Come On Closer (9 page)

“Let me touch you,” she breathed, suddenly desperate to have her hands on him, and he obliged in an instant, freeing her to scrape her nails down his back and then grip his ass, urging him on. Larkin watched his eyes close, chiseled features softening as he lost himself in the rhythm of their lovemaking. The soft sounds he made in the back of his throat at the apex of every thrust chipped away at what was left of her control, which evaporated completely the instant he slipped his hands between them to circle the swollen nub of her sex with his thumb. Larkin's mouth opened on a silent cry as every single sensation narrowed to a tiny point of focus . . . and then burst, her orgasm so strong she could do nothing but hang on, shaking, as wave after wave crashed through her.

She felt Shane tense, then let go, falling with her as he moaned out the hottest string of curses she'd ever heard, hips thrusting wildly before he finally slowed, then stilled.

They collapsed together against the pillows, utterly spent. Larkin felt boneless, weightless, barely able to do so much as curl her fingers. Shane shifted onto his side, pulling away, and for a brief moment Larkin worried he'd confirm her worst fears and simply leave now
that the deed was done. Instead, she heard footsteps, a
thump
as his feet found another of her shoes, a little rustling, and then the comforter was being pulled over the two of them as the bed creaked beneath his weight. He tucked her against him, one arm draped over her waist, knees fitted behind hers, his skin so warm they hardly needed the blanket.

“Mmm” was all he said, nuzzling into her hair, sounding completely, blissfully sated. That made two of them. He didn't say anything else, and after a couple of minutes his breathing slowed and deepened. Larkin's lips curved into a soft smile in the dark. Asleep. The man had already fallen asleep. Well, she'd never seen Shane fail to make himself comfortable . . . and she wouldn't complain he'd done it now.

Larkin stayed awake as long as she could—falling asleep meant waking up again, and things would change in the daylight. They always did. But soon enough, she felt herself drifting. And just for tonight, though she knew the feeling was likely just an illusion, she let herself enjoy the security of Shane's arms wrapped around her, safe, maybe a little bit cherished, and finally,
asleep.

H
e didn't know where the hell he was when he woke up.

Shane inhaled deeply as he surfaced, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, then giving a loud yawn and stretching. It took him a few seconds to register the strangeness of the bed beneath him, the difference in the dim light filtering into the room. Then he caught a whiff of sugar and vanilla, and he remembered. Everything. He opened his eyes with a grin, rolling to his side to find—

An empty bed. The covers where Larkin had slept were rumpled, but she must have slipped away at some point while he was asleep. He blinked, ran a hand over the place she'd been, and resigned himself to getting up to look for her. What time was it anyway? Morning, even though the light coming through the blinds was dim and dishwater gray. He lifted his head, spotting a clock on the nightstand. Seven a.m. Early but not
awful. His body was tired in the best of ways, a sensation he'd nearly forgotten. There was nothing like waking up in a postsex haze. It would have been better if his partner had still been in bed, too, but not everybody had the same sleeping habits.

With a groan, he hauled himself into a sitting position and looked around. In the dark, he hadn't gotten a good look at Larkin's bedroom, and all things considered, he hadn't much cared. Now, in her quiet little house, he could see that the two of them had tumbled into a simple white wrought iron bed. The comforter crumpled around him was a colorful quilt in a mix of jewel-toned patterns, and there was a scatter of richly colored silk pillows on the floor. There were a few paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling, a large dresser that looked antique, a mirror in a heavy gold frame, and a jumble of things—makeup, jewelry, shiny trinkets, and those damned hazardous shoes—that marked this as Larkin's inner sanctum.

It didn't look a thing like the rest of the house, but it was still all her. Larkin seemed to have all kinds of interesting secrets. He'd learned a few last night . . . and he hadn't nearly sated his curiosity.

Shane swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wiggled his toes into the dove gray carpet, and stood. A quick search of the floor netted him his underwear, which he pulled on before heading out into the main part of the house. The scent of her baking hit him the moment he opened her bedroom door, and his stomach growled pitifully to remind him he'd never eaten dinner last night.

He found her in the kitchen, which didn't surprise him. Larkin seemed to be in her own little world. She
hummed and bobbed her head in time to whatever was playing in the earbuds she wore. The cord disappeared into the pocket of her sweatpants, which she'd put back on along with the fuzzy socks and Pink Floyd tee. Her long hair was tied back in a simple tail that fell down her back in loose waves, and as he watched, she shimmied across the kitchen floor, hips wiggling to the music. Shane leaned back against the wall to watch, thoroughly entertained. He knew from Jake's wedding reception that the woman had moves, but it had been a while since he'd gotten to see them. She pulled a tin of muffins out of the oven, set it on the stovetop, clapped her hands, did a little twirl, and then yelped loudly enough to make him jump.

“Jesus! Are you
trying
to give me a heart attack?” She pressed a hand to her chest, then yanked out the earbuds. Shane could hear the Jackson 5 singing very softly until she fumbled her phone out and stopped the song.

“Did you forget I was here?” he asked. He was joking, but when Larkin pursed her lips and tugged at her ponytail he realized he'd hit a little closer to the mark than he'd wanted to.

“No. Maybe. For just a minute. I just . . . I
hate
being snuck up on.”

He could see he'd actually managed to rattle her, which left him in the unfamiliar position of wanting to apologize and make another person comfortable. Shane put up his hands, palms out. “Okay. Won't do it again. Sorry. You're just cute when you dance.”

“Oh. Well, thanks. And it's fine, really. I just didn't expect you to be up this early. I tried to wake you a little while ago, but you were pretty much catatonic.”
She was still flustered, but her pink cheeks and half smile told him he'd at least managed to make it a little better. He hadn't expected her to be so skittish—not after last night. She looked around the kitchen, tapped her fingers against her things, and seemed to only reluctantly meet his gaze again. The wild, uninhibited Larkin from the night before had retreated behind a wall of awkward politeness. Shane fought back against the frustration that wanted to rise up.

This is new for her. For both of us. Remember that, or you'll push too hard and wind up just another name in the dirtbag column.

“So. Did you, um, sleep okay?” Her eyes darted to his underwear, widened, and then shot right back up. “Do you want a bathrobe or something? It can get chilly in here.”

“Larkin,” he said, torn between amusement and exasperation, “we spent the night naked. You really want me to wear a fluffy pink bathrobe?”

“It's purple. And anyway, I know, and . . . no, but I wanted to talk to you, and I don't know if I can do that while you're in your underwear. It's distracting.”

He smiled. “Good.”

She dropped her chin and fixed him with a beleaguered look. “Shane. I'm serious. Be serious with me, just for a few minutes.”

That didn't sound promising. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to work things around into getting his own way. Being an only child had plenty of drawbacks, at least in his case, but it had taught him some valuable life skills. The first rule was to always deflect attention from the issue at hand if at all possible.

“Hey, don't you have to be at work?” he asked. He
walked to the sink to look out the window over it. It was still snowing lightly, and it looked like they'd gotten a few inches overnight. No doubt the plow had blocked him into the driveway. Which . . . suddenly explained a few things. He turned to find Larkin fussing over her one-cup coffeemaker, into which she'd placed a large mug emblazoned with a grumpy-looking Tinker Bell. She was pointedly avoiding his gaze.

“Shit. I'm sorry, Larkin. That's why you were trying to wake me up. I didn't even think about it.”

“No”—she held up a hand—“don't apologize. Last night was . . . spontaneous . . . and I didn't think about it either, until my alarm went off at four a.m. How do you sleep through alarms? I'm not even kidding. I wake up if somebody slams a car door five houses down.”

“I've been like that since I was a kid,” he admitted. “You might not want to know what my current alarm clock sounds like.”

“No. No, I don't.” She took a sip of her coffee, closed her eyes in apparent pleasure as the caffeine entered her system, then opened them to regard him over the rim of her mug. “Want some?”

“God, yes.”

That seemed to please her. It had at least given her something to do other than fidget nervously. She kept talking as she turned to get a mug down from the cupboard. “Anyway, once I got up I realized that you were blocking me in the driveway. I tried to wake you up, but you were out. So I called Jo and told her I was having car trouble—”

“Did she believe that?” Shane interjected. Jo was friendly enough, but he always got the feeling she had
a well-honed bullshit detector. It was a handy thing to be able to pick up about people, since he considered himself a pretty talented purveyor of the same. Larkin popped a new cartridge into the machine, and a stream of liquid began to fill his mug.

“No,” Larkin said. “I had to promise I'd give her the real story later. But she's been nagging me to take a morning off one of these days for pretty much ever, so it wasn't a big deal. We have each other's backs. She was coming in early anyways, and now Aimee will help her get the baking done. It's great practice. She's definitely got it in her blood. Aimee, I mean. Normal people are never that excited at four a.m., and when I called her, she was over the moon. I'll go whenever you, ah . . .”

“Whenever I get out of your hair?”

“That's not what I meant.” Her voice softened. “I assumed you had to work, too.”

“I do, but I'm not in mortal danger if I show up a little late. It helps to have your name on the sign,” he said. That didn't seem to settle very well with her, but she let it go, instead handing off his coffee.

“I've got cream in the fridge, sugar in the middle canister over there. Spoons in the drawer beside the sink.” She pointed while she spoke, then gripped her mug with both hands and took another sip, looking up at him. She looked uncannily like the fairy on the mug, big green eyes and all.

“You made muffins,” he said.

“Oh. Yeah,” she said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She stayed close to him, which he liked. After last night, he didn't want to watch the walls go back up between them. “I thought, you know, since
you were still here, breakfast would be a good thing. And I've noticed you like chocolate chips.”

This was her thing, just as she'd said—feeding people made her happy. After hearing a little about her past, Shane was even more impressed that she thrived on offering up sweet little fragments of herself. It was an integral part of her infinite feedback loop of joy or whatever she thought of it as. Right now, she was making him a part of it. And she was so damned cute standing there with her muffins, created with him in mind.

There was no expectation here. Just a kitchen filled with Larkin's particular brand of sunshine. His chest tightened, filling with overwhelming, unfamiliar emotion. It was too much to pull apart and analyze, so he simply slipped his free hand around her waist, stepping into her. Feelings were tough, but action . . . that he understood. “I do like chocolate chips,” he said. “Know what else I like?”

Her body curved into him, even though there was an unmistakable wariness in her eyes this morning. He'd like to get rid of that as soon as possible.

“I think there's probably a very long list of things you like,” she said. He caught the suggestive note in her voice and grinned.

“Absolutely. You're pretty close to the top of the list, though.”

She laughed nervously and ducked her head. “Glad I'm up there with . . . what? Successful litigation, probably. And good beer. Shane . . .”

He leaned down to kiss her, and though she let out an irritated little exhalation the instant before their lips met, she quickly melted into a slow, sweet, coffee-and-sugar-flavored kiss. He felt the featherlight caress of her
fingers on his cheek, trailing down to trace his jaw before skimming through the hair at his temple. Just a touch, but the stroke of her hand struck a chord somewhere deep within him and started an ache just as sweet as the kiss. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him that way, longer still since anyone had meant it. He drew her deeper, sliding her hand up his back—

“Mmph. Shane. No. Down. We need to talk, I mean it,” she said, pulling her head back to stare up at him with a look that managed to be disgruntled and aroused at the same time. He had a feeling he might see that look a lot from here on out. Inwardly, he groaned. He didn't want to talk. He wanted Larkin, muffins, and coffee, in exactly that order.

“Okay,” he relented, drawing out the word like a reluctant kid. Larkin laughed, shook her head, and rose up to kiss the tip of his nose. The small gesture gave him hope that this particular conversation wasn't going to go as badly as the one from last weekend. “What did you want to talk about?”

“This. Us. Everything. We kind of jumped the gun, here.” She retreated to the stove, where she began popping her muffins out of the tin and setting them on the counter. She turned and tossed one to him. “Here. Nutrition. Sort of.”

“Thanks.” He caught it one-handed, a big lightly browned muffin loaded with fat chocolate chips. It smelled like heaven and made the coming argument a lot more bearable. He just didn't get why she needed to analyze this. It had happened. It had been amazing. They should definitely do it again as often as possible. What was hard? “Let me ask you something,” he said, moving to the counter so he could set down his mug
and peel the paper off the bottom of the muffin. “How long have you been thinking about me like that?”

He asked partially to illustrate a point, and partly because he was genuinely curious about the answer. Larkin's cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. “Well, I guess . . . quite a while.”

“Like all the way back at Jake and Sam's wedding?”

She pressed her lips together, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “Maybe.”

He threw his head back and groaned dramatically. “Why didn't you say something? I would totally have taken you home that night.” Months wasted while he languished in what he'd thought was the friend zone. Still, at least they'd figured it out eventually.

Larkin widened her eyes at him. “Yeah, uh, not shocking. I was specifically warned
not
to do that, since you supposedly had some magic power that was going to make my dress fall off if I wasn't careful or something. But you were actually just kind of charming. We had fun. There was no reason to screw up an awesome night.”

That stung a little. “How would that have screwed it up?”

“Because we didn't even know each other.”

He took a swig of his coffee while he tried to figure out where she was going with this conversation. He had a feeling that wherever it was, he was going to spend the rest of the day wishing he'd been able to distract her into a detour. “You told me last night you didn't think we knew each other very well,” he finally said. “So what would the difference have been?”

“Exactly. That's exactly it,” she said, laughing a little as though she was relieved he understood. Which he absolutely didn't. Shane tore a chunk out of the muffin
and ate it, chewing slowly. It was excellent. Unlike this conversation.