Twenty

What the fuck was that? Something had just happened, and whatever it was had left Dean reeling.

It had been . . . Shit, he couldn’t even describe it. But it had been an entirely different level. He felt as if he’d been wallowing in the minor leagues and had just gotten called up to the bigs.

He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling as the blood pounding through his body—including his heart—returned to normal. His breathing was hard and heavy, not from the length of his exertion—he sure as hell wasn’t going to win any marathon awards for that—but from the intensity. Every muscle, every bone, every fiber of his body had been invested and focused on what he was doing to her. What was happening. The feelings, the sensations had taken hold of him completely in a way that he’d never experienced before.

Also never experienced before? Sex without a condom. Christ, he’d been a split second away from coming inside her! He raked his fingers back through his hair, forgetting that it was short again.

What the hell could he have been thinking? He hadn’t been thinking; that was the problem. He’d been acting on pure animal instinct.

He’d woken up with that taut, curvy ass pressed against him, and he’d been in a tunnel of need so dark and deep, nothing could have pulled him out. Take her. She wants it. You both want it. Don’t think. Just fuck. Fuck her until you can’t see straight.

Mission accomplished. Hooyah.

But what a fucking mess. He said the first thing that came to mind as he felt her turn toward him. “That was a mistake.”

•   •   •

Annie usually liked Dan’s blunt tell-it-like-it-is, no-sugarcoating brusqueness. Now, however, was not one of those times.

She’d been feeling oddly vulnerable and had instinctively sought the warmth and connection of his body by curling against him.

But when he made his pronouncement, she stiffened and started to roll away. He swore and caught her by the arm.

“That isn’t what I meant.” He must have realized he sounded like an ass. Great. Give him the prize for awareness. Their eyes met for the first time that morning. Her chest squeezed. Whatever she’d hoped to see, it wasn’t regret. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. But I’ve never had sex without a condom—I’m clean.”

Annie knew that the mistake he’d been talking about wasn’t just about protection. She could see it in every white etched line of his grim expression. This was a mistake, was what he meant. The most incredible sexual experience of her life—by far—had been a “mistake.”

Ouch. So much for postcoital cuddling and warm reassurances about how amazing that had been. How he’d never felt anything like it. How it had been as earth-shattering for him as it had been for her. How it might have meant something.

All those overwhelming, complicated, vulnerable feelings she had twisting and squeezing inside her? Yeah, well, they were one-sided.

She told herself that she had no reason to be disappointed. No reason to be hurt. Hot monkey sex—or, in this case, doggy without the hands and knees—wasn’t romantic. It didn’t inspire tender moments of postorgasmic bliss. She had no reason to expect more than a wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.

Although technically she hadn’t even gotten that.

What was her problem? He’d made it clear that he hadn’t wanted this, that he didn’t want to get involved. That she chose to ignore it was her fault. If she was feeling hurt, she had no one to blame but herself.

She buried her disappointment and forced a cool, nonchalance to her expression. “We both made a mistake. It was a heat-of-the-moment adrenaline type of thing. I’ve never had unprotected sex, either, and I’m on the pill, but I am happy to get tested if you want.”

“That isn’t necessary.” His obvious relief that she wasn’t going to make a big deal out of this—even though it very much felt like a big deal to her—stung much more than it should.

She was being ridiculous. She needed to act like an adult. Adolescents thought sex meant feelings; she should know better. It didn’t mean anything. Hot sex was just hot sex.

Their chemistry was off the charts, so what? That didn’t mean it was time to start picking out china patterns. Chemistry didn’t equate to soul mate. Good in bed—okay, fantastic in bed—didn’t make ideal life partner.

She needed to stop imagining feelings and connections and look at the reality. She was attracted to him. Who wouldn’t be? Look at him. He was seriously put together. Not just a great face but the body as well. She was painfully aware that he was lying in bed naked beside her with the duvet only partially covering him. But the glimpse she’d caught of his bare chest and arms before she turned away had been enough to turn her to jelly all over again. Big and cut up didn’t cover it by half.

It was probably better not to look. Just the feel of that rock-hard body behind her had made her act stupid enough.

But beyond attraction and apparent sexual compatibility, they didn’t have anything in common. Even if he wasn’t on the run from something and she hadn’t just gotten out of a bad relationship, it would never work. They were polar opposites. What had happened to her trifecta of not going to happen?

There was also the former military issue. The cool, confident, hard-as-nails “machine” she had been talking about pretty much summed him up. She had to admit in situations like this his alpha-man skills were welcome—and sexy—but in everyday life? No, thanks. She didn’t need another wannabe hero in her life. She had no interest in going there. Ever.

Then why was she so disappointed?

She thought she’d done a good job of hiding it, but she must not have been as good an actor as she thought.

“Look, Annie, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about this.”

Now, that made her perk up. As in hackles perked way up. “Wrong idea?”

He frowned at her tone, but in typical guy fashion plowed right on through the danger sign. “I like you, and this morning was . . . great.” Great? “But you and me . . .” He shrugged uncomfortably. “It can’t happen.”

She tucked the duvet around her chest as she sat up to stare at him. It was a testament to her flaring temper that she didn’t gape at her first full view of his chest. But good Lord. Her mouth went dry. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. Eyes back up. “I think it did just happen.”

Rather spectacularly as a matter of fact.

His frown turned a little wary, as if he knew he might be stomping through a minefield. “Not that. I meant about anything more.”

In other words, don’t get your hopes up, it didn’t mean anything, and don’t read anything into it.

All that confusion she’d been feeling a few minutes ago? It was gone. He’d just cleared it right up for her.

“You think after all that’s happened in the past couple of days that I’m looking for something more?”

He put one hand behind his head to look at her, bending his elbow and causing the muscles in his arm to flex.

Holy crap! She forced her gaze away so she wouldn’t stare, but the flush in her cheeks got a little hotter.

He gave kind of an amused sigh. “You don’t exactly strike me as the one-night-stand type.”

She should consider it a compliment, but right now it just annoyed her. He thought he knew her so well, did he? Or was he just used to women falling in love with him after sex? Neither sat well with her. “I’m not,” she said with a sugary smile. “Mornings, on the other hand . . .”

It took him a moment to realize what she meant. One-morning stands. When he did, his gaze darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged. “It means that you don’t know anything about me or what I like.”

“Oh, I think I know what you like well enough.”

He gave her a cocky look that made her nipples tighten and her body tingle in places that should be too sore to be doing so. Jerk.

Her cheeks were no doubt bright red, but she ignored the sensual taunt. “You don’t have to worry about me getting ‘the wrong idea,’” she said. “I knew exactly what I was doing.” She gave him a long look, letting her eyes slide over every inch of his well-muscled chest. “It couldn’t have escaped your notice that I’m attracted to you. Your body is incredible.” She thought about asking him about the scars and tattoo, but didn’t want to get off track. The same small scars she’d noticed on his hands were on most of his body except for his chest. “But now that we’ve gotten it out of our systems.” She shrugged. “It’s not as if we have a lot in common. You aren’t exactly my type.”

She wasn’t the only one angry now. He sat up and glared back at her. “What . . . not educated enough or not girlie enough?”

She clutched the duvet tighter, her cheeks flaming. Julien hadn’t been girlie. Well, maybe compared to him, but that wasn’t exactly a fair comparison. He oozed testosterone. “Neither. More like too conservative, too good ol’ boy Texas, and too macho military.”

“Macho? What is this, the eighties?”

“Alpha, whatever you want to call it.”

“Machine.”

Their eyes met. She didn’t say anything, but yes, that about summed it up.

She’d pissed him off, and she could tell he wanted to retaliate. To do something to prove her wrong. And having a feeling she knew what that might be, she started to scoot away, edging off the bed.

But she was saved by the bell—or, in this case, the buzz.

It took them both a minute to realize where it was coming from. He swore and got out of bed.

She sucked in her breath, her heart beating like a jackhammer. Whether he’d forgotten that he was naked or just didn’t care—probably the latter—she got an eyeful of a first-rate backside.

She’d been wrong. He didn’t need football pants. He looked pretty damned perfect as is.

He reached for his pants to retrieve his cell phone from one of the pockets, but the buzzing had already stopped.

Taking a look at the number, he muttered something under his breath that rhymed with “duck.”

Seeing him reach for his clothes, she did the same.

“I have to make a call.” She looked in his direction after pulling her nightshirt over her head. Had he been watching her? She couldn’t tell from his expression, but from the way his muscles were clenched she thought he might have.

“I thought you said no one knew your number.”

“I said it was a burner and untraceable.”

In other words, he wasn’t going to tell her who called.

He reached for his shirt and started to put it on, when she caught sight of the tattoo again and frowned. “That tattoo on your arm. What kind of crest is it? It looks familiar.”

He froze. At least it seemed that way at first, but when he turned to look at her, his expression was normal. “You probably have many times. It’s a popular beer.”

She thought for a minute and then it came to her. “You have a Budweiser tattoo?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Not highbrow enough for you?”

“I prefer Coors Light. So yes.”

He bit out a sharp laugh and shook his head. “You don’t back down, do you?”

It was rhetorical, so she didn’t answer. Instead she said, “How did you get the scars?”

She was learning to read him better. His expression gave nothing away on first glance, but the slight tensing of his jaw and whitening of his lips told her the question was not a welcome one.

“Car accident,” he said so indifferently that she knew it was a lie. “I’ll be back in a little bit. If you’re hungry you can go down to breakfast without me.”

“All right.”

“Annie?”

She looked up.

“We’re not done here.”

She wasn’t so sure. It felt as if they were very done.