitten, but she had the determination of a lioness.
Her quiet grace could easily be mistaken for compliance, but he knew better. A man like Price could destroy the very essence of a woman like Kat. But she was no dummy. She’d realize these things at her own pace, realize this was her life and she was the only one expected to live it. As much as she yearned for her parents’ approval—whether she admitted it or not—her future was hers to decide. Not theirs.
Kat knew how to love, but he wasn’t sure she knew what it was to be loved—without conditions. All he was asking for was the chance to show her such things were possible. It was a damn shame a girl as sweet and big-hearted as her jaded at twenty-one. Even if he wasn’t the man for her, he had to keep her from settling for men like Price.
He leisurely stepped onto the porch and knocked at the door. It’d be a mistake to rush her. Slow and steady won the race and sooner or later she’d notice the difference between those that loved her only when their motives were met and those that simply cared with nothing but good intentions.
He wanted to be the man for the job, wanted to be there for all those firsts she had yet to experience, making love, breakfast in bed, fooling around on a rainy afternoon, having someone pick up the slack so she could take an afternoon off. Seducing her would try his patience, but every minute gained would justify the wait.