Chapter 4

Not good.

That was Molly’s first coherent thought when she woke to the sound of the front door closing and Sean’s keys landing on the table as he walked into the apartment. The issue wasn’t that she’d been woken before she was ready—it was already after ten—or that she’d slept in her clothes, or even that she had no memory of anything past leaving Belfast the night before. No, it was Sean. And more specifically, the dream she’d had about him. And her. Together.

The dirty, dirty sex dream.

Which was very bad, because it had been years since she’d suffered anything more than the occasional stray below-the-buckle thought about the guy who was without question her best friend in the world and just happened to think of her as the little sister he’d never had.

And this infraction wasn’t just some wayward thought either. It wasn’t lingering in one of his big bear hugs a second too long because it felt right for all the wrong reasons. It wasn’t a fleeting pinch of jealousy when she was flipping through the paper and happened across a photo of him with Valerie on his arm. That stuff was harmless and didn’t take more than a second to shake loose from her head. It wasn’t even the XXX rating her nocturnal wanderings had scored.

No. The real trouble had been all the non-porny stuff that had been there too. The quiet moment before that dirty business in the shower. The way his hand lingered at the small of her back when they walked, the press of his kiss at the top of her head, how she’d felt when Sean was above her, his dark-brown eyes searching hers.

The thing of it was, those moments were already hers—only in this dream, every touch and look and whisper had been infused with that essential something her real-life interactions with Sean had always lacked. The dream had breathed new life into the ideas she’d finally managed to put down more than five years ago, and now she was stuck with this heart-pounding, butterfly-belly sensation as she caught her first glimpse of him.

Hovering at her bedroom doorway, she watched as he walked over to the sink. His T-shirt was damp with sweat and clung to his powerful back. Reaching over his shoulder, he grabbed a handful of the fabric and yanked it overhead in one swift motion.

Oh no.

He was standing there shirtless as he filled a glass with water from the tap, all those muscles flexing and bunching with every movement. Eyes closed, he turned around and leaned back into the counter as he drank. A bead of sweat trickled slowly down his neck, leaving a wet path that was making her mouth water in a way Sean wasn’t supposed to.

No way could she go back to the years she’d spent silently pining for him while he knuckle-rubbed her head and then brought every other damn girl on campus back to his room to bang. It had been grueling, and it had taken her years to get past. Years for her to get to a point where she didn’t feel like she was lying to him every time they hung out and dying inside every time they didn’t. She wouldn’t go back to that.

She couldn’t.

“You have to move out,” she croaked, her eyes still fixed on that rolling droplet as it ventured over the packed layers of his right pec.

Sean’s eyes opened. He set his glass down on the counter behind him. “Morning, Moll. I slept great. Thanks for asking. Even pushed my schedule back to after lunch so I could catch up a little extra and get a workout in.”

“I’m not kidding.”

He wiped his face with the T-shirt he’d just whipped off, and a sinking feeling came over her. She knew what she’d be dreaming about tonight.

“Seriously, Moll, I don’t get it.”

And she hoped he never did.

“We lived together for five years, and it was awesome. You always say you love it when I crash here. Hell, you try to talk me into it every other weekend. You want—no, need—a roommate who actually pays rent. So what’s the problem?”

She swallowed hard, trying to keep her eyes on his face. The problem was that glistening expanse of muscled chest and banded abs, shifting and flexing with his every movement. The problem was that fine trail of golden hair bisecting all of it and leading south into those too-low basketball shorts—red this time, and silky enough to hint at the contours beneath. The problem was the utterly untamed mess of dark-blond hair making her fingers itch with the need to touch it.

Pretty valid problems, to her mind anyway, but not exactly something she was ready to share with Sean. Not if she wanted to hang on to the most important relationship in her life. She needed to look away and come up with an answer quick.

“Molly?” he asked again, sounding uncommonly stern as he crossed his arms over his chest. Which was so not helping…because his arms and oh God, that crazy V thing happening with the muscles above his shorts when he—

“Uhh…Molly… What…uhh… Why are you looking at me like that?”

Molly’s heart stalled in her chest, and her eyes squinted shut. He’d seen it. Years she’d ached and pined and prayed for him to notice that she wasn’t his little sister, that she wanted him, and he wanted her too. That they’d be perfect for each other if he’d only give up the idea of the perfect pedigreed wife. But in all that time, he’d never seen a thing. And now, after five years of walking the straight and narrow, she falls out of line for five damn seconds and he catches on?

What the hell, man?

“Okay, Moll, if you’re trying to make me uncomfortable looking at me like that, uncool. I know you’re just trying to find a new angle to get to me, but no matter how bad you want me out of here, that’s the line you don’t cross.”

Huh?

One eye squinted open and then the other. Sean was standing straight now, nothing casual in his demeanor at all. In fact, he looked as freaked out as he had the day he’d been propositioned by one of his mother’s friends.

He thought she’d been…faking that look?

Whoa, this could work.

Squaring her shoulders, Molly drew on every ounce of false confidence she could muster. “There’s no line I won’t cross to win, Sean. You don’t want me looking at you like…like the incredibly hot piece of man-candy you are,” she stated, letting her eyes run over him from head to toe and then back up again. “Well, then, I think we both know what you can do to stop it.”

Her pulse was racing. Her skin hot. She had no idea if he was buying this or not, but please, oh, please let him. Not only would it serve as the perfect cover for that look he’d just busted her taking, but it would have him out of her apartment before lunch.

Sean’s jaw shifted to the side as he gave her a narrow look. “No way. Look at you. You’re red as a beet, and your hands are shaking.”

He didn’t believe her.

She was going to have to own up to the truth. She was going to have to tell him about the dream and maybe about five years ago, and even though it was going to be weird for a while and possibly never totally the same again, they’d get past it.

“No way you can keep this up,” he said, suddenly a whole lot more confident than he’d been a moment ago. “Good effort, sure, but save us both the brain bleach and just give it up.”

The brain bleach?

Even if it was exactly the response she ought to be hoping for, it stung. It really did.

“Give up? Not happening, Sean. And I wouldn’t get too confident either, because”—she swallowed and, jutting her hip to one side, tried to channel some smolder—“I could look at you all day.”

The forced words hung in the air between them, awkward and unnatural. So very not sexy at all.

Finally, Sean shook his head, giving in to a short laugh that left her dying inside.

“Okay, Moll. If that’s the way you want to play it. Go ahead.” Walking past, he ruffled her hair. “Give it your all.”

She gulped. What had she just gotten herself into?

* * *

That had been fucking unreal. Disconcerting as hell. And just plain wrong.

And based on how they’d left the conversation…possibly just the beginning.

Sean tossed his T-shirt into the bathroom corner and cranked the water for the shower.

That look. The first one, which thank fuck she hadn’t been able to re-create. He’d never seen her look at him like that before. If he had… Shit, he didn’t want to think about it. Because even knowing what she was up to, that look could put ideas in a guy’s head. Ideas he wouldn’t have a second’s hesitation following through on if they’d been about anyone other than Molly Brandt.

But it had been Molly behind those few seconds of temptation and sin, and the fact that he was about to step into the shower sporting a semi because of her was making him feel like the lowest of the lows. Lower, because even the shame wasn’t enough to take the hard off.

The shower had just started to steam, but no way was he getting in there like that. Reaching in, he turned off the hot and stepped under the icy spray.

“Aghgh!” This scrub was going to be all business. Lightning fast and void of any and all funny business regarding the demon in the next room.

A quiet knock sounded at the bathroom door. “Sean, you okay?”

Lathering faster, he gritted out the single word he could manage. “Yep.”

Fine. Totally good. Not thinking about Molly’s eyes on him. Definitely not letting his dirty fucking mind take it a step further and imagining the tip of her tongue wetting her lip or—

“Because if you need any help in there…you know…with all those muscles, I wouldn’t mind getting all wet to help you out.”

He froze where he was, the edges of his vision blurring in time with his pulse.

She hadn’t. She wouldn’t.

“No thanks, Moll,” he called back, hoping like hell his years of maintaining a cool professional exterior no matter what was going through his mind would pay off. If Molly figured out she was getting to him, she’d never stop. “I got it handled—er—under control.”

Shit. At least he would.

* * *

“You’re shitting me,” Brody said, staring at Sean across the mostly deserted bar. Belfast didn’t open for lunch for another half hour, and while Sean needed to get back to the office, he needed someone to talk to first. And with Molly out of the running for obvious reasons and Max a no-go thanks to the honeymoon as well as being Molly’s extremely overprotective older brother, Brody was the obvious choice. The guy was a world-class listener and in touch with everyone’s feelings on a level deeper than they were. So after taking the world’s fastest shower, Sean had darted into his room like a grade-A wuss, praying Molly wouldn’t be lying in wait outside the door.

Fortunately, she’d shut herself in her bedroom, and he’d been able to dress and duck out of the apartment in record time.

“I only wish I was,” Sean lamented, bracing his elbows on the bar in front of him. Brody passed him a cup of coffee, bringing one for himself as he rounded the bar and took the open stool next to Sean.

“So did it work?” he asked, the oversize mug dwarfed by the guy’s meaty hands.

Sean’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Brody shrugged. “She driving you out of the place? ’Cause you know that kid Gary. He’s going to be back the minute he figures out you’re gone.”

He knew. The dickwad only had a few days left at the hotel. And already there’d been some problems with the job Sean had lined up for him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sean answered.

“Glad to hear it, man.” Brody nodded past Sean as one of the day staff arrived. “It’s not affecting you, then?”

“Molly pretending to come on to me?” He shook his head, suddenly fascinated by the black depths of his coffee. “Give me a break, man. No way.”

When he looked up, Brody was watching him with that all-too-knowing look on his face. “You ever think of something more with her?”

Sean coughed, looking around the bar as though he was afraid someone might hear them. Not totally unjustified, considering Molly managed this place part-time, so any staff who happened to be within earshot would probably report back to her before her shift even started the next day. But the girl who’d come in had gone straight to the back, so it was just Brody leaning a burly arm on the bar as he waited for Sean’s answer.

“Fuck no. Come on.”

“Come on, what? She’s hot.” And now that Sean was thinking about it, he remembered how a few years back, Brody had had a thing for her. A thing that had kind of bugged him but never saw the word go. “And if we’re being totally honest here, she’s not that far off from some of the girls I’ve seen you with.”

Sean balked, and Brody held up a hand. “Yeah, she’s nothing like the applicants you take for the future Mrs. Wyse position…but recreationally speaking, you seem to like a little edge, right? And hell, that Jenn McGuire you took home before you and Valerie were on again this last time… She could have been Molly’s cousin, with that hair and those eyes. And Robin Whatshername, she looked like she shopped in Molly’s closet with those boots and the—”

“Yeah, yeah, I see where you’re going with this. Superficially, a few of the women I’ve hooked up with might share a passing resemblance to Molly. But that’s it. I like a little variety is all. That doesn’t mean Molly’s my type.”

She wasn’t. Though now that Brody had him thinking about it, Donna Stoltz had those saucer-big blue eyes too… No.

“But even if she was. You know I’d never act on it. Those girls aren’t…”

Brody waited, and Sean shoved his coffee away as if it were responsible for the turn in the conversation.

“They know it’s not serious. They know before anything happens that I’m not looking for more than a night.”

“Yeah. They know the score,” Brody agreed calmly, making Sean wonder if he sounded defensive or something.

“I wouldn’t want that with Molly.” He swore and shook his head again, meeting Brody’s eyes. “I wouldn’t want that for Molly.”

Brody tossed back the rest of his coffee and pushed off the stool, walking around to the business side of the bar without a word. “She deserves better than some guy killing time before he finds the one.”

Sean nodded his agreement.

She was too special for that. And that was all a guy like him had to offer. Or it had been. Until this stuff with his family, Sean hadn’t really questioned his parents’ plans. They were such a shining example of a successful marriage, so why would he? But now?

Hell, Molly was a free spirit, passionate and exciting. Unpredictable. A force of nature. All the things that made her one of his best friends and favorite people. She’d never want the kind of restrained life he had to offer.

Besides, she was Molly. End of story.

Sean rapped his knuckles on the bar as he stood to go. “I gotta get to work. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Any time. And Sean,” Brody called after him, pointing a stern finger his way. “Stay strong, man.”

“Not a problem.”